The Desert Sheikh's Defiant Queen: The Sheikh's Chosen Queen / The Desert King's Pregnant Bride

So that was that, she thought. There’d be no holiday this summer. Instead she was going back to work.

Tired tears started to come, but she squeezed her eyes closed, forced them away, refusing to feel sorry for herself. She’d done the right thing. She knew she had. How could she possibly have gone on holiday when Aaron would have faced horrible fines and stiff charges? Better to miss some beaches and skiing and live with a clear conscience.

“You must be hungry,” Sharif said, his voice deep in the car’s dark interior. “It’s nearing eleven, and I can’t imagine you’ve eaten since noon.”

“No, but I haven’t been hungry. Too many emotions,” she answered, sinking back deeper against the impossibly soft leather seat. She was tired and thirsty and virtually numb from the roller-coaster day.

When she’d woken up this morning she’d thought she would be flying to Brisbane tonight. Instead the plane had taken off without her and she was facing the prospect of a long summer in Sarq.

The thought alone sent prickles of fresh panic up and down her spine.

How could she do this? How could she spend ten weeks with Sharif and his family? The fact that he was widowed changed nothing for her.

“I know nothing about this job I’ve accepted,” she said. “You’ll have to tell me about your children. How many … then-names, their ages, as well as your objectives.”

“I will,” he answered. “But first things first, and that’s a proper dinner, because I know you—you need to eat. You always skimp meals to get things done, but in the end, it backfires. You just end up irritable.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. And you are already. You should see your face. You’re famished and exhausted.”

She bit back her immediate retort. It wouldn’t help to get into a hissing contest with Sharif. The fact was, they were going to spend a considerable amount of time together. Better to try to get along with him than become adversaries. “So, distract me from my hunger. Tell me something about your family. How many children will I be teaching?”

“Three.”

“Boys and girls, all boys …?”

“All girls.” His expression never outwardly changed, but Jesslyn sensed tension and didn’t know why or what it was.

“They’re bilingual?” she asked, knowing her Arabic would get her by on market day but wouldn’t be considered proper Arabic by any stretch of the imagination.

“Yes, but you’ll discover all that tomorrow when we head home.”

Home. His home. Sarq. A country she’d visited only once, and very briefly, to attend Aman’s funeral. She’d flown in and out the same day, and in her grief, she remembered nothing but the heat. It was summer after all and hot, so very very hot.

But they weren’t in Sarq yet. No, they were heading for the glossy and busy city-state of Dubai.

A 200-year-old city, once populated by pirates and smugglers, today Dubai was a cosmopolitan melting pot, teeming with more foreigners than locals. The city had blossomed overnight with the discovery of oil and now had so much money that the powers that be kept coming up with the most interesting ways to put it all back into the country and boost tourism. Jesslyn hadn’t quite gotten used to the idea of manmade islands shaped like the world, or the snow ski facility in the desert. There were already plans underway for a huge theme park called Dubailand, along the lines of Disneyland and even an underwater hotel.

Dubai Creek ran through the middle of the city-state with the business district Deira to the east, and Bur Dubai, the commercial and historic district, to the west.

But the driver wasn’t going to Deira or Bur Dubai, he was destined for Jumeriah Beach, the playland for the rich, royal and beautiful.

Despite living in the Emirates for six years Jesslyn had spent very little time at Jumeriah Beach’s posh waterfront resorts. For one, you couldn’t even get into some of the hotels unless you were a hotel guest, and “treating” oneself to a night at the Burj Al Arab, reportedly the most luxurious hotel in the world, wasn’t in the budget, not when rooms started at $1,280. But obviously that wasn’t a problem for a man with Sharif’s wealth.

“We’re eating here?” she asked Sharif as the car turned into the hotel’s private drive.

“And staying here. I’ve my own suite reserved for my exclusive use.”

“That’s nice.”

He merely smiled at her, the smile of a king who’d become used to having his way.

As they stepped from the car, Jesslyn felt as if she’d entered a production of Arabian Nights: gilded doors magically opened, overhead lights dimmed, lush green fronds parted.

The uniformed staff scrambled to assist Sharif, and while Jesslyn knew hotel staff were exceptionally attentive in Dubai, she personally found the attention overwhelming. There were too many people, too much bowing, too much of everything.

“You’ll have your own suite,” Sharif said. “And the hotel manager has promised to see you there and make sure you’ve everything you need.”

Jesslyn glanced around. “My luggage—”

The hotel manager nodded. “It’s already there, ma’am.”

While Sharif took one elevator, she took another, escorted by the hotel manager and a young woman in a fashionable robe and veil. The hotel manager described the hotel, explained where everything was, including the numerous restaurants and lounges. “You’ll have your own butler,” he added, gesturing to the veiled young woman, “and anything you should need will be taken care of. Also, you will be dining with His Highness in thirty minutes. Meena will escort you to the restaurant where you’ll be joining Sheikh Fehr.”

Jesslyn barely had time for a quick bath, a change into a simple black skirt topped by a soft silk pearl-gray blouse and a quick brush of her hair before it was time to go.

She followed the robed woman back to the elevator where they went to a lower level, transferred to a different elevator, which went straight to the restaurant at the very top of the luxurious hotel.

Jesslyn had to skirt a group of robed men who were in animated discussion. She caught bits and pieces of the conversation—impossible not to as they were talking quite loudly—and discovered their conversation had to do with Sheikh Fehr. Apparently two or more of the men had daughters and each father was quite adamant that it was his daughter who would be marrying King Fehr next September.

Jesslyn froze and stiffened as though she’d just been doused with a bucket of ice water.

Was Sharif getting married again? Were plans in the works for another Dubai princess?

Her head practically throbbed. Jesslyn put a hand to her temple, closed her eyes, wondering all over again just what kind of personal hell she’d agreed to. Tragically, she had no one else to blame for her situation. She’d agreed to this scenario. Had offered herself up.

Her ridiculous morals and values. Her ridiculous Joan of Arc complex!

One day she’d wise up. One day she’d put herself first, protect herself first.

“Headache?” a deep voice murmured at her elbow. Lifting her head, Jesslyn looked up into Sharif’s face.

The lashes fringing his silver eyes were thick and black. Strong cheekbones jutted above an equally strong jaw.

“Terrible,” she admitted, but unwilling to tell him that he was the source of her tension.

“Food will help and they have our table waiting.”

Sharif signaled to the maître d’ that they were ready, and immediately the host showed them to a prime window table with a view of the entire city where skyscrapers glittered in every direction.

Sharif ordered several appetizers to be brought right away as well as platters for dinner. “Eat,” Sharif said when the first of the appetizers arrived, pushing the small plates of seasoned meat, fish and assorted flat breads toward her. “You’ll feel better.”

But eating in front of Sharif was almost impossible. Even though the dishes were superbly prepared, chewing and swallowing required a Herculean effort, and after a few more bites of food Jesslyn gave up.

Sharif had watched her attempt to eat and now observed her pushing her food around her plate. “Have you developed one of those eating disorders? You never had a problem with food before.”

Jesslyn was grateful to drop the pretense. “It’s been a long day and a hard day. I thought I’d be on a plane right now and instead …” Her voice drifted off and, looking across the table at Sharif, she gave her head a slight, bemused shake. “It’s hard to take in, hard to accept.”