SHEIKH'S SURPRISE BABY: A Sheikh Romance (77 page)

Had she said something wrong? Maybe it wasn’t the best time to approach the subject after all. Maybe obsessing about what Phil had said to her had pushed Sophia into talking about things that Daniel didn’t want to deal with.

When he brought her mug back to her, she said, “You know what I’d like to do today? I’d like to pick out colors for the bedroom and get the process started. What do you think?”

“I’d like that,” he said, but the wariness was still there in his eyes.

She sipped her tea and decided that what would happen would happen. She couldn’t spend her life worrying about it. She had to do something to begin to push the memory of Phil’s death out of her consciousness.

They managed to pick out the paint for the bedroom, but while they were choosing a new bed for Daniel (the old one being one he brought from his old bedroom at his parents’ home) Sophia was hit with a wave of fatigue the like of which she’d never felt before.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I’m just so tired all of a sudden.”

“We’ll go home. We’ve done enough for today. You’ve been through too much.” Daniel was always so good to her.

“Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?” she asked when they got back to his condo.

“Yes, but I can always stand to hear it.”

“You look like such a tough guy… and you are, where it counts,” she told him. “But you’re so kind.”

“I’m not, you know. Do you want to take a nap, sweetheart?”

“No. I mean yes, but I’d rather do it on the couch. Let’s watch a movie or something.”

She dozed through Key Largo, and when she woke she had a craving for Thai food, so they ordered dinner and sat on the couch eating spring rolls and watching Casablanca.

When they finally retired, Sophia found that she felt more at ease. The memory of Phil’s death had become less vivid, less intrusive. Along with a sense of relief that he was out of her life, something she would never have talked about, she felt a little sad for him.

She also found that she was craving Daniel. She lay in bed and watched him undress, and the heat of her desire grew so hot that she felt as if she would burst into flame. She pulled the sheet up to her chin and slithered out of her night clothes, so that when Daniel came to bed, probably assuming that they’d be curling up chastely that night, she surprised him by pulling him into her embrace.

She giggled at his confusion, shivered as he began to touch her with careful hands, and said, “More. Harder. I want to feel you.” She needed this. It wasn’t just a final exorcism of Phil’s control over her, or a desire to know that Daniel found her desirable. It was something bone deep, something awakening in her. It was a hunger that she couldn’t control.

She urged him on, whispering at first, then speaking aloud what she wanted, arousing him with her words, and the sounds of passion that were no longer quiet and ladylike. For the first time, she truly gave voice to the pleasure he gave her, and she could feel how he responded, how his body responded.

It was like madness, and it left her sated, so drained that she could barely move when they finally finished. Only when she grew cold, did she manage to stir herself to tug at the covers. As she pulled them up she rolled onto her side and found Daniel lying there, already half asleep. She pulled the duvet over both of them, and whispered, “I love you.”

Daniel’s eyelashes fluttered and for a few moments he stared at her and said, “And I love you.”

Sophia didn’t bother to try to analyze or parse his meaning. It was enough that he’d said it.

She’d made an appointment with Doctor Forster to talk about what had happened. It was an early appointment, the only one the doctor had open, and she came close to canceling because she felt so dragged out, and a bit queasy.

“I’m easier in my mind,” she said, when the doctor asked how she was feeling. “But it’s had a profound effect on my physically.”

“How so?”

“I’m exhausted all the time.”

“Understandable.”

“And I’m often nauseated.”

“Really? Any shortness of breath? Dizziness?”

“No, just sometimes in the morning I’ll feel… Oh.”

“Sophia?” the doctor said gently.

“I think it’s not what happened with Phil. Or maybe only partly,” she admitted.

“Could you be pregnant?”

“It’s not impossible,” she said. “We’ve been careful. Mostly.”

“You need to find out,” Forster counseled. “Sooner rather than later.”

She didn’t know what to think. She tried to talk about Phil’s suicide, but the idea of pregnancy wouldn’t let go of her, and she ended up talking about her relationship with Daniel and how she knew it would end, and she was trying to be adult about it, but how she thought losing him might kill her.

“I don’t want to be a female Phil,” she told the doctor. “I want to accept things as they are, not try to make them what I think they should be.”

“Have you spoken to him about this?”

“Yes, and he agrees that we should stay friends. I just…” Oh God, it hurt so much. She started to cry. “I don’t want to lose him even though I know it has to happen. How will I survive that?”

By the time her session was over, she had managed to pull herself together. She thanked the doctor, then went downstairs and stopped at the pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test. Better to know sooner rather than later.

When she stepped out of the building, Daniel was waiting for her. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I thought maybe your session would be rough, and I wanted to be here for you.”

It made her cry. Again.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No, sweetheart, no, it’s okay,” he told her, holding her close. “I understand.”

“You don’t.”

“My sister was—”

“It’s not about Phil. It’s about us.” She could feel him stiffen. “Let’s talk in the car, not out here in public.”

“Daniel…” She didn’t know how to start. There was so much to be said, but where to begin? She handed him the bag from the pharmacy and watched as he opened it and realized what she’d bought.

“Are you—”

“I don’t know. I think I might be. I don’t know what to do.”

He closed the bag. “We should get married.”

That made her laugh. “We should wait to see what the test says.”

“No. No, Sophia, no. I don’t want us to think we had to get married. I want us to want to be married. You’ve talked about our relationship as if it’s temporary, and I don’t understand that. This feels like the most permanent part of my life. You say you love me but you talk about being friends.”

“I just didn’t want to lose you.”

“The only way you can lose me is by leaving me.”

“You want…” She made a helpless gesture. “I thought you were with me because you felt sorry for me.”

