Bad Sheikh's Surrogate Mistress Read online

  Like helping you remember the first time you pulled up outside of a palace.

  The turrets rose high over their heads and the main dome of the palace shone in the noon sun, its gold leafing reflecting the light. The outer walls of the palace were etched with intricate geometric patterns. At least two dozen men with automatic weapons stood guard around it.

  Felicia gulped but accepted the security as part of Zahir’s world. Not only was he a head of state, but a head of state in the Middle East. While Jardania was a peaceful kingdom, one never knew which rebel faction or terrorist group would try to assassinate its sheikh to gain power. As jarring as it was to see such powerful weapons up close, she found it reassuring too. Those soldiers would protect not just Zahir and his family, but her and Elena now as well.

  “This is amazing!” Elena exclaimed as they all stepped out of the limousine. “I’ve never seen anything like this, not even in Aladdin.”

  Jaheer chuckled. “You haven’t seen anything yet. You’re going to love the palace. I’ll show you the swimming pool after you get settled, Bit. It’s so damn hot around here, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed,” Zahir said. Then he clapped his hands. Two women stepped forward through the wall of well-armed men. They were identical in every way, except for the color of their outfits. One wore a belly shirt and genie pants in light lilac, and the other wore mint green. “This is Misha and Malasha. They’ll be happy to help you both. They’ll show you to the old harem quarters.”

  “What?” Elena asked. “Whoa, I’m fifteen!”

  Zahir took a measured breath and continued. “My grandfather kept a harem for himself in the East Wing. We’ve since abolished the practice. However, those are some of our most comfortable rooms. Misha and Malasha are some of the most gifted make-up artists in our country and typically help style and dress my mother. Now, do feel free to go with them and get into more comfortable clothing. Jeans are too hot for Jardania.”

  “And I can get a makeover? Really?” Elena asked, eyes wide.

  Felicia put an arm around her sister’s shoulders as they both started following the twins. “You can get some make-up. You don’t need to go full pageant queen with caked on make-up and you’re so not wearing a belly shirt.”

  She realized, as they passed into the palace, that she had no idea what she’d signed up for.

  ***

  “You should turn around now, sheikha,” the twin in lilac said. Honestly, Felicia couldn’t remember if she was Misha or Malasha.

  However, she did know that she wasn’t anyone’s “sheikha.” “Misha—”

  The girl dropped her chin low and avoided eye contact with her. “It’s Malasha, sheikha.”

  Damn, I guessed wrong.

  Felicia sighed and offered her brightest smile back to the girl who, truly, couldn’t have been more than three or four years older than Elena, no matter how skilled she and her sister were. “I’m sorry, Malasha. Forgive me—I’m still very jetlagged. But I’m not the new sheikha. I can’t be.”

  “But you’re going to be carrying the sheikh’s child, aren’t you? He’s flown you out to live in the safety and luxury of the palace and made all his resources available to you.”

  “It’s a business arrangement. I didn’t realize you know why we’re here.”

  Malasha offered her a tight smile. “We were told, and my sister said that I shouldn’t read anything into it. But my mother was the head handmaiden for the sheikha before us, and we’ve known Zahir and Jaheer for years. We’ve never seen him treat any woman this way. I guess I grew excited for him. He’s been so lonely since his father died. I wanted to believe he’d found happiness again. He and Jaheer are like our brothers.”

  Felicia stilled. “Really? But aren’t you servants?”

  “We serve here because we love the royal family and believe in them. I saw him smile today in a way he hasn’t since his father died, just because you and your sister are in Jardania with him. I’d think about that—I really would.”

  “Maybe,” Felicia said, unconvinced. “I’m just here to fulfill my part of the bargain.”

  Malasha chuckled. “You say that, but perhaps you’re now ready to win the heart of the sheikh.” She spun the chair around so that Felicia could see herself in the mirror fully.

