The Sheikh's Secret Love Child (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 2) (13 page)

Rosie’s face broke into a massive smile. She’d never seen anything more beautiful.

As she roved around the apartment, Hakan meandered to their bed, where he lay with their son, tickling him ceaselessly. He giggled, sending tiny baby squeals to echo against the high ceilings.

Rosie watched as Hakan opened the baby’s shirt, gave him an explosive raspberry, and laughed with his son on their million-dollar bed, on sheets that were probably used once and never given life again. What kind of luxury was this?

In that moment, as Rosie watched them, she felt incredulous. She was reminded of the sleek, red Lamborghini that had nearly flattened her on that street in Seattle. God, she thought. Fate was such a strange, bizarre thing. She wondered how many cars in the history of the world had had to be destroyed so that beautiful things could grow in their place.

Rosie lay beside them, then, in the midafternoon light. The baby cooed into a nap, and she and Hakan slept beside him, their hands linked together between them. It was like they were one unit, breathing ever as one.

SEVENTEEN

Rosie’s eyes opened as the sun started its descent in the bright, blue sky. She looked at her baby, who was sleeping soundly, and at Hakan, who sent little snores into the air as he slept on his back. She shuffled toward the back of the bed to lean her back against the cool wall. She cracked her neck, her knuckles.

Without her warmth beside them, Hakan and Zak awoke, blinking around them. Hakan turned his head upwards, catching sight of her. “What are you doing up there, Monkey,” he asked her. “You know, we have to get ready for dinner soon.”

“I hope you have mashed peas,” she murmured, gesturing to their son. “It’s all he’ll eat right now.”

“I think we can work something out,” Hakan laughed, picking up the wiggling eighteen-month year old. He tossed him lightly into the air, and Rosie bit her lip, slightly nervous about the coming dinner.

“Will there be many people at this thing tonight?” she asked him meekly. She knew he could tell she was on edge.

“Nope,” Hakan said directly, flashing his kind, dark eyes toward her. “Actually, just us, and Clarice and my mother, if that’s all right with you.”

Rosie nodded eagerly, her breathing steadying. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“But that reminds me,” Hakan said, snapping his fingers. “We must draft this press release about your first appearance.”

“My appearance?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Wasn’t that just out there? When I left the limousine?”

Hakan shook his head, giving her that devilish smile again. “Actually, we’re planning a royal ball in the next few weeks—to introduce you properly to the public.” He held up his hands as Zak crawled around on the bed beside him. “I’m sorry. This is just kind of part of the game.”

Rosie swept her legs over the side of the bed and inhaled, exhaled. “Are you sure that’s necessary? A press release and everything?”

“Trust me, I’m a media guru,” he teased.

She nodded, grinning. “I will.”

Rosie lifted her arms toward her son, then. She hadn’t held him since the limo had arrived, and she missed his warmth, his easy breathing on her neck. She bounced him slightly in her arms. “I should probably feed him and put him to bed before dinner, actually. He’ll be grumpy by the time we sit down with our mothers.”

“I suppose these are the types of things I’ll learn as I get better at being a dad,” Hakan reasoned, winking at her. “Do you need any help?”

Rosie swept her eyes around the room, realizing, all at once, that while they’d been sleeping, her luggage had been brought up. “Wow. They’re really quite impressive,” she said, gesturing.

“Invisible aides,” Hakan agreed. “I’m never not impressed.”

She stepped lightly over to the luggage, still bouncing her baby. She’d packed several bottles of baby food on the inside, figuring it would be best to introduce Zak to his new Middle-Eastern diet slowly. First hummus, then lentils.

Hakan walked to the grand desk as she fiddled with the baby food, drawing out a piece of paper and a pen from the first drawer. “Shall we work on this press release, then, before dinner?”

Rosie nodded, wiping at her forehead before spooning the baby his first morsel. “I really can’t believe the reaction so far,” she murmured. “I was so worried about what they would think of me. And of Zak. I was so sure they wouldn’t approve of an American girl. And what about your allies—the ones from countries who really don’t trust America?”

Hakan looked at her for a moment, watching her technique as she fed the baby the green, squishy food. “You have to understand something, Rosie. When the news got out about you, a few people panicked.”

He sat heavily at the desk’s chair, bowing his head. “But these people who disapprove, they are a tiny group, all from another generation. Most people in my country love America. So much of our culture—movies, video games, fashions—comes from America. The vast majority of Zaymarians don’t harbor any resentments towards you; they are fascinated by you, even.”

“And what of the other people?” Rosie asked meekly. She hated to be disliked. She knew this came from her youthful years of morals, of Sunday School, of trying to please everyone. She’d never quite been able to shake it.

