ROMANCE: THE SHEIKH'S GAMES: A Sheikh Romance (88 page)

He was whispering her name into her ear, murmuring soft, indecipherable nothings, and panting. Just panting sometimes. He was getting closer, she could tell by the beads of sweat slipping over his forehead, and the renewed urgency in his thrusts.

The hand that had been gripping at her breast moved lower to find her hip. He grabbed it tightly as though it were a handle and used it to jerk her body up against his as he thrust, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

That cry seemed to send him over the edge because within moments he was lost within her, buried as deep as he could go, pulsing until the last of him was emptied once more into her womb.

Then he settled and they cradled each other in their arms, certain that whatever the trials they might encounter, they would survive for the love within their hearts.

Ahmed awoke long before his lovely wife. He had moved her limp, sleeping body to the luxurious bed that he would now share with her and she had instantly snuggled into the silky sheets and fallen into the deepest sleep he had seen her in yet. She seemed contented, smiling even in her sleep.

He thought of the baby that was to come and the love he held for this most wondrous creature sleeping now in his bed. With a sigh, he knew what he had to do.

The only way they would be allowed to be happy was to convince his parents that Keisha deserved to be there, that she had just as much right as any woman ever had. More even because their love was strong.

Perhaps there was no swaying his mother to his cause, as he had initially assumed. Now that he considered it, she was too determined to pick her choice of a wife for him to have ever willingly allowed him to make the decision for himself. She would protest Keisha until the end of days when destruction swallowed the civilized world whole.

Unless.

Unless Ahmed was able to convince his father that Keisha was his, would always be his, and needed to be protected. It was hardly an easy task, but now that he recalled the incident earlier in the day—had it really only been a day?—he was beginning to think there
was
hope. His father was a reasonable man and he understood that there were certain things that had to be carried on. Like the family name.

His mother wanted a beautiful socially appropriate wife for Ahmed, but his father wanted something different. He wanted a son who would grow to be a good Sheikh and he wanted a Sheikh who would bear a son to carry on the family name.

Something Sheikh Itamar had only barely managed himself. The fact that Ahmed had three older sisters and was the only boy spoke volumes about his father’s determination, his mother’s desperation, and the inherent need to carry on the family name.

Which meant he had to bear a son.

Glancing one last time at his sleeping wife, he made up his mind and made to leave the room. Once he did, he found two guards nearby—they were always nearby—and called them to him.

“No one save myself is to enter this room unless I say otherwise,” he told them both strictly, using his best ordering voice, filling it with importance and determination. Both of the guards exchanged glances, uncertain. Ahmed sighed and added, “Or my father, of course, as he is
Sheikh.
”

At this the guards straightened further and nodded their heads. One of them cleared his throat and answered, “Of course, my prince. No one will enter.”

Ahmed nodded his head in thanks. Then added, “Not even my sisters. Or my mother.”

This addition made each of the guards look a little nervous, but neither of them questioned it. They merely nodded mutely and took their positions, one on either side of the door. Though he was not yet Sheikh, he still had more royal authority than the women in his life, though the guards would be tested harshly should his mother decide she wanted into that room. He didn’t enjoy throwing his weight around, but sometimes he understood the need of it.

As Ahmed walked away, he felt a little better. At least no poison could be infected into their relationship while he had a private conversation with his father. At this point in time, that was about all he could ask for.

He found the Sheikh folded over several piles of papers—the less glamorous part of being Sheikh. Running a country. It wasn’t an easy thing to do and Ahmed understood that much of the strictness and unfriendliness that came from his father was due to this unrelenting job. He was doing his best to raise a country and a family and one of them ultimately had to suffer for it.

It was something Ahmed had always dreaded himself.

Clearing his throat, Ahmed got his father’s attention. When the Sheikh realized who it was, he let out a sigh and slumped back into his chair. Still, despite not looking overly thrilled by the sight of his son, he still motioned for him to come in.