  “I’m nothing special and—” Her breath left her lungs. The girl had put extensions in her hair that matched the light straw-coloring of her bob. The long tendrils wound over her head and shone with gemstones and silver barrettes. Her eyes were heavily rimmed in kohl, making her eyelashes appear that much more dramatic and her green eyes shimmer like emeralds. Dark crimson lipstick lined her heart-shaped lips, making them appear full and pouty. Even the bright violet kaftan she wore skimmed her curves perfectly, dipping low over her cleavage and teasing the rest of her body’s roundness even as she breathed.

  This can’t be me. I’m not pretty. I’m not anything.

  Malasha broke the spell with her words. “Shei— Felicia, are you all right? You look like you’re going to cry. If my work displeases you, I can do something else. It’s really all right.”

  “No, I just…are you sure you’re not a magician or something? I don’t even recognize myself!”

  “Then maybe you’re beginning to see what Sheikh Ahmed already sees in you. Now, let me lead you to the throne room.”

  “I…why?”

  “Sheikha Adira wishes to speak with you.”

  Felicia couldn’t refuse that invitation, even though she now felt her body shaking and goosebumps erupting all over her skin. She’d known she’d meet the sheikha sooner rather than later, but she didn’t realize it would be within hours of getting off the jet. She wasn’t even sure how much Sheikha Adira knew about the odd arrangement.

  Dear Lord, does she even want a part-Western grandchild?

  She followed Malasha through the labyrinthine halls of the palace and was glad for the guide. The palace rivaled in size the biggest mall she’d ever been in, and without Malasha to lead her, she’d have been irretrievably lost down some wing designated just for family portraits or something else equally extravagant. Finally, after she stumbled a few times over her flowing robes, Felicia and Malasha arrived at massive marble doors trimmed with shining diamonds and rubies. The servant girl didn’t have to say a word to let Felicia know that she was outside of the throne room.

  Malasha turned to her and bowed low. “The sheikh and his mother are expecting you. I need to get back to my quarters, but good luck, Felicia. I know you’ll do fine.”

  She sighed and fidgeted with the edge of her kaftan’s collar. “Then that makes one of us.”

  The servant girl grinned. “I’ve known Sheikha Adira my whole life. She is gruff at first, but she loves deeply. That love is for her sons. Show her you’re worthy of the Ahmed line, and she’ll become your most dedicated defender, I promise.”

  “I hope so!” Felicia said, taking a deep breath even as Malasha scurried back down the hall.

  She feared she wouldn’t be able to open the door alone at first—it was so massive. But it opened far more easily than she expected, and she half-pushed, half-fell into the throne room. The large, gold throne sat at the end of a long, tiled floor that, to Felicia’s overawed eyes had to span at least a football field’s worth of space, though she knew it couldn’t truly be that large. Every inch of the room glittered with precious stones, and Felicia finally realized the nature of Zahir’s incalculable wealth.

  He stood speaking with an older woman—the sheikha, presumably—near the throne itself.

  Suddenly, she felt small and pathetic.

  Why would he pick me? I know what he said, but he will change his mind soon enough. He can have anyone…

  The sheikha turned to her, and she reminded Felicia of Zahir—from her steely resolve to her deep brown eyes. Both she and Zahir approached her, and Felicia found herself bowing low before the sheikha, as if that gesture somehow would make her acceptable to the older woman.

&n
bsp; She doubted there was anything she could do that would please Sheikha Adira, especially as Felicia watched the older woman closely, noticed that slight upturn in her lips, that judgmental sneer.

  “Sheikha Adira, it’s an honor to meet you.”

  “You may stand tall, Felicia. After all, you’ll be the mother of my grandchild. We should dispense with the formalities.” The sheikha glared at her son and shook her head just slightly. “Although, I do admit, I was surprised with my son’s sudden decision. It’s so unlike him, but I assumed he had been struck dumb by a true beauty.”

  “Thank you, sheikha,” Felicia replied, reminding herself not to bow again.

  The sheikha shook her head. “Oh you misunderstand me. I was expecting another one of his models or heiresses. Someone he met among the jet set of Cairo who would suit as well as any of the royals scheduled to come to the ball next month.”

