Читать книгу A Surprise For The Sheikh - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 9

One

Four months later

This was not happening.

Dear God, please let this not be happening. Violet stared down at the thin strip of plastic. The one that said in digital block letters, PREGNANT.

Maybe she’d done it wrong. Peed on the wrong end or something. Yeah, that was it. She’d never taken a pregnancy test before. She hadn’t even studied. She’d failed due to a lack of preparation, that was all.

Luckily, Violet had bought three separate tests because redundancy wasn’t just redundant. It was confirmation that her night of wild passion four months ago with a stranger named Ben had not left her pregnant.

Crouched in the bathroom off of her bedroom, Violet carefully read the instructions again, trying to spot her mistake. Remove the purple cap: check. Hold the other end: check. Hold absorbent tip downward: check. Wait two minutes: check.

Crap. She’d done it right.

So she did it again.

The next two minutes were hell. The panic was so strong she could practically taste it in the back of her throat, and it was getting stronger with every passing second.

The first test was just a false positive, she decided. False positives happened all the time. She wasn’t pregnant. She was suffering from a low-grade stomach bug. Yeah, that was it. That would explain the odd waves of nausea that hit her at unexpected times. Not in the morning either. Therefore, it wasn’t morning sickness.

And the low-grade bug she was fighting—that’s what caused the positive. It had absolutely nothing to do with that night in the Holloway Inn four months ago. It had nothing to do with Ben or V or...

PREGNANT.

Oh, God.

One was a false positive. The second? Considering that she’d had a wild night of passionate sex with a man in a hotel room?

What the hell was she going to do?

She didn’t have a last name. She didn’t have his number. He’d been this fantasy man who had appeared when she’d needed him and been gone by morning light. She’d woken up in his room alone. Her dress had been cleaned and pressed and was hanging on the bathroom door. Room service had delivered breakfast with a rose and a note—a note she still had, tucked inside her sock drawer, where Mac would never see it.

Your pleasure was my pleasure. Thank you for the night.

He hadn’t even signed it Ben. No name, no signature. No way to contact him when she had a rapidly growing collection of positive pregnancy tests on the edge of her sink.

She was screwed.

Okay, so contacting Ben was out, at least for the short term. She might be able to hire a private investigator who could track him down through the hotel’s guest registry, but that didn’t help her out right now.

“Violet?” Mac called out from downstairs. “Can you come down here?”

She was going to be sick again, and this time she didn’t think it was because of morning sickness.

How was she supposed to tell her big brother that she’d done something this wild and crazy and was now pregnant? The man had dedicated the past twelve years of his life to keeping her safe after their parents’ deaths. He would not react well.

“Violet?” She heard the creak of the second step—oh Lord, he was on his way up.

“Give me a minute!” she called through the door as she grabbed the two used tests and shoved them back in the box. She hid everything under the sink, behind her maxi pads. Mac would never look there.

She needed a plan. She was on her own here.

Violet stood up and quickly splashed some cold water on her face. She didn’t normally wear a lot of makeup. She had no need to look pretty when she was managing the Double M, their family ranch. The ranch hands she’d hired had all gotten the exact same message, no doubt—hitting on Mac McCallum’s little sister was strictly forbidden. Which irritated her. First off, she wasn’t hiring studs for the express purpose of getting it on in the hayloft. Second, she was the boss. Mac ran McCallum Enterprises, the energy company their father had founded, and Violet ran the Double M, and the less those two worlds crossed, the better it was.

Because Mac did not see a ranch manager, much less a damned good ranch manager. He didn’t see a capable businesswoman who was navigating a drought and rebuilding from a record-breaking tornado and still making a profit. He didn’t see a partner in the family business.

All he saw was the shattered sixteen-year-old girl she’d been when their parents had died. It didn’t matter what she did, how well she did it—she was still a little sister to him. Nothing more and nothing less.

Violet had wanted so desperately not to be Mac’s helpless baby sister, even for a night. And if that night was spent in a stranger’s arms...

And here she was.

She’d just jerked her ponytail out of its holder and started wrenching the brush through her mane of auburn hair when Mac said, “Violet?”

She jumped. She hadn’t heard Mac come the rest of the way upstairs, but now he was right outside the door. “What?”

“An old friend of mine is downstairs. Rafe.”

“Oh—okay,” she said, feeling confused. Rafe—why did that name sound familiar? And why did Mac sound...odd? “Is everything okay?”

Ha. Nothing was okay, but by God, until she got a grip on the situation, she was going to pretend it was if it was the last thing she did.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just—Rafe is the sheikh, you remember? From college?”

