The Sheikh's Stolen Bride-To-Be

“How did you sleep?”

I chuckled. “Very well.” With a wink, I added, “Which is no surprise, since I was exhausted.”

He rubbed my back, a lazy grin spreading over his lips. His half-closed eyes were edged with long, black lashes. I reached up and rubbed a hand over his cheek, trying to memorize every detail. I knew how this worked. I had to leave.

“I should probably get going,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve got a busy day of being rich and fabulous ahead of you, and my ladies are probably wondering where I am.”

Jalaal’s eyes popped open, alert. “No. You can’t leave now.”

“I can’t?” I asked, my heart fluttering.

He rolled over, trapping me beneath him with a roguish grin. I giggled, splaying my hands over his chest in a weak show of resistance.

“I haven’t even made you breakfast yet,” he purred. “And I thought it looked like a nice morning for a swim.”

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. And, though I wasn’t much of a swimmer, I’d never heard anything that sounded as appealing as a swim with Jalaal. There was only one problem.

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

Jalaal nuzzled into my neck, pressing gentle kisses down to my collarbone. “That’s okay.” He murmured, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. “Just go down to the gift shop and get one while I make breakfast. You can put it on my tab.”

“Jalaal…” I sighed. “I can’t accept that. It’s too much.”

He laughed and pulled back up to my face, his eyes dancing in the morning light. “It’s a bathing suit,” he deadpanned. “I’m sure my ventures will survive the financial blow.”

I pinched his chest. “Don’t be rude,” I said, laughing.

“Don’t be coy,” he retorted, nibbling on my earlobe as I wiggled beneath him.

We didn’t make it out of bed for another half hour, but when we did I headed straight for the gift shop. If anything, it gave me an opportunity to answer all my missed calls and texts.

Once I reached the lobby, I shot off a text to Sarah to say I’d call her in a few minutes, and then I dialed my dad’s number.

“Hello?” he said, picking up.

“Hey, Dad,” I said. “How’s my boy doing?”

“Well, I’m a little achy from the godawful couch bed your sister’s got me sleeping on, but otherwise I’m okay.”

In the background, I heard Dawn yelling at him in protest.

I rolled my eyes. “I meant my other boy, Dad. How’s Sam?”

“Is that Mommy?” a voice called out in the background.

My heart did a somersault just from hearing his voice. I couldn’t believe I still had almost a full week until I would get to see him next. God, I missed the little devil so damn much.

“Yes, it’s Mommy,” Dad said to Sam. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” Sam corrected. “May I please talk to Mommy?”

My dad came back on the line. “Before I pass you to Sam, was there anything you needed to tell me, or is everything fine on your end?”

“No. Everything’s fine.” I let my gaze wander along the polished marble floors and over to the ivory fountain. Everything was much better than fine. “Anything on your end?”

“Just the same old same old. I’m sure Sammy will tell you all about it.” He let out a rumbling laugh. “I miss you, kid. I hope you’re having fun.”

“Lots.” My face flashed with heat at the thought of just how much fun. “I miss you, too.”

The line clattered, and in the next moment I heard my son’s angelic voice. “Hi, Mommy! Auntie Dawn made me oatmeal for breakfast just like you do. Did you teach her how to do that?”

I chuckled. “Actually, your grandma taught us how to make oatmeal like that,” I said. “But I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying your breakfast.”

Sam liked his oatmeal the same way Dawn and I had as kids—with a little bit of extra milk. It always warmed my heart when he picked up things for himself that I’d liked as a kid.