Desert Rogues Part 2

Epilogue

T ired but happy, Cleo held her newborn daughter to her chest.

“You see,” Sadik said, ever the proud papa as he strutted through the enormous private room in the hospital. “A girl. I said as much from the beginning, and I am always right.”

Cleo looked at Sabrina and Zara. All three women rolled their eyes.

“You said it was a boy,” Cleo reminded her husband, even as she nearly floated from happiness. “I was the one who kept saying our baby might be a girl.”

“No. You do not remember the sequence of events.” He moved to the side of the bed and touched his daughter’s cheek. “She is lovely. Just like her mother.”

Despite the lingering discomfort from the delivery, Cleo couldn’t remember a more perfect moment in her life. After years of never fitting in—of always being on the outside—she’d finally found a place to belong. Who would have thought that would happen in a palace?

It was all because of Sadik. Not a day went by without him confessing his love a dozen times. He could not be more attentive or affectionate or loving. At times he was still the arrogant prince, but Cleo found that part of him kind of growing on her. Princes were not always easy to be married to, but there were plenty of rewards.

He kissed her forehead. “My wife, you are to be honored among women.”

She laughed. “I’d settle for a soft pillow to sit on and some sleep.”

Hassan burst into the room, trailed by two of the princes. “I have congratulated the doctor on delivering my first grandchild. I believe she was relieved.”

Cleo figured Dr. Johnson had felt just a little bit of pressure when she’d gone into labor.

Hassan approached the bed. “My perfect granddaughter.” He slapped Sadik on the back. “A girl—just as we discussed.”

Cleo settled back into the pillows. “Your father and grandfather are big, fat liars,” she cooed to her baby. “Yes, they are.”

Hassan and Sadik chuckled. Then the king turned to Reyhan, his third son. “Both your sisters are pregnant. Sabrina is due in six months, and Zara the following month. You have not yet taken a wife. I believe it is time. I shall arrange a match.”

Reyhan, as tall, dark, handsome and arrogant as his brothers, cleared his throat. Cleo was surprised to see that the prince actually looked uncomfortable.

“That will not be necessary, Father.”

Hassan frowned. “You must be married. We need more heirs.”

Reyhan cleared his throat again. “Yes. I understand. However, there are circumstances…”

The room grew incredibly silent. Even the baby seemed to be listening. Reyhan shrugged. “There was a young woman in college. While I have not seen her in six years, the truth of the matter is that we are…already married.”

The Sheik & the Princess in Waiting

Susan Mallery

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

A fter a long day of working in the delivery room, Emma Kennedy was ready to spend her evening with her feet propped up, the TV on and a bowl of ice cream in her hand. Okay, yes, she would probably eat something decent for dinner first but the ice cream was a must. It had been that kind of day.

Nothing had happened all morning, then right at noon, four women had decided to deliver. One had been a terrified teenager, and Emma had stayed with her as much as possible. At twenty-four, Emma had been closest in age of all the nurses, although a lifetime of experiences away from the street-wise, body pierced and tattooed patient.

Emma opened her mailbox, pulled out the cable bill and a flyer for a sale at Dillard’s, then walked toward her apartment.

She was tired, but content. It had been a good day. A happy day. One of the things she loved about her job was the joy new mothers experienced when their babies were born. Being part of the process, even on the periphery, was all the thanks she needed. When she thought about all the—

Emma suddenly stopped in the hallway. Two men in dark suits stood by her front door. They looked respectable enough—clean, short haircuts, polished shoes—but they were definitely lurking.

She’d taken several self-defense courses over the years, but she wasn’t sure how helpful the information she’d learned would be against two large men.

Glancing first left, then right, she calculated the distance to her nearest neighbor. How long would it take her to run to her car, and what kind of reaction she would get if she screamed?

One of the men looked up and saw her. “Ms. Kennedy? I’m Alex Dunnard from the State Department. This is my associate, Jack Sanders. May we have a moment of your time?”

As the man spoke, he pulled out an ID card complete with picture. His companion did the same. Emma abandoned the idea of bolting and approached her front door.

The pictures matched the men and the cards looked official enough, but it wasn’t as if she’d seen a State Department ID before and would know the difference.

Alex Dunnard slipped the ID back into his jacket pocket and smiled. “We have some official business to discuss with you. May we come inside, or would you be more comfortable if we met at the coffee shop on the corner?”

Emma noticed that neither option allowed her to get out of talking with them. Which was crazy. What would the State Department want with her?