A Surprise For The Sheikh. Sarah M. Anderson

take some lemonade,” Violet responded, ignoring her brother’s request and sitting in a chair across from Rafe. “Thanks.”

      Of course Rafe knew they were not in Al Qunfudhah anymore, but it was something of a surprise to not only see a woman give a man—her guardian, no less—an order, but to see that man heave a weary sigh and obey.

      Perhaps if Nasira had felt freer to assert herself as Violet did...

      Well, things might have been different. But knowing his father, things would not have been better.

      Rafe pushed away those thoughts and focused instead on the woman before him. Violet was seething with barely contained rage, that much was obvious.

      Once Mac was out of the room, Violet leaned toward him. “Rafiq bin Saleed?”

      He would not let her get to him. She may be a slightly hysterical female, but he was still a sheikh. “It’s lovely to see you again, V. Unexpected, yes, but lovely nonetheless.”

      “Oh, it’s unexpected all right. What the hell?”

      He ignored her outburst. “You are well, I trust?”

      Her eyes got wide—very wide indeed. “Well? Oh, you’re going to care now?”

      He bristled at her tone. “For your information, I cared that night. But it was you who asked for just that—a night. Just one. So I honored your wishes. No names, no strings—that was how you put it, was it not?”

      She continued to glare at him. “What do I even call you? Not Ben, I assume.”

      “Rafe will do for now.”

      “Will it? Is that your real name? Or just another alias?”

      “My name is Rafiq,” he said stiffly. He did not enjoy being on the defensive. “Rafe is a well-known nickname in my country.”

      Her nostrils flared, as if she were getting ready to physically attack him. “Well, Rafe, since you asked, I am not well.”

      “No?” Against his will, he felt a plume of concern rise through his belly. He should be glad she was not well. That would only cause Mac more suffering.

      But Rafe was concerned. He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her breath against his skin and make her well. He was a wealthy man. There was nothing he could not provide for her. “Not because of something I have done, I hope.”

      She was breathing hard now, as if she were standing on the top of a tall peak and getting ready to jump. “You could say that. I’m pregnant.”

      Rafe blinked at her, trying to comprehend the words. Had she just said—pregnant? “Mine?”

      She looked much like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey, all coiled energy and focus. “Of course it’s yours. I realize we don’t know very much about each other but I don’t normally pick up men. That was a one time thing. You’re the only man I’ve been with in the last year and you were supposed to use condoms!” She hissed the word but quietly. It was for his ears and his ears alone.

      Before he could come up with something reasonable to say—something reasonable to think, even—Mac strode back into the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses. “Lemonade?”

Two

      Rafe just...sat there. For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even blink when Mac walked back into the room. Violet’s whole world was falling apart around her and Rafe looked as though she’d announced she liked French fries instead of the fact that she was carrying his child.

      She couldn’t take it. She needed to go. If she could make it back to a bathroom, where she could throw up in peace and quiet, that’d be great.

      “Actually,” she said, forcing herself to stand. “I’m not thirsty. Thanks anyway, Mac.”

      The father of her unborn baby was not just some nameless stranger she’d met in a bar. Oh, no—that would be getting off easy. If that were the case, she’d merely be pregnant and alone. Which was a terrifying prospect, but comparatively?

      The father of her child was a sheikh. And not just any sheikh. Her brother’s former friend, the one who had blamed Mac for seducing his sister and ended the friendship under no uncertain terms.

      Oh, she was going to be so sick.

      She willed her legs not to wobble as she stood. Ben or Rafe or Sheikh Saleed or whatever his name was stood with her.

      In the past thirty-some-odd minutes, her perfect fantasy night had somehow become an epic nightmare. Had she been dreading telling Mac she was pregnant before? Ha. How the hell was she supposed to tell him now? I’m expecting and by the way, the father is your old friend. Isn’t that a laugh riot?

      Mac already treated her as though she was still a lost little girl of sixteen. What would he do now that she’d proven how very irresponsible she was?

      Oh, God—this was going to change everything. It already had.

      She turned and headed for the door, but due to her wobbly legs, she didn’t get out of the room fast enough. “Violet,” Rafe said in his ridiculous voice, all sunshine and honey, and damned if the sound of her name on his lips didn’t send another burst of warmth and desire through her. Her head may have been a mess, but her body—her stupid, traitorous body—still wanted this man. Hell.

      It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let his accent melt her from the inside out, because what had happened the last time? She’d ended up pregnant and unmarried. Violet did not often think of her parents—the loss was too painful, even after all these years—but right now, what she wanted more than anything was her mother.

      “What?”

      Mac winced and Violet could almost hear him adding, Said Violet, impulsively.

      “I would like to know more about Royal and catch up with my old friends.” Something about the way Rafe said friends hit Violet wrong, but before she could figure out what it was, he went on, “Would you both join me for dinner tomorrow night?”

      What had she done to deserve this? Because the torture of sitting through dinner with both her brother and her former lover at this exact moment of her life and pretending that nothing had changed was right up there with being stepped on by a herd of stampeding cattle.

      “Well, damn,” Mac said. “I’m going to be out of town. But Violet can go with you.”

      That was just like Mac, to assume that she spent all her free time painting her nails and listening to Backstreet Boys. She rolled her eyes at Rafe, which must not have been something people in his country did, given the way the color on his cheeks deepened.

      Still, Rafe forged on, by all appearances completely unbothered by her impulsiveness or her pregnancy—except for that blush, which only made him look more sinfully handsome. Damn the man.

      “Ah, that is acceptable. That way I can keep an eye on you.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “Shall we meet tomorrow, say at seven?”

      And Mac, the rat bastard, nodded his approval, as if they were having this entire conversation about her without remembering she was in the room.

      She was totally going to blame this on hormones, this mix of rage and self-pity and the sudden urge to cry, all folded in together with desire and relief until she was so mixed up she couldn’t think straight.

      But had Mac already asked this man to keep an eye on her? Violet so did not need a babysitter at this point. In six months or so, yes, she would need a babysitter. But before she had an actual baby, she did not. “I don’t—”

      “Sure, that’d be great,” Mac said warmly, as if Violet were incapable of having dinner on her own without getting into some sort of trouble. “I have a meeting with Andrea scheduled that I can’t get out of—Andrea’s my assistant,”