“Wait.” She cracked the door open and stared at her brother. Even though she’d hidden the evidence, she intentionally positioned her body between him and the sink. “Is this the guy who had the wild younger sister who tricked you? That Rafe?”

“Yeah. Rafiq bin Saleed.” Mac’s expression was a mix of excitement and confusion.

“What’s he doing here right now?” Violet asked. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he blame you for his sister’s—what did you call it?”

“Compromising her innocence? Yeah.”

“So why do I have to meet this jerk?”

“He’s in town. He’s apologized for his behavior years ago.”

Violet stared at him. Men and their delicate attempts at friendship. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Mac said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be? It was a misunderstanding. His father was the one who was mad. Rafe is making amends.”

After twelve years? That seemed odd. Men. “And you’re warning me in advance because...”

“Because I know you, Violet. I know you’re liable to shoot your mouth off. He’s a sheikh—they have a different set of customs, okay? So try to be polite.”

She gave him a dull look. “Really? You think I’m so impulsive I can’t even make small talk with a man from a different culture?” She shoved the door open. Her hair could wait. “Thanks, Mac. I appreciate the vote of confidence there.”

Mac grinned at her. “Said Violet, impulsively.”

“Stuff it. Let’s get this over with.” She pushed past her brother and stomped to the closet, where she grabbed a clean shirt. If she was going to be meeting—wait, what was a sheikh? Were they royalty? Well, whatever he was, the least she could do was make sure she was wearing a shirt that didn’t have cow poop on it. “I’ll meet your rude sheikh friend and then make myself scarce, okay? I’ve got stuff to do anyway.” Like maybe tracking down her one-night stand and figuring out her due date and, well, her schedule was just packed. She started unbuttoning her work jeans.

The wheels of her mind spun. This was going to change everything. She’d had plans—she’d been slowly working on convincing her brother to buy the ranch to the north, the Wild Aces. Violet had loved the Wild Aces for years. She wanted out of this house, out from under Mac’s overprotective roof, and the Wild Aces was where she wanted to be.

They were already leasing the land. The Double M’s water supply had been compromised by the tornado last year. But Wild Aces had plenty of water. Violet had thought that would be the motivation Mac needed to sign off on the purchase, but because she was the one who’d suggested it instead of his assistant, Andrea Beaumont, Mac had said no. Eventually, the two women had convinced Mac to at least lease the land.

But now? Violet was pregnant. How was she going to manage the Double M, much less the Wild Aces, with a huge belly or a baby on her hip?

Mac didn’t say anything for so long she paused and looked up at him. “What?”

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She tensed. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s fine. Totally fine.”

Mac wrinkled his brow at her but before he could question her further, she said, “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with your sheikh friend or something? So I can finish getting changed? Maybe?”

Mac paled. He may have stepped into the role of father figure after their parents’ deaths, but he was still a big brother. An irritating one at that.

Okay, so she had a plan. She was going to pretend everything was just hunky-dory for the foreseeable future while she thought of a better plan.

Where was Ben? And even if she could find him, would he be happy to see her? Or would he claim that their night had had no strings attached and a baby was a huge string and therefore, she was on her own?

What a freaking mess.

* * *

“Sorry about that,” Mac said, strolling back into the room. “Violet’s...well, she’s Violet.”

Rafe sat in the center of the couch, surveying the room and the man before him. Mac had most certainly aged in the past twelve years, but he didn’t have the haunted look of someone who had betrayed his best friend.

Rafe was not surprised, not really. At the time Mac compromised Nasira, he had exhibited little regard for Rafe’s family’s name. He did not look guilty because, more than likely, Mac McCallum was incapable of feeling guilt.

Revenge was a dish best served cold. But Rafe couldn’t overplay his hand here. He put on a warm smile and said, “Yes, your younger sister—I remember. She was still in high school when we were at college, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Mac shrugged apologetically. If Rafe were capable of being sympathetic with a person such as Mac, he could sympathize over wayward younger sisters. “So,” Mac went on, changing the subject. “Tell me about you, man. It’s been years! What are you doing in town?”

Rafe shrugged, as if his being in Royal, Texas, were some sort of happy accident instead of entirely premeditated. “My father is dead,” he said.

Mac’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, dude—sorry about that.”

Rafe smiled—inwardly, of course. The last person to say “dude” to him in such a way had been V, the beautiful woman at the inn a few months ago. It had seemed so odd coming out of her perfect rosebud mouth. It was much better suited to a man like Mac.

Where was V now? That was a question that had danced at the edge of his consciousness for months. He had gotten better at putting the question aside, though. It was almost easy to not think of her. Almost.

“I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for sorrow. He was a...difficult man, as I’m sure you know.”