  “I…what?” She glanced at Zahir in confusion and saw his face turn stormy.

  The sheikha looked Felicia up and down and then directly in her eyes. “I think, my dear, you are somewhat lacking in beauty compared to Zahir’s other options. Or maybe your problem is that you’re not lacking enough. I’d diet before the ball, if you’re not pregnant by then. We wouldn’t want the entire region talking about the lump my son’s brought home.”

  “Mother!” Zahir shouted, pulling her into his arms. Usually, Felicia would have resisted, wouldn’t have wanted that show of affection, but she needed that security now. She craved it more than anything. “That’s enough.”

  His mother shrugged. “I’m disappointed, my son. The princess of Jordan would have made a fine match. I can’t understand what you’re thinking, but you are the sheikh, and it’s your will that must be carried out. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?” they both echoed.

  “Yes, mostly. I must say that there’s one stipulation in the old law that is not negotiable.”

  “And that is?” Felicia asked, her voice quivering.

  “You must conceive the child in the natural way. It’s specifically stated that the sheikh and his chosen must ‘lie together and conceive.’ So, you have twelve months, and I suggest you two get to it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Felicia blinked between the sheikha and Zahir. Surely she’d heard the older woman wrong. More likely, she’d been hallucinating for days. Yes, that was it. She’d gotten the call about her mother’s overdose and had imagined everything else because girls from trailer parks in the Appalachians did not end up with royalty. They were not swept away and given makeovers that made them seem almost pretty, even if Sheikha Adira had gotten her jabs in.

  They certainly weren’t asked to make love to one of the hottest, richest bachelors on Earth.

  Wait, “make love?” It would be sex. It’s a business deal for the heir, nothing more.

  That cold reality snapped her out of her funk and she shook her head at Sheikha Adira and then spoke, “You can’t be serious. This was about surrogacy.”

  The sheikha put her hands on her hips and regarded her with perfectly kohl-rimmed eyes. “There are certain rules in our country. I planned the ball—which I must now alter—so that my son could find the perfect wife, so that he could have a family in the traditional way. I can’t make you marry my son, even if I wanted you to, or stay after the baby is born, but I can insist on the usual way of producing the heir. If you want his deal to go through—yes, I know about that—then you two will sleep together. That’s how it will work. Then again, maybe it won’t and we’ll send you and your little sister, penniless, back to West Virginia.”

  “Mother, you wouldn’t do that,” Zahir said, his jaw clenched tightly after he spoke.

  “I can insist that contract hasn’t been fulfilled. I can deny any of the Ahmed money. If you insist on this route—a child out of wedlock, and with a Westerner as the mother, then you can at least do it the way your ancestors have always done it. Now, my son, you don’t have much time to woo her. I suggest you get started.” With that, the sheikha turned and sauntered out the side door.

  Felicia swayed and would have fallen if strong arms hadn’t caught her. The smell of turmeric and other spices mixed with Zahir’s intense musk and tickled her nostrils. A warmth flared in her belly, and not for the first time, the idea of having sex with him was far from the worst thing she could imagine. Hell, it was exactly what she craved.

  His earnest, enticing eyes stared into her own as he pushed her blonde locks back from her forehead. Maybe her almost-tumble had caused Malasha’s excellent work to fall out of place. It would have been a shame to lose those barrettes, not that she had earned them. If she didn’t perform, then she wasn’t going to stay here long. Clearly, the sheikha would see to that.

  “Are you all right, Felicia? I had no idea she’d be that way. My father’s grandfather…he married a French girl. We’ve never been purely Jardanian. I didn’t think Mother would mind an American, at least not that much.”

  She tried to keep her voice level as she spoke, but she couldn’t completely stop it from quavering. “I…maybe it’s all right if the Western girl is beautiful or rich or sophisticated. I know I’m plain. I know I’m not what anyone would pick in a queen. For a moment, I thought that I was…let’s just say Malasha did a wonderful job.”