Sheikh Itamar mostly just looked tired. Tired and weary and maybe a little frustrated, but Ahmed took it at a good sign that it was at the very least not anger that marred his features.

Ahmed walked into the room, letting the door close behind him, and then took his seat across from the Sheikh. For a moment, they sat in silence, then his father sighed again and said, “Do you wish to argue again, my son?”

Ahmed shook his head. “No, I do not. I would like to
reason
with you. I ask that, perhaps, you may look at this as you do a treaty with another country. There will have to be concessions to make peace.”

Looking suddenly intrigued, Sheikh Itamar straightened a little in his seat. He considered the proposal. “You understand that in a treaty
both
sides make concessions?”

“I understand that the best end of the treaty often goes to he who holds the most bargaining pieces,” Ahmed replied, not contradicting his father, but suggesting that he had a rather large bargaining piece.

His father still did not look angry, which Ahmed took to be a good sign. “Very well. What is your proposed terms? I must assume this is about your young lady.”

“It is,” Ahmed confirmed. Clearing his throat and sitting up straighter, he thought carefully on his next words before speaking. “I would like to suggest conditions under which Keisha may remain here in the palace with me as my wife.”

His father frowned, though he did not release any sudden anger in an outburst. Instead, he answered frankly, “Your mother will be displeased. She is already in a terrible mood and this will certainly worsen it.”

“Yes, but she is not Sheikh. You are. And this is not her decision to make.”

“Very well. What are your conditions?”

It took everything in Ahmed not to allow his mouth to fall open as he stared in shock at his father. He had never even imagined that he might get this far in the conversation, though he had hoped it. In all his discussions with his father, there were never
negotiations
. There was never the concept that anything Ahmed said might be taken seriously enough to be considered.

And yet here he was, negotiation with his father. It was both terrifying and invigorating.

“I understand that mother’s choice of a wife is about social concerns above all else.” Sheikh Itamar nodded. “But I also understand that this is ultimately irrelevant. This is not about what sort of monetary wealth or social pride she might bring to the table, because both of these things are worthless without something much more precious.”

Sheikh Itamar’s features pulled down into a thoughtful frown. “And what might that be?”

“An heir.”

At this, his father noticeably straightened and started looking at his son more keenly. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Yes, an heir is important. But women across the country, many with far better
social
heritage. What difference then does it make to me which woman you have? I should rather please your mother and you shall come to terms with it eventually.”

Before the Sheikh could dismiss this entire discussion, Ahmed jumped in. “Yes, but if mother is the only concern here, then you must consider that there already
is
a woman who is pregnant with my child. A woman who very well might be carrying the next—the
first
—heir to this country.”

Ahmed’s father stilled. He probably hadn’t yet fully sensed what was coming, but he understood that
something
was about to be dropped on his lap, whether he liked it or not. “Continue.”

“If the child is a boy, then he is rightfully the next in line after myself to this throne. If I were to leave this woman at this juncture and she were to bring the baby to full term, then that child would be able to claim the title of Sheikh after me and before any other sons that I might bring into this world. And he would be right.”

Leaning on the hard marbled table, Ahmed’s father fixed him with a sharp stare. “And if she is carrying a girl?”

Ahmed sucked in a sharp breath. This was a gamble, a large gamble that might blow up in his face, but it was the only thing he could think to do. His father had made it perfectly clear after their argument that morning that he would not allow Keisha to stay. Wife or not, he would force her to leave, well taken care of, but ultimately doomed to be forever separated from Ahmed. If he did not make this offer, his wife and future child would be torn from his life and he would never be allowed to see them again.

“If it is a girl… then I agree to marry again. Whomsoever my mother feels is the best match.”

The Sheikh stared at his son long and hard before finally nodding his head. “Very well. The terms of our
treaty
shall be as follows. So long as your wife produces you a son during this first pregnancy, then she shall remain here with you as your wife and your future queen. If, in fact, the child is to be a girl, then she will be taken out of the castle, cared for, and forbidden from ever returning. You shall marry your mother’s pick.”