Mac nodded sympathetically. In fact, before Mac’s betrayal of Rafe’s family, Mac had been one of the few people Rafe had confided in about his “difficult” father. There had been a time, long ago, when Rafe would have trusted this man with his very life.

Rafe did not trust people. He had learned that lesson well. Years spent locked up by his father had taught him that.

“With his passing,” Rafe went on, “my older brother Fareed became the sheikh and I became more free to seek my way in the world.” He tried to make it sound carefree and, in truth, some of it had been. Fareed had turned his attention to the modernization of their sheikhdom and released Rafe. Fareed had even entrusted Rafe with control of the family shipping business. All things considered, the reversal of fortune had been breathtaking.

But just because Rafe had no longer had to deal with Hassad bin Saleed did not mean he was free. He was still a sheikh. He had his people’s honor and pride to preserve.

And if that meant waiting twelve years to exact his revenge, then so be it.

“I had meant to seek you out much earlier,” Rafe went on, bending the truth until it was on the verge of breaking. “But my brother gave me the shipping company and I was quite busy turning the business around. You understand how it is. I am expanding my company’s holdings and was looking to get into energy. The worldwide demand is rising. Naturally, I thought of you. I remember how fondly you spoke of this area and its many resources.”

That was his story. Secretly, Rafe had been buying up land all over Royal, Texas, under the front of Samson Oil, a company he had created ostensibly to purchase the mineral rights and whatever remaining oil existed underground.

But Samson Oil was buying lands that had no more oil and no valuable mineral rights to speak of. The land was good for little else besides grazing cattle, and the entire town knew it. He had hired a Royal native, Nolan Dane, to act as the public face of Samson Oil. The townsfolk had been easily swayed by the outrageous offers and Nolan’s down-home charm. They were happy to take his money—except, of course, that no one knew it was his money. By the time they figured out his scheme, it would be too late.

Rafe would own this town, and he would do with it as he saw fit.

Mac snorted. “Tell me about it. McCallum Enterprises has completely taken over my life. I can’t even run the ranch anymore—Violet handles that for me.”

“Your younger sister does a man’s job?” But he was not truly surprised. Mac had always spoken of how outlandish his baby sister was—a tomboy, he’d said.

“She does a damn good job, too,” Mac said in a thoughtful voice.

“I had thought she was going to follow you to Harvard.” That had been the story Mac had told him all those years ago. But had that just been a lie to earn Rafe’s trust as they bonded over difficult younger siblings?

“That was before our parents died. They went out for a flight on Dad’s plane and...” Mac sighed heavily. “She was so lost after the accident, you know? I hated that I wasn’t here for her when it happened.”

“I had not realized,” Rafe said sympathetically, even though of course he had realized. The McCallum family had suffered a terrible blow when Mac’s parents’ plane had crashed into an open field. There had been no survivors.

It all happened right after Rafe had been pulled out of Harvard by his father for daring to let his younger sister consort with the likes of Mac. Rafe had not found out the details of the accident for years afterward—after his own father had died and Rafe had suddenly had the means to investigate his enemies.

It had been a missed opportunity. If Rafe had been aware of the McCallums’ deaths at the time, he could have moved swiftly to buy Mac’s land out from under him or take over McCallum Enterprises. Instead, Rafe had to settle for watching and waiting for his next best opportunity to exact his revenge. He had not rushed. He was, as the Americans often said, playing the long game.

His patience had finally paid off when, last year, a tornado had torn through Mac’s hometown of Royal, Texas. The town’s economic base was weakened, which was good. But what was better was that Mac’s water supply had become compromised.

It was a particularly good scheme. Rafe would not only cut off Mac’s water supply and essentially strangle his ranch, but under the guise of Samson Oil, he would also buy up large parts of Royal. Mac had always spoken of his love for his hometown.

When Rafe was done with him, Mac would have nothing. No town, no land. That was what Mac had left Nasira with when he had betrayed Rafe’s trust and ruined Nasira.

Thus far, Rafe had been operating in secrecy. But when his scheme came to fruition, he wanted Mac to know it was he who had brought about his destruction.

Which was why he was here, pretending to be concerned for the well-being of his former friend’s sister. “Was it very hard on her?”

“Oh, man,” Mac said with a rueful smile. “I moved back home and tried to give her a stable upbringing, but never underestimate the power of a teenage girl. Hey, listen,” he went on, leaning forward and dropping his voice a notch. “I know that things didn’t end well between us...”

Rafe tensed inside but outside, he waved this poor excuse for an olive branch of peace away, as if he’d truly left the matter in the past. “It was all a long time ago. Think nothing of it.”

