A Surprise For The Sheikh. Sarah M. Anderson

was so strong she could practically taste it in the back of her throat, and it was getting stronger with every passing second.

      The first test was just a false positive, she decided. False positives happened all the time. She wasn’t pregnant. She was suffering from a low-grade stomach bug. Yeah, that was it. That would explain the odd waves of nausea that hit her at unexpected times. Not in the morning either. Therefore, it wasn’t morning sickness.

      And the low-grade bug she was fighting—that’s what caused the positive. It had absolutely nothing to do with that night in the Holloway Inn four months ago. It had nothing to do with Ben or V or...

      PREGNANT.

      Oh, God.

      One was a false positive. The second? Considering that she’d had a wild night of passionate sex with a man in a hotel room?

      What the hell was she going to do?

      She didn’t have a last name. She didn’t have his number. He’d been this fantasy man who had appeared when she’d needed him and been gone by morning light. She’d woken up in his room alone. Her dress had been cleaned and pressed and was hanging on the bathroom door. Room service had delivered breakfast with a rose and a note—a note she still had, tucked inside her sock drawer, where Mac would never see it.

      Your pleasure was my pleasure. Thank you for the night.

      He hadn’t even signed it Ben. No name, no signature. No way to contact him when she had a rapidly growing collection of positive pregnancy tests on the edge of her sink.

      She was screwed.

      Okay, so contacting Ben was out, at least for the short term. She might be able to hire a private investigator who could track him down through the hotel’s guest registry, but that didn’t help her out right now.

      “Violet?” Mac called out from downstairs. “Can you come down here?”

      She was going to be sick again, and this time she didn’t think it was because of morning sickness.

      How was she supposed to tell her big brother that she’d done something this wild and crazy and was now pregnant? The man had dedicated the past twelve years of his life to keeping her safe after their parents’ deaths. He would not react well.

      “Violet?” She heard the creak of the second step—oh Lord, he was on his way up.

      “Give me a minute!” she called through the door as she grabbed the two used tests and shoved them back in the box. She hid everything under the sink, behind her maxi pads. Mac would never look there.

      She needed a plan. She was on her own here.

      Violet stood up and quickly splashed some cold water on her face. She didn’t normally wear a lot of makeup. She had no need to look pretty when she was managing the Double M, their family ranch. The ranch hands she’d hired had all gotten the exact same message, no doubt—hitting on Mac McCallum’s little sister was strictly forbidden. Which irritated her. First off, she wasn’t hiring studs for the express purpose of getting it on in the hayloft. Second, she was the boss. Mac ran McCallum Enterprises, the energy company their father had founded, and Violet ran the Double M, and the less those two worlds crossed, the better it was.

      Because Mac did not see a ranch manager, much less a damned good ranch manager. He didn’t see a capable businesswoman who was navigating a drought and rebuilding from a record-breaking tornado and still making a profit. He didn’t see a partner in the family business.

      All he saw was the shattered sixteen-year-old girl she’d been when their parents had died. It didn’t matter what she did, how well she did it—she was still a little sister to him. Nothing more and nothing less.

      Violet had wanted so desperately not to be Mac’s helpless baby sister, even for a night. And if that night was spent in a stranger’s arms...

      And here she was.

      She’d just jerked her ponytail out of its holder and started wrenching the brush through her mane of auburn hair when Mac said, “Violet?”

      She jumped. She hadn’t heard Mac come the rest of the way upstairs, but now he was right outside the door. “What?”

      “An old friend of mine is downstairs. Rafe.”

      “Oh—okay,” she said, feeling confused. Rafe—why did that name sound familiar? And why did Mac sound...odd? “Is everything okay?”

      Ha. Nothing was okay, but by God, until she got a grip on the situation, she was going to pretend it was if it was the last thing she did.

      “No, it’s fine. It’s just—Rafe is the sheikh, you remember? From college?”

      “Wait.” She cracked the door open and stared at her brother. Even though she’d hidden the evidence, she intentionally positioned her body between him and the sink. “Is this the guy who had the wild younger sister who tricked you? That Rafe?”

      “Yeah. Rafiq bin Saleed.” Mac’s expression was a mix of excitement and confusion.

      “What’s he doing here right now?” Violet asked. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he blame you for his sister’s—what did you call it?”

      “Compromising her innocence? Yeah.”

      “So why do I have to meet this jerk?”

      “He’s in town. He’s apologized for his behavior years ago.”

      Violet stared at him. Men and their delicate attempts at friendship. “And you’re okay with that?”

      “Yeah,” Mac said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be? It was a misunderstanding. His father was the one who was mad. Rafe is making amends.”

      After twelve years? That seemed odd. Men. “And you’re warning me in advance because...”

      “Because I know you, Violet. I know you’re liable to shoot your mouth off. He’s a sheikh—they have a different set of customs, okay? So try to be polite.”

      She gave him a dull look. “Really? You think I’m so impulsive I can’t even make small talk with a man from a different culture?” She shoved the door open. Her hair could wait. “Thanks, Mac. I appreciate the vote of confidence there.”

      Mac grinned at her. “Said Violet, impulsively.”

      “Stuff it. Let’s get this over with.” She pushed past her brother and stomped to the closet, where she grabbed a clean shirt. If she was going to be meeting—wait, what was a sheikh? Were they royalty? Well, whatever he was, the least she could do was make sure she was wearing a shirt that didn’t have cow poop on it. “I’ll meet your rude sheikh friend and then make myself scarce, okay? I’ve got stuff to do anyway.” Like maybe tracking down her one-night stand and figuring out her due date and, well, her schedule was just packed. She started unbuttoning her work jeans.

      The wheels of her mind spun. This was going to change everything. She’d had plans—she’d been slowly working on convincing her brother to buy the ranch to the north, the Wild Aces. Violet had loved the Wild Aces for years. She wanted out of this house, out from under Mac’s overprotective roof, and the Wild Aces was where she wanted to be.

      They were already leasing the land. The Double M’s water supply had been compromised by the tornado last year. But Wild Aces had plenty of water. Violet had thought that would be the motivation Mac needed to sign off on the purchase, but because she was the one who’d suggested it instead of his assistant, Andrea Beaumont, Mac had said no. Eventually, the two women had convinced Mac to at least lease the land.

      But now? Violet was pregnant. How was she going to manage the Double M, much less the Wild Aces, with a huge belly or a baby on her hip?

      Mac didn’t say anything for so long she paused and looked up at him. “What?”

      “Everything okay?” he asked.

      She tensed.