“Osman, my old chief of staff, who I’m sure you remember—”

Rosie’s face burned. She hated talking about him. He had hurt her for too long, and she still steamed with the memory of his face. She wanted him to make up for all the torment he had caused her. But she’d held her tongue regarding him, ever since she’d told Hakan the truth at the Edgewater.

“Osman wasn’t representative of the country,” Hakan continued. “He was representative of that very small group of people. And for that reason, I fired him.”

Rosie tried not to show any signs of emotion, but her heart was beating fast. She swallowed hard, feeling her Adam’s apple bobbing. “What will happen to him?”

“He’s banished. He’ll have enough money to keep him alive and well,” Hakan affirmed. “But I had to look at the facts. And the fact was that he had dismissed you and my son from my life. And I couldn’t forgive him for that.”

Rosie stayed silent, bobbing the green food into her son’s mouth.

“It’s for the best,” Hakan affirmed.

Silence fell between them as Zak ate. Rosie cleared her throat after a moment, trying to find a way to cover the sour taste in her mouth. “You know, I think working on that press release is a great idea.”

Hakan clapped his hands together and stood up, grabbing his pen and paper. “How shall we begin?” he asked, his voice confident again. Strong. Regal.

“People of Zaymari!” Rosie began, laughing at herself. She placed the empty jar of food down on the ground and bounced her baby, wiping his mouth clean.

“People of Earth,” Hakan corrected. “We’d like to announce the arrival—”

“Of a nurse and baby, both from Seattle, who for some reason, lucked into the royal quarters,” Rosie said, her eyes flashing.

She carried the baby to the window and gazed out, pushing the balcony door open for a better view of the tropical landscape. In the slight breeze off the water, the palm trees wavered left and right. Later, she thought, she would go on a long walk out there, hand in hand with the man who still made her mind unravel with nerves.

“Ah, but you’re wrong, Rosie,” Hakan said, laughing from behind her. “It is I, and all of Zaymari, who have lucked into you. Can you imagine who I would have had to marry, if you hadn’t come along in your cute-as-heck maid’s outfit and proven me wrong?”

Rosie giggled, gazing at her baby. He yanked at her red hair and she yanked it back, feeling the sting of it. “You were betrothed, is that what you’re telling me? Did I break something up?”

“Naw,” Hakan said. “But you should have seen the line of suitors. All of them beautiful. And all of them with exactly one eyebrow traced across their face.”

“Just the unibrow. It’s kind of like a shield from the sun,” Rosie said, laughing.

“Like sunglasses?”

“Exactly,” she said.

She tapped her finger between her own eyebrows, grateful that she’d plucked that final hair the previous day, before she’d boarded the plane. She remembered how stark that hair had looked in the sink on her last day in that apartment, the place in which she’d planned to raise her son alone.

“Now. I think I want to start the press release in a kind of specific way,” Hakan said.

“Well, you’re the media guru,” Rosie said, using his words. Outside, she could see a group of children near the water, splashing and creating castles in the sand.

“I am, which is why I present the following as the introduction,” Hakan said, clearing his throat. “Are you ready?”

Rosie rolled her eyes, giggling. “Sure. I’m ready when you are.”

“I think it should start, ’Citizens of Zaymari. Sheikh Hakan and his new fiancée would like to announce…’” He paused, allowing the air to fill with tension. “You know. Something like that.”

Rosie laughed. Fiancée? Her heart rallied in her chest, but she told herself to calm down. Of course, Hakan was joking.

She shook her head and cooed to her baby: “Did you hear what your daddy accidentally called me? Isn’t he acting silly?”

But then, all at once, she felt a presence behind her. “Hakan?” she whispered. Suddenly, she felt that she couldn’t get enough air. She blinked wildly and spun around, gazing down at the floor.

Hakan was kneeling before her on one knee, those dark eyes flashing with devilish charm. In his hands, he held a tiny box. And on the inside of that box, a stunning, antique ring shone brightly in the setting sunlight.

“Hakan…” Rosie whispered. She shook her head, biting her lip. She hadn’t expected this. She’d barely dared to dream about it.

But Hakan began speaking, then. “Rosie. Two years ago, something wonderful happened to us both. I nearly hit you with my car.”

Rosie rolled her eyes, suppressing laughter. She felt tears brimming in her eyes.

“And after that, we began a great journey to find one another again. And now I can’t imagine my life without you. You, me, and Zak—we couldn’t be more handsome together, could we? Will you marry me, Rosie?”

His smile was almost too much for her to bear. Through tears, she began nodding, wiping at her eyes. “Of course I want to marry you,” she cried. “I want to marry you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Hakan rose and wrapped his strong arms around the both of them, kissing her firmly on the mouth.

Rosie’s tears swept onto her cheeks, and then Hakan, too, was crying, opening his mouth and tracing his tongue over hers. Her passion for him riled high in her chest, and she clung to him and their baby, wondering how, in this great world, she could have gotten so lucky.