“Thanks, man. I never meant to hurt Nasira, but I swear to you, I had no idea she was in my room that night. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

Rafe’s mask of genial friendship must have slipped because Mac’s words trailed off. Rafe rearranged his face into one of concern. “It’s fine. She was able to marry a man who was more to her liking.” It was time for a subject change. “Your sister, Violet? It has been a long time.”

“Yeah—that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I try to keep her out of trouble, but if you, you know, could just keep an eye on her while you’re in town, I’d really appreciate it.”

Now this was ironic. Here Rafe was, doing everything within his power to avenge the honor of his sister and his family, and Mac, the source of all his troubles, was asking Rafe to look after Violet?

That would be a new layer to Rafe’s revenge—corrupting Mac’s sister just as Mac had corrupted Rafe’s.

“But of course,” Rafe said as he bowed his head, trying to look touched that Mac would extend him this much trust. The fool. He was making this too easy.

“My ears are burning.” Rafe heard the soft feminine—and familiar—voice seconds before its owner entered the room. “What are you two...talking...”

She stood in the doorway, her mouth open, all the color draining from her cheeks.

Rafe’s body responded before his brain could make sense of what he was seeing. His gut tightened and his erection stiffened and one word presented itself in his mind—mine. The reaction was so sudden and so complete that Rafe was momentarily disoriented. This woman was lovely, yes, but her body was not the kind that usually invoked such an immediate, possessive response from him.

Then the conscious part of his brain caught up with the rest of him and he realized exactly who she was.

She looked different in the light of day. Rafe had not known her in such mannish clothing—jeans and work shirts. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck and her face was scrubbed clean.

But he recognized her nonetheless.

V.

His mind spun in bewilderment. His mysterious, beautiful V was here? The woman he had been unable to put from his mind was...in Mac’s home?

Mac stood and Rafe stood with him. This was an...unexpected development. He would have to brazen it out as best he could. “Ah, here you are. Violet, this is my old college friend, Rafe bin Saleed.”

“Bin Saleed?” she said, her eyes so wide they were practically bursting out of her head. “Bin?”

“Um, yeah,” Mac said, his gaze darting between the two of them. “Rafe, this is my little sister, Violet.”

V was Violet. V was his mortal enemy’s younger sister.

Destiny had a twisted sense of humor.

Inwardly, he was kicking himself, as the Americans said. Rafiq bin Saleed did not randomly bring a woman back to his bed. He did not seduce her and strip her and he most certainly did not send her love notes the next morning. He was a sheikh. He had no need for those things. His one night of passion with the exact wrong woman could threaten twelve years of planning.

Outwardly, however, he kept his composure. Years of facing his father’s wrath had trained him well in remaining calm in the face of danger. He had to put a good face on this. His scheme had not yet come to fruition, and if Violet placed him in the greater Royal area four months before his “arrival” today, everything could be at risk.

All his schemes could fall apart in front of him, all because he had been unable to resist a beautiful woman.

Unless...a new thought occurred to him. Unless Violet already knew of his schemes. Unless she had been sent by her brother to find him all those months ago. Unless Mac had anticipated Rafe’s attack and launched a counterattack while Rafe was distracted by a beautiful smile and a gorgeous body.

But she had insisted on no names. He had never used his real name, just as she had hidden hers. Was it possible that she had really just been looking for a night’s passion?

He had no choice but to continue to play the part of the long-lost friend. He couldn’t show his hand just because he had accidentally slept with this woman. “Violet,” he said, letting the hard T sound of her name roll off his tongue, just as so many other things had rolled off his tongue. He bowed low to her, a sign of respect in his culture. “It is an honor to finally meet Mac’s beloved sister.”

“Is it?” she snapped.

Mac shot her a warning look. “Violet,” he said quietly. “We talked about this.”

“Sorry,” she said, clearly not sorry at all. “I was expecting someone else entirely.”

Rafe wanted to laugh. Truthfully, he had been, as well. But he did no such thing. Instead, he said calmly, “Have I come at a bad time?”

Americans had an expression that Rafe had never heard before he’d attended university at Harvard—“If looks could kill.” In his sheikhdom of Al Qunfudhah, no one would dare look at a sheikh with such venom—to do so was to risk dismemberment or even death at the hands of Hassad bin Saleed, who had ruled with an iron fist and an iron blade.

But he was no longer in Al Qunfudhah, and if looks could kill, Violet would have finished him off several minutes ago.

He notched an eyebrow at her. He was more than capable of controlling himself. Could she say the same? Or was that why Mac had gone to speak to her privately—were they getting their stories straight?

