Expecting the Sheikh's Baby

Karen sat in the only home she had known, deep in the heart of Montana, while too many unanswered questions haunted her as keenly as her memories. Had her father known about the journal Karen had found among her grandmother’s belongings? Had he learned of the deception before his untimely death? Had he known that he had been born to a wealthy Massachusetts family only to be kidnapped by the woman he had always considered his mother, and that his name was not Timothy Rawlins but Luke Barone?

Karen tossed the newspaper aside knowing she would never have all the answers she craved. Everyone who could fill in the blanks was gone. Her grandparents had died only months apart two years before in peaceful slumber, and her parents had been killed in a devastating car crash a year ago.

Dealing with the overwhelming loss and this new insight into her family tree might have been easier if Karen hadn’t ended her engagement to Carl. But that had been a blessing. She preferred to live her life alone as long as she could live her life as she wanted. That had not been Carl’s intent. Carl’s intent had involved control. He’d wanted a wife who would hang her life on his whims, not a woman with dreams and opinions and career goals. She refused to mourn that ending.

Karen wrapped her hands around a mug of coffee, trying to absorb some warmth, though the July weather outside was warm and wonderful. Still she felt chilled to the marrow, even in the comfortable kitchen that smelled of cinnamon and radiated kindness, an ideal depiction of home and hearth. She also felt utterly alone.

Needless to say, it had not been a banner year for Karen Rawlins. It then occurred to her that she had no reason to stay in Silver Valley. The single-stoplight town had nothing to offer but bittersweet recollections and the realization that much of what she’d believed about her family, her legacy, was false—except for the fact that her parents and grandparents had loved her without reservation.

Perhaps Boston held more opportunities. Exciting opportunities. A place to regroup and grow. Karen decided then and there to seek out the Barones, to tell Paul what details she knew about his missing brother with the hope that the family would welcome her with open arms and open minds. She would find a good job and maybe one day establish her own interior design business. She would make a good life for herself. A new life. And in order to fill the empty space in her soul, Karen would attempt to have a child, someone to love her without conditions.

No, it had not been a banner year for Karen Rawlins, but it could be—would be—from this point forward. She would simply have to make it happen, and she would achieve all of her goals without the interference of a man.

One

Oh, heck, not him again.

From behind the marble counter of the Barone family’s famed Baronessa Gelateria, Karen Rawlins knocked her elbow on the edge of the cash register and stifled a yelp that would surely drown out the rendition of “Santa Lucia” filtering from the overhead speakers. She also bit back a litany of mild curses directed at the lone man seated in the corner booth next to the windows. A man who stood out like a searchlight among the Barone family Italian ice-cream shop’s simple, traditional decor.

Karen prided herself on having a designer’s eye and this particular male was designed to perfection. His exotic good looks presented the perfect portrait of the consummate dark, mysterious stranger.

But Sheikh Ashraf Saalem was no stranger to Karen. She’d met him last month during the welcoming party given in her honor by the Barones. Yes, he had been somewhat charming, maybe even slightly charismatic—okay, more than slightly—but much too confident for Karen’s comfort. As far as she was concerned, overt confidence denoted control. She didn’t care for controlling men, even if they could give a woman the shakes with only a sultry look, and he’d given her plenty of those the last time she’d been in his company. She also hadn’t been able to forget what else he had given her that night.

A kiss.

An earth-tilting, knock-me-over, make-me-tremble kiss. A kiss she hadn’t been able to ignore.

But she had to ignore it, ignore him, especially now. Ignore his occasional glances, his eyes as dark as Baronessa’s popular espresso. Not an easy task even though he had exchanged his traditional Arabian clothing for professional corporate attire—a beige silk suit and a turtleneck pullover as black as his silky thick hair. He looked like any businessman taking a break from the fast-paced corporate world of finance, yet he still exuded an authoritative aura. But he wasn’t just any man, a fact that had become all too apparent from the moment Karen had met him—and kissed him.

After one more furtive glance, Karen went back to straightening the sundae bowls lined up beneath the counter. She had a job to do, a nice job working in the gelateria alongside her wonderful cousin, Maria. Almost a month ago, she’d been lovingly welcomed by her new family, had accepted the assistant manager position and in turn gained a whole slew of relatives as well as a nice apartment that had once belonged to her other cousin Gina. Now that her life was back on track, she certainly didn’t have the time or desire to be distracted by a man, even if he happened to be a charismatic prince.

As if her will had left the building without her, Karen stole another quick glance. How could she possibly overlook his presence since the shop was practically deserted? No surprise the place was empty considering the post-lunch hour and that the earlier September deluge had now ended. Those who had taken refuge from the elements had made their way back into the Boston streets to resume their midafternoon activities.

