Claimed by the Desert Sheikh: The Sheikh and the Pregnant Bride / Desert King, Pregnant Mistress / Desert Prince, Expectant Mother

“And a pony.”

She laughed. “Of course. Every royal child deserves a pony. I had to make do with a stuffed one. It was one of the few girly toys I liked. I was more into doing things with my dad than hanging out with the other little girls in the neighborhood. I hated playing dolls. I wasn’t very popular.”

“Until the boys got old enough to appreciate you.”

He was being kind, or assuming something that wasn’t true. Either way, she didn’t know how to respond. That combined with a particularly stubborn screw caused her to slip and jam the screwdriver into the side of her hand.

“Ouch,” she yelped and set down the screwdriver. Blood welled up.

Qadir was at her side in an instant, taking her hand in his. “What have you done?”

His touch was warm and sure. “Ah, nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Still holding her hand, he led her to the small bathroom and turned on the water. “Is it serious? Will you need stitches?”

Stitches? Just the thought of a needle piercing her flesh was enough to make her woozy. “Not if I haven’t cut anything off.”

She pulled free of his touch and shoved her hand under the water. The wound stung, but wasn’t too bad. She managed to rub on some soap without screaming too loudly, then held still as he applied a bandage he’d found in the medicine cabinet. He was surprisingly competent at the task.

When he’d finished, he took her hand again and examined it. “I think you will survive.”

“Good to know.” Even not thinking about the needle, she felt a little lightheaded. How strange.

Maybe it was the bathroom itself. The space was pretty tight and Qadir took up a lot of room. But even all that didn’t explain the sudden thumping of her heart or the way she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

She was aware of the flecks of gold in his dark eyes and couldn’t stop staring at the shape of his mouth which was, by the way, a very nice mouth. They were close enough for her to inhale the crisp, clean, masculine scent of him.

He smiled at her. “You will be more careful next time?”

She nodded without speaking.

“Excellent. I must return to my office.”

He released her hand and walked away. Maggie stayed where she was, her body oddly tense, her fingers tingling despite the pain from the cut.

What had just happened? She couldn’t seem to focus and the few thoughts that did pop into her brain seemed unrelated to anything. The tiny puncture wound couldn’t be responsible and there was no way she’d lost a significant amount of blood. It was the weirdest thing.

She looked toward the garage to where Qadir had stood only moments before. This couldn’t be about him, could it? She wasn’t attracted to her boss. It was a recipe for disaster. She knew better. And even if she didn’t, she was still mourning the fact that she and Jon weren’t together. She wasn’t interested in anyone else. She couldn’t be.

Maggie stared at the rack of elegant, sophisticated, expensive gowns and felt as if she’d stepped into a movie star’s dressing room.

“I thought they’d be like prom dresses,” she admitted. “These are real gowns.”

“I know,” Victoria said with a sigh. “They’re beautiful.”

“I can’t afford them.”

“Neither can I. Fortunately we get a discount.”

Unless it was an ninety-five percent discount, there was no way Maggie could buy one of these dresses. She needed the money to buy back her father’s business. She couldn’t waste a few thousand dollars on a dress she would wear once.

“Still,” she murmured, not sure how to explain to her friend that there was no way this was happening.

Victoria patted her arm. “You have to trust me. I don’t want to endanger my IRA any more than you do. These are to give us ideas only. Then we’re heading into the back.”

“What’s in the back?”

Victoria laughed. “I can see you’re not going to trust me. Come on. I’ll show you.”

They walked through the elegant boutique with the plush carpeting and soothing music. At the rear of the store, they stepped past heavy curtains and found themselves in a plain corridor. Victoria walked purposefully toward a simple door. She pushed it open and then moved to the side.

“Prepare to be amazed,” she said.

Maggie stepped inside. There were dozens of racks, all crammed with beautiful clothes. Pantsuits and dresses, blouses, skirts.

“I don’t get it. Why are these here?” she asked.

“Consignment,” Victoria told her in a low, amused voice. “The very rich and elegant bring their barely worn clothes here where hardworking young women can buy them for pennies on the dollar. How do you think I can afford to dress like I do? I get a four-hundred-dollar blouse for all of fifty dollars. You can find anything here and the quality is amazing. I love this place. Seriously, the evening wear is discounted the most because so few people have any interest in it. The stuff is practically free.”

That was a discount Maggie could get behind. “They really have ball gowns here?”

“They have everything. Because I’m short and chubby, I’ll be buying used. You, on the other hand, are tall and willowy so you can probably squeeze your tiny butt into a sample. Not that I’m bitter.”

Maggie grinned. “Willowy is a nice way to say flat chested.”

Victoria wove through the dozens of racks until she found one with her name on it. She quickly sorted through the dresses and handed Maggie six.

“Now we try them on,” Victoria said.

Maggie took them into the large dressing room on the left while her friend took the one on the right. As she pulled off her jeans and her T-shirt, she had trouble believing she was really trying on dresses for an actual ball. Three weeks ago, she’d been attempting to sort out her life in Aspen. How could so much have changed so quickly?

Unable to find the answer, she pulled on the first dress. It was peach, with a fitted bodice and a tiered skirt that fell in waves of shimmering fabric. Victoria ripped back the curtain and sucked in her breath.

“I knew you’d look fabulous. That dress is amazing.”

“It’s unusual,” Maggie said, facing her reflection. She had to admit that the color was good for her, but she wasn’t sure about the fluffy skirt.

“It’s couture, honey, and when it looks that good, you say a little prayer. I, of course, am hanging out everywhere and will have to pay to get this sucker hemmed.”

Victoria’s dress was black, strapless and fit her like it had been painted on. Maggie did her best not to be bitter about the curves spilling over the top. But hemming would be required. At least six inches of fabric bunched on the floor.

“Nadim won’t be able to resist you,” she said honestly.

“Aren’t you sweet? He’s managed to resist me very well so far, but I’m not going to think about that. Instead I’m going to talk you into that dress. You’ll be dazzling. I know you’re not interested in Qadir, but there will be plenty of handsome, successful men at the ball. You can dazzle them instead.”

For a second Maggie wondered if Jon would be dazzled. Then she reminded herself she wasn’t going to think about him anymore. Not that way.