  He continued stroking her hair. God, Felicia hoped he’d never stop. “She can only work with the raw material that’s there, trust me. Felicia, I didn’t bring you here as my call girl. I have money from my own private investments, a nest egg built up outside of the Ahmed oil riches since I was twenty-one. If this is too much, then I can pay you and make sure your mother keeps up her care. You and Elena can be on the next plane to the States.”

  She stilled even as his warm hand grazed her cheek. She inhaled the hint of cinnamon that seemed to hover around him.

  What do I want?

  That used to be the easiest question in the world—the best grades, to keep her scholarship, to let her creative side out. She was an artist and a scholar, and she’d find a way to support her family once university was over. Now she had that answer, no strings attached, but was that all she wanted anymore? Zahir was more gorgeous than Louis ever dreamed of being, more attractive than any guy she’d ever seen before—not that she had a great sample size, cramming in the library and sculpting in her corner of the art building. He was kind, had treated her sister with nothing but patience. The aid to her mother went beyond his original offer—far beyond it.

  And it can’t all be just to get into my pants. There are far cheaper ways to do this, far easier ways…

  “I need to stay,” she gasped out.

  The answer lay between them, as raw and naked as a newborn babe.

  Blushing, she tried to look away, but he captured her chin with his fingers, keeping her head still. It forced her to stare into those soulful chestnut eyes of his, the ones that seemed to see directly into her heart and desires.

  “I wish I could lie better.”

  “Don’t. I just need to know what you want, what makes this easiest for you.”

  “I don’t want to leave, but I’m not ready to just jump into bed with you. You’re right—knowing you for just a few days, it does feel like I’m a fancy hooker. I know there’s a deadline; I know we need to be trying soon so that you beat the deadline, but can I have a couple weeks?” She laughed ruefully and wondered if he thought she was insane. Frankly, Felicia wasn’t one hundred percent sure she hadn’t gone around the bend when this Middle Eastern magical mystery tour began. “Can we just…date?”

  He dropped his hand and laughed, a rich sound that reverberated from the deepest regions of his chest, so warm and inviting that she almost felt she could drape herself in it. “I’d like that very much. Let’s ease you into everything and, in a month, when I introduce you to the world at the ball, then we can start trying for the heir.”

  Zahir touched her belly.

  She stilled, not sure how to react. “It’s not exactly flat currently. I
know your mother isn’t pleased with that either.”

  “Mother’s been on a diet since she was twenty. You’re beautiful, my artiste. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Now, we’ve had a long day. Get some rest, and I’ll send food to your rooms. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

  “Hey! I said no sex!” she said. She slapped her hand over mouth, took a moment to pull herself together. “I didn’t mean to sound so angry about it. I’m sorry.”

  He laughed again, and she felt warmth migrate from her belly to places further south. “Trust me, my artiste, I have other ways to seduce you. I merely thought to show you the city. Now get some rest, and don’t listen to what my mother says. I never do.”

  That makes one of us.

  ***

  Felicia and Elena shared a sumptuous dinner of dates, yogurt, and shawarma that had been sent to their shared sitting room. Then she fielded her sister’s barrage of questions and tried to ignore the knowing looks from Malasha and Misha. She felt as if she’d moved into a sorority house.

  Now, however, Elena had moved to her room a few doors down the hall, and the twin sisters had retired to their quarters. Finally, she could relax a little. Although her hair extensions were long term and still interwoven tightly with her own bob, she stripped out the barrettes. She lost the kaftan in favor of a simple cotton nightgown, and then washed the make-up from her face.

  Felicia in her natural state.

  She snuck to the door and locked it quickly. Her window was open, letting what little breeze the Jardanian night had to offer flow over her, but it wasn’t enough to cool her. Another type of heat ran through her, one that she’d been trying, but failing, to ignore since Zahir had caught her in the throne room. Even as she tried to keep some equilibrium, to keep herself from falling too hard for a fairy tale that wasn’t hers to have, she wanted it. She couldn’t deny the truth.