Everyone except the sheikh. He was the only patron aside from another couple sequestered in the opposing corner booth, holding hands and talking in whispers while their gelato turned to fruity soup. What a waste of good ice cream, Karen thought. What a display of ridiculous sentimentality.

Karen mentally scolded herself for her cynical attitude. Who could say this particular couple wouldn’t find forever happiness? Just because she had decided she wouldn’t drape her dreams on a life partner didn’t mean others couldn’t find that proverbial soul mate.

“I see you have a visitor.”

Karen’s gaze snapped from the love duo to Maria’s subtle smile and mischievous wide brown eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d come in?” She honestly hadn’t meant to sound so irritable, but watching the young couple moon over each other had prompted Karen’s less-than-jovial mood. So had Ashraf ibn-Saalem’s surprise appearance.

“You were down in the basement when he arrived,” Maria said. “And I didn’t realize you would be so interested.”

“I’m not.” Karen slapped a rag across a counter that didn’t need cleaning, working it over with a vengeance. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s just another customer having his coffee.”

Maria moved to Karen’s side and sent a not-so-discreet glance in the sheikh’s direction. “My guess is he didn’t come in here to escape the rain or to have coffee or gelato.” She leaned closer to Karen and said in a whisper, “Considering the look he keeps giving you, I do believe he could be here for a different kind of dessert, if you know what I mean.”

Karen knew exactly what Maria had meant, and she wasn’t about to be the sheikh’s sweet, now or ever. Turning her back to the dining room, she leaned against the counter and shot a quick glance over her shoulder. “He’s not giving me any kind of look. He’s reading the newspaper.”

“He’s pretending to read the paper, but he’s much more intrigued by you.”

Karen pushed up the sleeves on her white blouse and checked her watch, more out of nervousness than real interest in the time, although she did have an impending appointment. A very important appointment. “Doesn’t he have a job?”

“Oh, yes. He’s very successful, or so Daniel tells me. Some sort of independent financial consultant. He travels all over the world.”

Daniel, another cousin, was the son of Karen’s father’s twin brother, Paul, and the reason why the sheikh had attended the welcome party. “That sounds fairly suspect to me.”

Maria propped her elbows on the counter and rested her cheeks on her palms. “Job or no job, he’s wealthy. And royalty.” She suddenly came to attention. “And he’s heading this way.”

Karen froze, as if adhered to the counter at her back by the icy apprehension traveling up and down her spine.

“May we help you, Sheikh Saalem?”

Staring straight ahead, Karen heard the creak of the counter stool yet still couldn’t force herself to turn around.

“It would help me greatly if you would call me Ash. In America, I prefer to dispose of the title, at least among friends. And I do consider the Barones to be my friends.”

“Of course,” Maria said. “Any friend of Daniel’s is certainly a friend of ours. Right, Karen?”

Karen flinched at the sudden jab of Maria’s elbow in her side. Realizing she had no room to run, she finally turned to face the sheikh. “Yes. Friends. Of course.”

As far as grins went, Karen would qualify Ash Saalem’s as awe-inspiring. Why did he have to be so annoyingly gorgeous?

“You’re looking well today, Ms. Rawlins,” he said in a voice as smooth and liquid as quicksilver.

He kept his eyes fixed on hers and Karen wanted to look away but decided to stand her ground. “Thank you.”

“Are you enjoying your work here, Karen?”

Karen couldn’t believe he had the audacity to call her by her first name. She couldn’t believe her pulse had the nerve to quicken over hearing him say it. Of course, he’d been bold enough to kiss her that night, so why not dispense with all formality? “As a matter of fact, I love working here. Very much.” She forced an overly sweet smile, yet her lips felt stiff with the effort. “Speaking of work, can I get you anything else?”

He leaned forward, bringing with him a trace of rich cologne and blatant self-assurance. “What do you have in mind?”

Oh, no you don’t. Karen was in no mood for playing the innuendo game. “Maybe some gelato. It’s very refreshing. Helps to cool one off.” Ice cream was the only thing she planned to offer him today, or any day for that matter.

“What if I asked for some of your time? Perhaps dinner once you are through with your duties?”

“I really don’t think—”

“Miss, I need some service over here.”

Karen glanced at the end of the counter where a middle-aged businessman sporting a cheap suit and an edgy expression waited impatiently. She visually searched the area for Maria, who had conveniently disappeared.

“Excuse me,” Karen said to the sheikh and headed to the customer. She took a pencil from the pocket of her apron along with the order pad. “What can I get for you, sir?”

The man’s expression was pickle-sour. “A cup of coffee.”

“Espresso, cappuccino or maybe—”