A Surprise For The Sheikh

Rafe blinked at her, trying to comprehend the words. Had she just said—pregnant? “Mine?”

She looked much like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey, all coiled energy and focus. “Of course it’s yours. I realize we don’t know very much about each other but I don’t normally pick up men. That was a one time thing. You’re the only man I’ve been with in the last year and you were supposed to use condoms!” She hissed the word but quietly. It was for his ears and his ears alone.

Before he could come up with something reasonable to say—something reasonable to think, even—Mac strode back into the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses. “Lemonade?”

Two (#ulink_eb54bd57-0cef-5029-950c-8b1911abfc0e)

Rafe just...sat there. For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even blink when Mac walked back into the room. Violet’s whole world was falling apart around her and Rafe looked as though she’d announced she liked French fries instead of the fact that she was carrying his child.

She couldn’t take it. She needed to go. If she could make it back to a bathroom, where she could throw up in peace and quiet, that’d be great.

“Actually,” she said, forcing herself to stand. “I’m not thirsty. Thanks anyway, Mac.”

The father of her unborn baby was not just some nameless stranger she’d met in a bar. Oh, no—that would be getting off easy. If that were the case, she’d merely be pregnant and alone. Which was a terrifying prospect, but comparatively?

The father of her child was a sheikh. And not just any sheikh. Her brother’s former friend, the one who had blamed Mac for seducing his sister and ended the friendship under no uncertain terms.

Oh, she was going to be so sick.

She willed her legs not to wobble as she stood. Ben or Rafe or Sheikh Saleed or whatever his name was stood with her.

In the past thirty-some-odd minutes, her perfect fantasy night had somehow become an epic nightmare. Had she been dreading telling Mac she was pregnant before? Ha. How the hell was she supposed to tell him now? I’m expecting and by the way, the father is your old friend. Isn’t that a laugh riot?

Mac already treated her as though she was still a lost little girl of sixteen. What would he do now that she’d proven how very irresponsible she was?

Oh, God—this was going to change everything. It already had.

She turned and headed for the door, but due to her wobbly legs, she didn’t get out of the room fast enough. “Violet,” Rafe said in his ridiculous voice, all sunshine and honey, and damned if the sound of her name on his lips didn’t send another burst of warmth and desire through her. Her head may have been a mess, but her body—her stupid, traitorous body—still wanted this man. Hell.

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let his accent melt her from the inside out, because what had happened the last time? She’d ended up pregnant and unmarried. Violet did not often think of her parents—the loss was too painful, even after all these years—but right now, what she wanted more than anything was her mother.

“What?”

Mac winced and Violet could almost hear him adding, Said Violet, impulsively.

“I would like to know more about Royal and catch up with my old friends.” Something about the way Rafe said friends hit Violet wrong, but before she could figure out what it was, he went on, “Would you both join me for dinner tomorrow night?”

What had she done to deserve this? Because the torture of sitting through dinner with both her brother and her former lover at this exact moment of her life and pretending that nothing had changed was right up there with being stepped on by a herd of stampeding cattle.

“Well, damn,” Mac said. “I’m going to be out of town. But Violet can go with you.”

That was just like Mac, to assume that she spent all her free time painting her nails and listening to Backstreet Boys. She rolled her eyes at Rafe, which must not have been something people in his country did, given the way the color on his cheeks deepened.

Still, Rafe forged on, by all appearances completely unbothered by her impulsiveness or her pregnancy—except for that blush, which only made him look more sinfully handsome. Damn the man.

“Ah, that is acceptable. That way I can keep an eye on you.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “Shall we meet tomorrow, say at seven?”

And Mac, the rat bastard, nodded his approval, as if they were having this entire conversation about her without remembering she was in the room.

She was totally going to blame this on hormones, this mix of rage and self-pity and the sudden urge to cry, all folded in together with desire and relief until she was so mixed up she couldn’t think straight.

