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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ two categories—long-sleeved T-shirts and short-sleeved T-shirts. She had a couple of blouses, one pair of black slacks and a ball gown that seemed as inappropriate for dinner as one of the T-shirts.

      “I came here to work on cars, not date a sheik,” she muttered as she flipped through the meager selection again, desperately hoping to see something she’d missed the first three times.

      There was actually one other choice. A simple knit dress that she’d packed on a whim. It was burgundy, plain and a little too fitted for her taste. She’d bought it a couple of years ago when she’d wandered through a mall shortly after finding out her father had been diagnosed with cancer. It had been on sale. She’d tried it on as a distraction and then had purchased it because explaining why she didn’t need it required too much effort.

      Maggie wasn’t sure why she’d tossed it in her suitcase. Fortunately the fabric traveled well.

      She pulled off the tags, then brought the dress into the bathroom and started getting ready.

      Once she’d showered and blown her hair dry, there wasn’t all that much for her to do. She put on a little mascara, then lip gloss. Victoria had done a lot more to her the night of the ball, but Maggie had neither the skill nor the makeup. Qadir was going to have to suffer with her natural look.

      She pulled on the dress, then stepped into a flat pair of sandals that weren’t nearly as pretty as the ones she’d worn with her ball gown, but were a whole lot more comfortable. Then she glanced at the clock. It had taken her twelve minutes from stepping into the shower until she was ready to go. That included four minutes blow-drying her hair. Victoria would be horrified.

      Thinking about her friend made her wonder what the other woman would think about the deal. Which made Maggie nervous. She put her hand to her stomach, as if that would help settle her nerves. Then someone knocked.

      She opened the door to her suite and saw Qadir standing in the hallway. He looked as he always did—tall, handsome, well-dressed. Nothing was different. Except the tension in her stomach increased until she thought she might have to throw up. Just as intense was her need to have him pull her close and kiss her.

      “Good evening,” he said and smiled. “You are prompt. I should not be surprised.”

      “No, you shouldn’t.” She collected her purse and followed him into the hallway. “It doesn’t take me long to get ready.”

      “And yet the result is lovely.”

      A compliment? She didn’t know what to say. “Ah, thank you.”

      He chatted about something on the walk down to the front of the palace, but between her spinning head and swirling stomach, she had no idea what. When they entered the courtyard, a limo was waiting.

      “I happen to know you have regular cars,” she said as he held open the rear passenger door for her.

      “Agreed, but this makes a better entrance.”

      Right. Because this was all for show.

      She slid along the leather seat and tried to catch her breath. Fake dating, she reminded herself. Nothing more. She had no reason to be tense.

      She forced herself to think calm thoughts. About ocean waves rushing in, then retreating. A cool, green forest. Water flowing in a brook.

      “Maggie?”

      She turned to him. “Yes?”

      “What are you doing?”

      “Trying not to throw up.”

      One corner of his mouth turned up. “You are always honest.”

      “I try to be.”

      “There is nothing to be nervous about.”

      “My stomach doesn’t agree with you.”

      He shifted close and took her hand in his. “We are going to dinner at a very nice restaurant. You need to be calm so you can enjoy the meal. It is unlikely that we will be spotted by a photographer, however certain people will see us and that will start the gossip. Other than nodding politely to a few diners, little will be expected of you except eating.”

      “I’m a good eater.”

      “Then you will be fine.”

      His voice was so deep and low, she found herself getting lost in the sound. He rubbed her hand with slow, steady movements. That was nice, too, she thought as she felt herself relaxing.

      This was just Qadir, she told herself. Just dinner. Nothing more.

      She raised her gaze to his and found him watching her. With their eyes locked, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm.

      It was a soft kiss that probably meant nothing. It was just … just …

      Tension filled her stomach, but this was a whole new kind. It was hot and tight and had nothing to do with the rest of the world and everything to do with the man next to her.

      Before she could figure out what she was supposed to do now, the car came to a stop. Talk about timing, she grumbled to herself.

      The restaurant was on the water, with a beautiful view and the kind of low lighting that made everyone look good. They didn’t have to wait, but were immediately led to a private table in an alcove.

      “Thank you so much for joining us this evening, Prince Qadir,” the hostess said, eyeing Maggie with obvious confusion. “I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

      The young woman nodded, then left.

      Maggie shifted uncomfortably, wanting to explain that she wasn’t really dating the prince. That the other woman didn’t have to worry she would one day really be a princess. One thing for sure—she was going to have to talk to Victoria about going shopping in that secret back-room boutique. Better clothes were required for this whole fake-dating thing.

      Still feeling out of place, Maggie picked up the leather-bound menu. As she did, she bumped one of the three different wine glasses set at her place. There was also a waterglass and an assortment of flatware, some of which she didn’t recognize. Couldn’t they have gone for a burger instead?

      She opened the menu and stared at the pages and pages of choices.

      “Do you have a preference for the wine?” Qadir asked. “French, Spanish, Italian? They also have an excellent selection from California, Washington, Australia and Chile.”

      “Whatever you would like is fine with me,” she murmured, knowing she could never admit that the last time she’d had wine, it had been poured from a very lovely box purchased at Target.

      She returned her attention to the menu, determined to pick something, but the words all blurred. She couldn’t do this—she didn’t belong here.

      She looked up and found Qadir watching her.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      “Pretty much everything.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