Sarah And The Secret Sheikh. Michelle Douglas

      He switched off the lights to the bar and led her upstairs to the flat above.

      ‘You can cook?’ she asked when he’d seated her at the breakfast bar of his open-plan kitchen-dining-living room.

      ‘I make omelettes that are out of this world.’

      She glanced around and he wondered what she made of his bachelor pad. ‘An omelette sounds kinda nice.’

      It wasn’t until Majed pulled the eggs from the fridge that he remembered pregnant women were supposed to avoid certain foods. What about eggs? He swung back. ‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’

      He sped into the bathroom and pulled his phone from his pocket to open his web browser. He typed in his query and then read down the list of foods that pregnant women shouldn’t eat. Right—the eggs shouldn’t be runny. Okay, he’d cook the omelette a little longer than usual... Actually, he might cook it a lot longer than usual, just to be on the safe side. Hard cheeses like cheddar were fine too. Right. He snapped his phone shut. He’d keep it simple with a plain cheese omelette. Well cooked.

      * * *

      Sarah tried to find some trace of Majed in his flat—in his furniture and in the décor—but... Well, it was all very comfortable and commendably tidy, but something was missing, though she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

      ‘What do you think of the place?’

      She glanced around from the window that overlooked the busy inner-city Melbourne street to find Majed surveying her from the doorway. And just like that her heart started to jackhammer. ‘It’s nice.’ She ignored his raised eyebrow to add, ‘I’ve always been curious to see up here.’

      He stared at her for a bit longer. ‘The bathroom is just down the hall on the left.’ He pointed back behind him. ‘And the bedroom is at the end of the hall. Feel free to take a look.’

      ‘Oh, no, I’m all good.’ She couldn’t invade his privacy that much.

      She slid onto her stool again when he started clattering pots and pans and whisking eggs. She knew they were skirting around the main topic of conversation but...dear Lord...the shock on his face when he’d finally realised what she’d been trying to tell him. It made her stomach churn just remembering it. She wanted to give him a chance to get a little more used to the idea before they launched into a discussion about what they would do.

      Frankly, she had no idea what that might be.

      He moved with easy grace in his compact kitchen and it was no hardship to watch him rather than make small talk...or think. He started to slide her omelette onto a plate, and then jerked, as if he’d burned himself. His gaze speared hers before he seemed to recall himself and finished serving her food.

      She stared at the plate he pushed in front of her and had to fight a frown. This did not look like an out-of-this-world omelette—it looked flat and rubbery. And brown. Her stomach gave a sick little squeeze but she gamely forked in a mouthful. He had gone to all the trouble of making it for her.

      His hands went to his hips as he watched her eat. It only made her stomach churn harder. She set her fork down. ‘What?’

      ‘Did you lose your job because you’re pregnant? They cannot fire you for being pregnant.’

      She picked up her fork again. ‘True. But apparently they can fire me for calling the manager a weasel of a bully who’s nothing more than a boil on the backside of the universe that’s in dire need of lancing.’

      He choked. ‘You didn’t?’

      ‘I did. And I can’t begin to tell you how utterly satisfying it was.’ But now she had no job. And she had a baby on the way. Could her timing have been any worse? Talk about irresponsible!

      She blew out a breath. She was such a screw-up.

      Just ask Sebastian.

      Just ask her mother!

      ‘Eat your omelette,’ Majed ordered.

      She didn’t know if it was her self-recriminations, or if the eggs hadn’t agreed with her, but she only just made it to the bathroom before losing the contents of her stomach. Majed held her hair back from her face while she was sick. He pressed a cool, damp cloth to her forehead, and through it all she wished she felt well enough to feel even a modicum of embarrassment.

      Eventually she closed the lid of the toilet and sat on top of it. The concern in Majed’s face caught at her. She tried to find a smile. ‘Did you know that morning sickness is a misnomer? Apparently it can happen at any time of the day.’

      ‘It’s...wrong!’

      ‘It’s certainly unpleasant.’ But her legs finally felt steady enough to hold her so she rose and rinsed out her mouth. ‘Majed, I know we have a lot to talk about, but I’m feeling beat and—’

      The rest of her words stuttered to a halt when he lifted her off her feet and into his arms. ‘You need to rest, habibi. It’s been a difficult day for you. Sharing with me your news has been nerve-racking, yes? We have time yet to talk and make decisions.’ As he spoke, he carried her down the short hallway to his bedroom. Very gently, he lowered her to the bed. She had an impression of vast luxury and comfort and had to bite her lip to prevent a sigh of pure bliss escaping as softness enveloped her.

      ‘I shouldn’t—’

      ‘Of course you should.’ He pulled off her shoes.

      ‘Maybe just a little rest,’ she murmured as he pulled the covers over her.

      ‘Rest for as long as you like,’ he murmured back.

      ‘Majed?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What did that word mean—“habibi”?’

      ‘It’s a term of endearment...like “sweetheart”.’

      A sigh fluttered out of her. She suspected it would be rather lovely to be his sweetheart for real.

      * * *

      Sarah woke as the first fingers of dawn filtered through the curtains of Majed’s bedroom windows. She lay still and listened intently but couldn’t sense any signs of movement throughout the rest of the flat. Very quietly, she pushed back the bedclothes and tiptoed into the living room to find Majed sprawled across the sofa that barely contained his bulk, fast asleep.

      Most people when they slept looked unguarded, younger...vulnerable. Not Majed. If anything he looked slightly forbidding and stern. It suddenly struck her that the easy-going façade he assumed every day at the bar might be exactly that—a front.

      Or maybe your news has given him unpleasant dreams.

      She scratched her hands through her hair. How long had he sat up last night, churning over her news? She’d had a few extra days to get used to the idea. Yesterday evening her sleepless nights had finally caught up with her. She felt rested and well now, though, and she didn’t have the heart to wake him.

      A shiver shook through her. When she got right down to it, how well did she know Majed? Barely at all. She had no idea if he wanted a child. She gripped her hands together. For all she knew, he might welcome a child with unbridled enthusiasm. Or the idea of fatherhood might be a total anathema to him. Surely one should know these things about a man before becoming pregnant by him?

      Your mother didn’t.

      Perhaps not, but she didn’t intend to take her parents as role models. They’d spent her entire childhood using her as a pawn in their war to score points off each other. That was the only thing she was certain of—that she wouldn’t do that to any child of hers. If she had this baby she’d do her best to ensure its childhood was happy and carefree—not a battleground.

      If.

      Slipping onto a chair at the dining table, she lifted her feet to the seat and hugged her knees. She and Majed had to