The End

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And now, as promised, read the first few chapters of my prior novel,
Hassan: The Bad Boy Sheikh’s Baby

ONE

“Another round for the pretty lady?”

Morgan glanced up from her Diet Coke and into the twinkling eyes of the bartender. He was trying to be funny, she knew, but she graced him with a small smile anyway.

“Why not?” she replied, taking one last pull from her straw and allowing the soda to slurp loudly against the ice in her glass before sliding it across the wooden bar.

The bartender snatched it up and went to pull the soda hose from the back, tipping the glass slightly to prevent too much fizz forming at the top. Morgan thanked him as he slid the full glass back to her with a wink, shaking her head with a bemused expression.

Men were idiots.

Morgan’s mind reeled back to a particularly rainy day, a few years back, when she had been pulled over by a cop, and her life had changed forever.

Cursing, she shielded her eyes from the blinding light glaring through her back window as she reached for her license and registration. She rolled down her window to find a pudgy man in a blue suit and lopsided hat glaring down at her.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, miss?” he asked.

Morgan quirked an eyebrow at him. “Because I was going five over the speed limit, sir?” She tried to keep her tone pleasant, but her annoyance leaked through anyway.

“Left tail light’s out,” he replied, reaching a hand out for her documents, which she duly handed over. “Not safe in this kind of weather.”

“It’s Houston. The rain will be over in five minutes,” she said, curt. She knew this behavior wasn’t going to save her from a ticket, but she wasn’t the type of person to cry just to get out of a violation. She liked to meet people straight on, with honesty. If they didn’t like it, that was their problem.

To her surprise, the cop chuckled. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?’ Morgan said. “What’s it like, being a cop?”

The officer hesitated, thinking for a moment before he replied. “Oh, it’s not so bad. On slow days we’re pulling people over for minor traffic violations, but there are times when we get to save people’s lives—make the community a better place. It’s nice to feel like you’re making a difference in the world, even when people don’t thank you all the time for it.”

Morgan thought about that for a moment.

The officer leaned in a little closer. “Are you thinking of joining?” he asked, and Morgan laughed.

“I don’t know what I’m thinking. I’ve got a job—I just hate it.”

“What are you, Army?”

“No, corporate. You know, the cube farm; small talk, meddling middle management. Not my bag at all.”

“Sounds like you need to get out of there. There’s a preliminary entrance exam coming up in a few weeks. You look like you’re in good shape—why don’t you come try out the physical exam and see if it’s something you want to do?”

“Maybe I will,” she replied, her gaze darting to the man’s paunch and wondering how he got into the force if you really did have to be in “good shape.”

With that, the cop handed back her license and registration. “On good faith,” he said simply. “Come to the exam, Miss Springfield. You strike me as a good fit for our force.”

Morgan had had some time to think about it, sitting in her cold, gray cubicle. What was she doing with her life?

On the afternoon of the physical exams, she ended up being one of only three women there to perform the series of tests to be considered for the police force, and she was the only one who passed. One long month later, and she was officially a member of the Houston Police Department.

At first it had been exciting. Morgan got to ride in police cars. She got to perform undercover detective work, following clues that led to bad guys being arrested. It wasn’t long, however, before she started to get frustrated.

“Morgan, stay in the car. I’ve got this!” was a phrase she quickly got tired of hearing. The men—always men—she worked with wanted to keep her safe. On one level, it was gentlemanly. On another, it was annoying and sexist as all hell. Did they think that she couldn’t handle taking down a three-hundred-pound meathead just because she was a woman? She did it during training sessions every single week. Yet somehow they always tried to leave her behind.

Then there was the red tape. So much red tape. Morgan could barely keep up with the bureaucracy of getting anything done. She watched in agony as criminals dodged jail time because there simply wasn’t enough evidence to convict them. She watched killers walked free because they were able to make a deal, or because their daddies were wealthy. Corruption was everywhere, but it didn’t mean that Morgan had to be a part of it.

It was a year ago when she’d finally reached breaking point. She was in hot pursuit of an assailant who had just stabbed a pregnant woman at a gas station. After leaving the woman in the care of the emergency services, Morgan had taken off after the guy. She sprinted down dark, winding alleys, the man just a few paces beyond her reach. She dodged as he launched trash cans in her path, leapt as he threw anything he could in her way, until she finally caught up with the guy, taking him down. They rolled along the ground, finally crashing right into Morgan’s partner, who was waiting at the end of the alleyway.

“Got him!” Brett, her entitled beefcake of a partner shouted. He pulled Morgan off of the guy and cuffed him, slamming him face-first into the waiting police car.

“Stop!” Morgan shouted, but Brett just slammed him into the car again.

“That’s enough!” Morgan yelled, using Brett’s strength against him to maneuver his arm behind his back.

He tugged away roughly, and Morgan let him go, checking on the runner as the man slumped to the ground.