“What? No. Sophia, I love you. I haven’t loved like this for years. I didn’t think I ever could again. I want to marry you and have a family with you. I want us to be forever. I don’t want us to be about this,” he said shaking the bag and throwing it on he back seat. “Damn Phil to Hell,” he muttered, and turned away.

She wanted to believe. She needed to. She reached out and cradled his cheek with her hand.

“It’s not about Phil anymore.” Half question, half affirmation.

“No.”

“Then yes, I want it to be permanent too. I want to be a family. Two, three… ten…”

Daniel began to laugh. “Fifty,” he said.

“I’m not sure I’d survive fifty,” she said, but she was grinning.

“Grandchildren. Great grandchildren. Everywhere we look, babies,” he said before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

There was a moment, just a split second, when the voice of her insecurity cleared its throat and said, “What is it he really wants?” Except it wasn’t her voice, not really. It was Phil’s. And Phil was dead and gone from her life. His voice needed to be silenced too.

He wants me, she thought. He loves me.

To which there was no reply, nor could there ever be to a truth so deep. It was love, not pity, or simple kindness. It was something they’d both earned. And it was something Sophia was determined to take joy in.

“Let’s go home,” she said. “We have work to do.” They’d have to make over the second, smaller bedroom as a nursery, she supposed. She hoped. It was time to break out the fan deck and choose colors again. Something warm and pretty. Yellow, perhaps. Good for a boy or a girl.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said as they drove along the lakefront towards home.

“The best,” Daniel agreed. “You feel up to painting when we get back?”

“Of course! Always.”

What she didn’t say, what he’d find out when they got there, was that before the painting, she had something else in mind. Something much more exciting.

She smiled and laid her hand on her still-flat belly.

THE END

Beau Savage at the age of 41 was in the habit of waking up before sunrise. It was probably passed down through the generations of farmers and ranchers in his family tree. He laid in his oversized king bed beneath a layer of cotton sheets. His Pendleton wool blanket was on the floor as he had kicked it off during the night. He didn’t move as his daily events calendar unrolled like a scroll in his mind. At 7pm, he had a black-tie charity event but he forgot whom he was taking. He knew it was a blonde-haired woman because they usually were and that she looked amazing in evening attire, which they always did. They also looked stunning when the dress came off, which was a given. Was it Tammy, no? Was it Theresa, no? It was Tiffany! Ah ha; Beau just saved himself an awkward moment. His train of thought was interrupted by a pull at his elbow.

“Good morning Beau. Why are you on the far side of the bed? Come close and keep me warm,” Rosemary cooed, as she had been his companion the previous night.

“Sorry Ro. I have to shower and get ready for a meeting at 8:30 so I have no time to snuggle.”

Rosemary was the daughter of a business associate of Beau’s. Bringing her home seemed like a good idea after several bourbons. He had to remind himself that prudent choices were not made after a few drinks.

“You don’t expect me to get up at the crack of dawn, do you Beau? I suppose that joining you in the shower might wake me up.” Rosemary had legs that went on forever and a great body that she had paid a great deal of money to maintain.

“My morning shower is a solitary pursuit. We had plenty of fun last night, from what I can remember and who knows maybe this will happen again. Sleep as long as you want and the kitchen is yours to raid. Tell your father I’ll call him this week and thanks for last night Rosemary.”

Beau kissed Rosemary good-bye before he walked naked into his private bathroom. She was bewildered and disappointed as women usually were after spending the night in Beau Savage’s bed. There were countless other bathrooms in his home but the one off his bedroom was his sanctuary. The walls were Italian marble with ornate etchings. The shower stall was made of the same material and it was larger than most apartments in New York City. Whoever said that things were bigger in Texas had never been to Beau’s ranch in Wyoming, which his grandfather Jacob had named the
Wandering Bison Ranch
. He stood as the eight pulsating jets massaged his 6’2” frame. Beau was all muscle and although he was 41, he had never been in better shape with a wasp waist and squared off shoulders. He washed his black hair, which was flecked with gray and closed his blue-gray eyes. He hoped that by the time he was done with his morning rituals, that Rosemary had taken the hint and moved along. Beau enjoyed a woman’s company at night but when the sun shined, it was time for business.

Beau put on his hat and favorite pair of boots before hopping in his truck. If it were up to him, he would have on jeans and head to the stables. Unfortunately, he was more than a cowboy; he was the president and CEO of a business empire. Someday, he hoped he could seamlessly delegate the business aspect of his life to a son but that required a mate and that didn’t seem to be in the cards. He knew that most single women were aware of how much he was worth and wanted a slice of the pie. He had been called paranoid but at least he was having fun. He decided to swing by his Grandfather’s home on the ranch to say hello before going into Cheyenne.

“Hey Pops. I thought I would come and check on things before going into Cheyenne.” Beau pulled up to the white four-bedroom ranch house his grandfather called home.

“I don’t need watching over Beau. You hired that Pearl lady to look out for me. What were you thinking getting that tart to be my caretaker? Is she one of your castoffs?”

Jason Savage, 90, was the only person from which Beau took orders. He had outlived two wives, a daughter and a son. He had been just like Beau when he was young, which is why Savage Enterprises, Inc. thrived. He was an old curmudgeon but he was wise and tough. With his deep wrinkles and gnarled hands, Beau pictured himself in 50 years. It made him determined to get as much living as possible into that time.

“Pearl isn’t a tart Pops and I never bagged her. She’s a nice trustworthy woman. I looked into her background to make sure she’s not a gold digger. I wouldn’t bring in anyone in who has designs on our fortune.”