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

It wasn’t just the king’s matter-of-fact description of the two potential brides that made her want to giggle—it was the look of long-suffering on Qadir’s face.

Apparently being a prince had more than its share of stresses.

When she was sure she could control herself, she eased back, pausing only to look at the two young women hovering just out of earshot. They were pretty, she thought humorously, and hey, known breeders. When one had to worry about the continuation of the royal line, that was probably important.

She was about to turn away when Qadir glanced at her. “You’re not leaving.” It sounded a whole lot more like a command than a question.

“Um, surely you want to dance with one of the duke’s nieces,” she murmured. “Sabrina is especially lovely.”

“Exactly,” the king said, smiling at her. “That’s what I thought.”

Qadir stepped closer to her and spoke quietly. “You have no idea which one is Sabrina.”

“They’re both very pretty. And reasonably intelligent. What more could you ask for?”

He started to say something else, but his father pulled him away.

Maggie took another step back as she watched the introductions. She was willing to admit to a slight twinge of envy, but this was for the best. Better to remember who Qadir was and where he was going than to allow a single dance to mess with her head.

Still, it had been a very nice dance, she thought wistfully. It had reminded her she was still alive and capable of tingles. Which probably meant she was nearly over Jon. A good thing, if a little sad.

She watched as Qadir spoke with both women, then led one off to dance.

“Good luck,” she murmured. “It’s not going to work.”

Unfortunately as she spoke, the music faded and one of the sisters—Natalie, she would guess—flounced away.

“What is not going to work?” the king asked Maggie.

“I, ah—” She looked around frantically for a way to escape. “Ah, nothing.”

“It is not nothing. It is important that all my sons marry. As they seem to be in no hurry to find a bride on their own, I am forced to interfere.”

Maggie remembered what Victoria had said about the beheading and hoped the other woman had been kidding.

“You can’t lead a woman to him like that,” she said cautiously. “Not that your choices aren’t lovely, lovely young women.”

The king glared at her. “I assume you have a reason for saying that.”

“Because men like the chase.” Jon had told her all about it several times. They’d laughed about his friends and their disastrous love lives, secure in the comfort of their own relationship. “Did you see the movie Jurassic Park?”

“No.”

“You should rent it. Or have it delivered or something. Men are like the T-Rex. They don’t want their next meal handed to them. They want to hunt it down. By meal I mean—”

“Women. Yes, I understand the analogy.” He looked out at the couples dancing then turned back to her. “You’re sure of this?”

“Sort of.” At the moment she wasn’t sure of anything except she really wanted to be done talking to the king.

“Who is he hunting now? You?”

“What? No. No. Not at all. I work for him.”

The king frowned. “Doing what?”

“Restoring a car.” She held out her hands to show him the scars and calluses. “See? I’m not anyone. Really.”

“For not anyone, you’re very free with your opinions. Come with me.”

He started walking without once glancing back to see if she was keeping up with him. Maggie entertained a brief thought at ducking away, then she reminded herself she lived at the palace. Total escape was impossible and she really did want to keep her job.

The king stopped and motioned her forward.

“Do you know any of these people?” he asked.

She looked at the unfamiliar faces, then shook her head.

What followed was a rapid set of introductions to people she’d only read about in the newspaper, including two American senators, a impossibly thin starlet and the Russian ambassador to El Deharia.

Maggie murmured greetings and tried to ignore the fact that she was barefoot. Thank God her gown trailed onto the floor and no one could see. Still, she couldn’t help covering one foot with the other, as if to hide the truth.

Conversation flowed for a few minutes, ranging from a recent Grand Prix time trial to the continuing rise in oil prices. Maggie kept her mouth firmly closed and wished for someone to rescue her. Unfortunately she was on her own.

Then the Russian ambassador, a handsome older man, smiled at her. “May I have this dance, Miss Collins?”

Everyone looked at her. Maggie did her best not to blush. “Thank you, sir. It would be a pleasure.”

At least she hoped it would be. If he danced as well as Qadir, she wouldn’t have a problem.

He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. The music began and they were moving together. It wasn’t as easy as it had been with Qadir, and not nearly as exciting, but she didn’t step on him or stumble.

“You are friends with the king?” he asked.

“We’ve just met.”

“So you are not his mistress?”

Maggie did stumble over that. She steadied herself. “No.” The next word should have been ick but that wasn’t appropriate. “I work here, at the palace, Mr. Ambassador.”

“I see. You may call me Vlad.”

Did she have to?

“I am a powerful man, Maggie. We could be good for each other.”

Her shock must have showed because he chuckled. “You are surprised by my honesty?”

Not exactly, she thought. Was it just her or was the whole thing really tacky?