“Oh what, now your motherly instincts are setting in?” Brett asked, his voice laced with condescension.

Morgan glared at him. “We’re not thugs, you asshole. We’re cops. Our job is to keep people safe, not beat them to death.”

“That man stabbed a pregnant woman, and you think he has rights?” Brett yelled.

Morgan heaved the man up and lifted him into the back of their cruiser.

Brett didn’t move, his arms crossed as he stood by, watching her do the grunt work.

“Thanks for the help,” Morgan grumbled, heading to the driver’s side of the car.

Brett put a hand on her arm, and she froze instantly. How dare he touch her?

“You think I don’t know what this whole thing is about?” he said bitterly. “You’re just a place holder, Morgan. Your job is to make the force look like they buy into all that feminist bullshit, but women will never be as strong as men—that’s just reality. So why don’t you get your perky little ass into the passenger seat, and I’ll get this asshole into a cell where he belongs.”

Morgan stood rooted to the spot, blood pounding in her temples. Everything in her body was screaming at her to show this muscly piece of garbage just what a woman could do. But what good would that be? For all that he was an ogre of a partner, they were still, unfortunately, on the same team.

“Well since you’re clearly the hero of the day, why don’t you take him in and do all the paperwork? Being a figurehead for womankind, clearly I don’t know how to use a computer, right?” Morgan said, turning on her heel before Brett could get a final say.

She heard him mumble, “Crazy bitch,” or something like that as she strode off into the night.

The next day she handed in her notice.

“Morgan, come on. We all know Brett’s a piece of work, but there’s no reason you should leave the force because of him,” Sergeant Brown said with a frown.

“Let me see last night’s report,” she said, her tone clipped.

Sergeant Brown glanced at his computer screen and clicked around, looking for the file. When he found it, he printed it off and handed the pages to her.

Morgan scanned the document quickly, reading the last part of the report out loud.

“Officer Brett Wilkerson chased down the assailant, apprehending him. Minor facial injuries were recorded on registration at the department. Bail was set at ten thousand dollars.”

Morgan glared at her boss. “It was me who chased that man down and cuffed him. And he was perfectly fine until Brett decided to slam him into the side of the car. All this before he belittled me and took full credit for the job himself.”

The Sergeant’s bushy, gray eyebrows rose at this. “These are very serious accusations, Morgan. You would need proof…”

“And the Houston Police Department stands by its decision not to place cameras on officers, right? So no, I don’t have any proof. But what I do have is my resignation. Thank you for the opportunity to serve, sir,” Morgan said, standing and holding out her hand.

Sergeant Brown sighed, and then rose and gave her a firm handshake. “I’m sorry to see you go, Officer. You’re a good cop who cares about the people she serves. What will you do now?”

Morgan grinned. “I’m going private.”

Starting the very next day, Morgan filed her personal business as a private detective, and set out getting clients she could help on her own. After a few years in the force she had made some good connections, and while it wasn’t exactly glamourous living, it wasn’t long before she was earning enough to pay for the roof over her head and put food on her table.

At least she
had
been able to. Recently, the work had started to dry up.

As she sat sipping her Diet Coke, Morgan took out her smartphone and checked her bank account, frowning at the number on the screen. The niggling thought that always poked at her during times like these reared its ugly head.

You could always go back to the force.

Morgan shook her head. She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t deal with the egos and the testosterone she was forced to babysit day in and day out. She didn’t want to go back to not getting credit and being held back and left behind. Still, if she didn’t land another job soon…

“Well, hello there,” a male voice said, and Morgan turned to her right to see a musclebound stranger had plopped himself down on the seat next to her.

“Hi,” she said, her voice dull. She looked back down at her soda, seemingly entranced by the bubbles. There was no need to encourage these bozos.

The man grinned. “Oh come on, now. Things can’t be all that bad. Why don’t you turn that pretty mouth upwards and give me a smile?”

“I don’t smile for men who demand it of me,” Morgan said, fighting down a grin as the man frowned in confusion; he was handsome enough that Morgan knew he wasn’t used to women turning him away.

His shoulders relaxed as he pushed down his annoyance and pressed on, determined. “Well, what if I ask politely?” he said, leaning in a little closer.

Morgan could smell hot whiskey on his breath, mixed with heavy cologne. She was a firm believer that men who wore that much cologne were compensating for something.

She kept her face neutral, not wanting him to think that any grin on her part had anything to do with him.

“The answer is still ‘no’. I don’t cater to whiskey-soaked fools.”

“I am no fool, darling. You want a taste, don’t you?” he said, reaching over and wrapping a sweaty palm around her buttocks.

That was the last straw.

Before the asshole could blink, Morgan seized his arm and wrapped it painfully behind his back, flipping him to the floor.

“What the hell?!” the man shouted, his voice muffled by the sticky floor of the bar.