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

She eyed the store. She didn’t want to go in, but then she didn’t want to go to any store. “Okay, but they offer a palace discount. Make sure you use it.”

He was still laughing when they walked inside.

Last time she’d been here, she and Victoria had moved through the large boutique without being acknowledged by a single assistant. Now it seemed as if every employee descended.

“Prince Qadir, you are here. How lovely to see you.”

“Prince Qadir, as always you brighten our day.”

“How may we help you?”

“What can I show you?”

Maggie slipped behind him for protection.

Then a tall, elegant woman of indeterminate age glided toward him.

“Prince Qadir,” she said in a low, cultured voice. “You honor us with your presence.”

“Thank you, Ava.” He turned to Maggie. “This is Ava. She owns the store. She’ll be helping us today.”

Ava smiled at Maggie and took her hand. “Welcome, my dear.”

Maggie wanted to slink away. Ava was one of those perfect women who looked like she would never wear anything that didn’t match or had a stain or was sensible.

“Maggie is very special to me,” Qadir said. “But not much of a shopper. She needs a complete wardrobe. One that prepares her for anything. However, I will warn you—she will resist this process. I’m counting on you to convince her all is necessary.”

Ava smiled at Maggie. “My pleasure. Come, child. We have much to do. Let’s get started.”

Maggie felt like the fly being led away by the spider. She wanted to yell back at Qadir not to leave her alone with this woman, but she knew he wouldn’t take her seriously. He thought this was funny. Which was just like a man. Someone should pinch and poke him while forcing him to wear stupid clothes. Then they’d see how much he liked it.

Ava led her to a large dressing room where they both stood in front of the three-way mirror. Maggie looked and felt frumpy next to the other woman. She sighed.

“What would you say your style is?” Ava asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Casual, I’m thinking. You’re not the sort of person to ever really enjoy wearing a dress.” She turned Maggie so she was facing the mirror sideways. “Hmm. You have a perfectly good figure, but those jeans do nothing for you. I have a couple of styles in mind that will make you look spectacular.”

Maggie stared at her. “Jeans?”

Ava smiled. “Very expensive designer jeans, child. With the right accessories, a beautiful blouse and jacket, jeans can be worn many places. A casual dinner, a luncheon. Nothing with the king, of course.”

Ava walked around her. “While I would normally want to put one of Qadir’s young women in pretty dresses, that won’t do for you. You’ll just be uncomfortable. We’ll do pants as much as we can, then separates. You’re going to be stuck with dresses for evening wear, of course. There’s no getting around it.”

Maggie thought of the ball gown she’d worn and how it had made her feel. “Sometimes a dress is okay.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I can really wear jeans?”

Ava smiled. “I promise.”

It was kind of funny how at that moment Ava transformed from a spider into someone really, really nice.

Three hours and Maggie wasn’t sure how many outfits later, she found herself sitting in front of a mirror at a very upscale beauty salon. She knew the place had to be pricey because they’d offered her a latte, bottled water or cocktail before discussing her hair. No one had ever offered her a cocktail before cutting her hair. Of course the way her stomach was jumping, getting tipsy didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“Not too short,” Qadir said as he stood behind the chair, next to the stylist—a short man with a ponytail. “I like her hair long.”

“I agree.” The stylist, whose name Maggie couldn’t remember, ran his hands through her hair. “She has a natural wave. I want to layer it so we can see the movement.”

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Does anyone care that I hate my natural wave?” It was one of the reasons she wore her hair as long as she did and always tied it back. To hide the natural wave.

“Not really,” Qadir said with a smile, then bent down and kissed the side of her neck.

“But it’s my hair,” she murmured without much energy. She was too caught up in the tingles racing through her body.

It had been a nothing kind of kiss—the only kind Qadir seemed to give her. A light brush, a meaningless peck. Kisses for show. Kisses that stole her breath away and made her want to … to … to something. Kiss more. Kiss back. Beg. Instead she was forced to sit there quietly while they continued to discuss her hair.

In the end, they chose the layered style they’d talked about, along with subtle highlights.

“Could I be blond?” Maggie asked. “I’d like to be blond.”

Qadir turned the chair so she was facing him. “You are beautiful just as you are.”

Beautiful? He didn’t mean that, did he? “But I’m getting highlights. Going blond is practically the same.”

“Not to me.”

“Should we have the whole ‘this is my hair’ conversation again?”

“I will not be listening.”

He leaned in and kissed her. On the mouth. Firmly.

She told herself it was just so the people in the hair salon would gossip about them. She told herself it didn’t matter to her at all, one way or the other. It was just a kiss.

But it felt like a lot more.

His lips were warm and firm, taking and offering at the same time. He braced himself on the arms of the chair so they weren’t touching anywhere but their mouths. Still, that was enough to make her whole body sit up and take notice.

He moved his mouth back and forth before brushing her lower lip with his tongue.

Instinctively she parted for him. Anticipation made her tense. When he slid inside, she wanted to squirm closer, to take whatever he offered. Instead she lifted her hand to his shoulder and felt the strength of him.

His tongue touched hers. Sparks flew in every direction. He circled her as they began a dance so exciting, so erotic, she found it difficult to breathe.

She’d been kissed before hundreds of times. She’d made love. She’d experienced desire for a man. But nothing had prepared her for the hunger that consumed her whenever Qadir kissed her.