You were capable of controlling yourself, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Until you met her.

“No, no,” Mac said warmly. “Violet, maybe you should get us something to drink.”

She turned her wrathful gaze to Mac and Rafe decided that, even if Mac had sent Violet to him, she had not told her brother the truth of their evening together. “Excuse me? Do I look like your maid?”

“Violet!” Mac sent another worried grin toward Rafe. “Sorry, Rafe.”

Rafe waved his hand as if Violet’s attitude were nothing. “We are not in Al Qunfudhah,” he said, trying to set Mac at ease even as he enjoyed his old friend’s discomfort. “I remember how things in America are quite different than they are back home. I do not expect to be served by the women in the house.”

But even as he said it, he casually sat back in the middle of the sofa, spreading his arms out along the back and waiting to be served by someone. He took up as much space as he could. I am here, he thought at Violet, catching her eye and lifting his chin in challenge. What are you going to do about it?

Oh, yes. If looks could kill, he would be in extreme pain right now. “That’s where you’re from?”

The bitterness of her tone was somewhat unexpected. The last time he had seen her, she had been asleep in his bed, nude except for the sheets that had twisted around her waist. Her beautiful auburn hair had been fanned out over her shoulder, and even as she slept, her rosebud lips had been curved into a satisfied, if small, smile. She had looked like a woman who had been thoroughly pleasured, and Rafe had almost woken her up with a touch and a kiss.

But she had only asked for a night, so he quietly let himself out of the room, arranged to have breakfast sent up and then met with Nolan to go over his plans for purchasing more of the land around Mac’s Double M ranch. He had tried mightily to put his night of wanton abandon with the beautiful V out of his mind.

Which was not to say he had succeeded. Not for the first time, he replayed their evening together. He had not coerced her—no, he specifically remembered several points where he had given her a respectable out.

It had been her choice to come to his room. Her choice to make it one night. Her choice not to use names or places.

As far as Rafe was concerned, Violet had nothing to be bitter about. He had made sure she had been well satisfied, just as he had been.

“I’ll get us something to drink. Violet, can I talk to you in the kitchen?” Mac said, forgoing subtlety altogether.

“I’ll take some lemonade,” Violet responded, ignoring her brother’s request and sitting in a chair across from Rafe. “Thanks.”

Of course Rafe knew they were not in Al Qunfudhah anymore, but it was something of a surprise to not only see a woman give a man—her guardian, no less—an order, but to see that man heave a weary sigh and obey.

Perhaps if Nasira had felt freer to assert herself as Violet did...

Well, things might have been different. But knowing his father, things would not have been better.

Rafe pushed away those thoughts and focused instead on the woman before him. Violet was seething with barely contained rage, that much was obvious.

Once Mac was out of the room, Violet leaned toward him. “Rafiq bin Saleed?”

He would not let her get to him. She may be a slightly hysterical female, but he was still a sheikh. “It’s lovely to see you again, V. Unexpected, yes, but lovely nonetheless.”

“Oh, it’s unexpected all right. What the hell?”

He ignored her outburst. “You are well, I trust?”

Her eyes got wide—very wide indeed. “Well? Oh, you’re going to care now?”

He bristled at her tone. “For your information, I cared that night. But it was you who asked for just that—a night. Just one. So I honored your wishes. No names, no strings—that was how you put it, was it not?”

She continued to glare at him. “What do I even call you? Not Ben, I assume.”

“Rafe will do for now.”

“Will it? Is that your real name? Or just another alias?”

“My name is Rafiq,” he said stiffly. He did not enjoy being on the defensive. “Rafe is a well-known nickname in my country.”

Her nostrils flared, as if she were getting ready to physically attack him. “Well, Rafe, since you asked, I am not well.”

“No?” Against his will, he felt a plume of concern rise through his belly. He should be glad she was not well. That would only cause Mac more suffering.

But Rafe was concerned. He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her breath against his skin and make her well. He was a wealthy man. There was nothing he could not provide for her. “Not because of something I have done, I hope.”

She was breathing hard now, as if she were standing on the top of a tall peak and getting ready to jump. “You could say that. I’m pregnant.”

Rafe blinked at her, trying to comprehend the words. Had she just said—pregnant? “Mine?”

She looked much like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey, all coiled energy and focus. “Of course it’s yours. I realize we don’t know very much about each other but I don’t normally pick up men. That was a one time thing. You’re the only man I’ve been with in the last year and you were supposed to use condoms!” She hissed the word but quietly. It was for his ears and his ears alone.

Before he could come up with something reasonable to say—something reasonable to think, even—Mac strode back into the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses. “Lemonade?”