Ahmed did his best not to think about who that might be and agreed to the terms. He never told his father that if it turned out to be a girl, he was already making plans to run with his little girl and Keisha, as far as he could go. He would leave the crown behind him and live as whatever Keisha wanted, so long as he got to be with her and his daughter. His father never needed to know, in Ahmed’s mind.

***

It was a long nine months. His mother still seemed to be sulking at the deal he had struck with his father, but Ahmed did not care. That deal had provided him with ample time for the rest of the palace to get used to Keisha.

Naiad refused to like Keisha on principal alone, but Mahira was beginning to grow fond, mostly because she was allowed to feel the baby kick and she was allowed to pick out names for the baby. Lilac was hesitant, but ultimately decided that having Keisha around only meant that she would have one more person to dote upon her. They became quick friends after that realization and Keisha spent many mornings braiding Lilac’s hair with all colors of ribbon.

Even the Sheikh had taken some sort of liking to her. He appreciated that she was pregnant and went out of his way to make her comfortable, even sending in storytellers from across the country to weave bedtime tales for her when she was feeling uncomfortable or having a difficult time with the baby.

Even so, when the time came, the whole palace was nervous. The night of the birth would determine a lot of things and whether the Sheikh liked Keisha or not, he would not go back on his word. Ahmed already had plans made for escape should he need to do it and had spoken in length with Keisha about it. She didn’t like the bet, but she loved him for being so willing to leave everything he knew behind for her and the baby.

For hours, both Ahmed and the Sheikh waited outside. The sisters were fetching things and helping wherever they could, and their mother refused to be anywhere near the pregnant woman until she had produced a girl and was thus gone. They listened to the screams of pain, the shouts, the labored breathing, until finally it all stopped. Then, out of the new silence, came a tiny, fragile cry.

A baby.

With baited breaths, the men awaited the arrival of a new soul. When they were finally allowed inside, Ahmed found a smiling Keisha holding a bright pink baby. It was wrapped in a blanket and he could tell nothing of it, but he loved it immediately anyway. He held his child and Keisha in his arms, clutching them as though they were the most precious things in the world. Because to him, they were.

“Well?” asked the Sheikh and it was the overseeing nurse who answered him.

“A beautiful, healthy baby boy.”

They named him Itamar, after his grandfather.

THE END

Ori Herd was in the habit of giving nicknames to the customers who came regularly to her little bookstore in the heart of Seattle’s Pike Place. The names came from either her first impression of them, the books they pored over or, sometimes, the imaginary alternate lives Ori made up for them to amuse herself.

Like the woman with the plain clothes and nervous demeanor was
The Dominatrix,
who spent her time in the store reading erotica that would make a stripper blush; the teenager with tattoos and a potty mouth was
Bound for Priesthood
; the old man who loved history books, and who adored Ori, was
Wish You Were My Dad
. Ori would work silently beside these readers, knowing exactly where to point them for their next read, bringing them coffee from her little espresso machine.

The bookstore had been her passion, her haven, her place of business ever since she’d walked away from the career that had paid for it all. Astoria Vine had been the biggest rock star on the planet when she’d suddenly, abruptly, disappeared from public life. With her bleached blond mane, violet eyes, and perfect face, Astoria had been the envy of millions…but the woman underneath, the twenty-four year old ex-classical music graduate, had hated the business, the sycophants, the endless parties to which she was expected to attend, the sexism, the presumption that she would sleep with any of the revolting head honchos just to get ahead, the drugs that people tried to force on her. Ori had endured it for five years until, one night after a sold-out gig at Madison Square Garden, she’d found herself sobbing on the top of a New York skyscraper, wondering if it would be easier to just jump. It was only the thought of her younger sister, her beloved Yasmin, that kept her from falling. Then and there, she packed a suitcase and checked out of the hotel and moved across the country to the place she felt she could escape. Seattle.