But had Mac already asked this man to keep an eye on her? Violet so did not need a babysitter at this point. In six months or so, yes, she would need a babysitter. But before she had an actual baby, she did not. “I don’t—”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Mac said warmly, as if Violet were incapable of having dinner on her own without getting into some sort of trouble. “I have a meeting with Andrea scheduled that I can’t get out of—Andrea’s my assistant,” he added, seeing Rafe’s quizzical look. “But you two can go on and have a nice time.”

A nice time? Oh, she had some things she wanted to say to her brother—about Rafe—but the fact was, she did actually need to talk with Rafe. Alone. “Yeah,” she said, trying to sound at least a little bit excited about the prospect. Four months ago, another evening with her mystery man, Ben, would have been too good to be true. But now? “Sure. Dinner.”

Rafe gave her a small smile that absolutely did not appease her. She hated him right then, because her entire world had just blown up in her face and the father of her child stood there looking as sexy as he had the night he’d taken her to bed. This pregnancy was going to change everything for her—but for him?

Yeah, they needed to talk. Preferably where no one would interrupt them to offer lemonade. “Tomorrow, then,” Rafe said.

“Sounds good.” Mac was staring at her, so she dug deep for something polite to say. “I look forward to it.”

Rafe tilted his head down but kept his gaze locked on hers. “As do I.”

“Say, Rafe, in two nights, I’ll be at the Texas Cattleman’s Club—we’ve got a meeting. If you’re interested in setting down some roots locally, you could come with me.”

Violet started choking. Somehow, the air had gotten very sharp in her throat. She couldn’t have heard that right—could she have? “What?”

Rafe inclined his head at Mac, but he spoke to Violet. “I have been considering branching out into the energy business, so naturally I sought out my old friend.”

“Oh, naturally. That makes total sense.” She tried to smile, but it must have looked more like teeth baring, because both men recoiled slightly.

Something didn’t add up here. But her head was such a hot mess right now that she had no hope of figuring out what it was.

“I shall see you for dinner tomorrow night,” Rafe said, and she didn’t miss the particular timbre of his voice that seemed designed to send a thrill through her body. Then he turned, giving Mac a big smile that seemed less than sincere, Violet thought. “And I would be delighted to see this club of yours.”

“Great,” Mac said, clearly missing the forced smile. “It’s a plan!”

* * *

Morning sickness was a lie. This was what Violet had concluded after a night and a day of suffering with a roiling stomach.

Of course, there was also the possibility that it was not morning sickness. A quick web search revealed that most people were only sick for the first three months, and Violet was safely in her fourth month. After all, she knew the exact date of conception.

Just thinking about that night in Ben’s—Rafe’s—arms again made her stomach turn. Frankly, she defied anyone to not have an upset stomach in a situation like this.

She stood in front of her meager closet in nothing but her panties and bra—her regular bra, not the black-with-white-embroidery number she’d been wearing when she met Rafe. This was a smooth white T-shirt bra. Not a danged thing sexy about it.

Because that’s who she was—functional and dull and not terribly sexy. If Rafe thought she was going to show up for dinner tonight as V again, he had another think coming.

Besides, her one fancy cocktail dress—black with the lacy sleeves—well, it didn’t exactly fit right now. She’d already tried it on and she couldn’t get it zipped.

All those little changes her body had been experiencing—the slight weight gain, the nausea, the overwhelming urge to nap—she’d written off each and every little bump in the road as exhaustion or a bug or the changing of the seasons or stress or, hell, the phases of the moon. But now?

Not a bump in the road. A baby bump.

She had a plan. She had an appointment with an obstetrician in Holloway in two weeks. It was ridiculous that she felt she had to go to the next town over, but she hadn’t exactly decided just yet on how she was going to tell Mac about this “bump in the road.” She kind of had it in her mind that once she had a doctor’s official...whatever, it would be easier to talk to Mac. But if she went to the local doctor in Royal, word might get back to Mac before she could gird her loins. So she was just buying a little time here.