The Sheikh's Claim (Desert Nights 2)

“And Aal Masoods,” Aliyah piped in.

Lujayn’s smile widened, remembering Jalal’s jackass comment concerning Aliyah’s Aal Masood husband. No way was she telling Aliyah and have her kick Jalal’s luscious behind for it.

Roxanne sighed. “We’re all Aal Shalaan princesses now, whether by birth or marriage. And let me tell you, Lujayn, from, uh…intensive experience, there’s nothing better.”

Lujayn nodded vigorously, still tingling from her own recent “intensive experience” with her Aal Shalaan prince.

“Did you notice how my own messed-up origins make me related to everyone in some way or another?” Aliyah asked.

Lujayn grinned. “Yep, you’re the only one who grew up a Morgan, turned out to be an Aal Shalaan and then became an Aal Masood, too.”

“While I once felt it was a mess I’d never survive, it proved to be the best blessing possible.” Aliyah winked at Lujayn. “Finding out you’re not who you thought you were is turning out fantastic for you, too, isn’t it? Not to mention catching the heart of one of those forever guys.” Aliyah’s dark eyes sparked gold, reflecting the sun streaks in her mahogany hair. “And though you kept everyone in the dark, I can’t believe you had me fooled. You missed your vocation as an actress, lady.”

Lujayn fidgeted under Aliyah’s teasing scrutiny. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t something I could share at the time. I’ve long stopped being a model, too. I entered college when I married Patrick, got a degree in economics and business management. I’m preparing a master’s degree now.”

“Wow, I can’t believe just how much we have in common!” Roxanne exclaimed. “Having you in the family is going to be even more fun than I anticipated. And you must make use of me if you ever need any help with your projects and assets. I’m a decent financial adviser, I’m told.”

“They’re not mine,” Lujayn said, then explained the situation with Patrick’s family. “I only controlled everything until we made sure they were out of the way. I’ll soon turn it over to the charities and concerns he’d specified. Any money or shares my family got was payment for our work, so I’m not the billionaire heiress everybody thinks I am. I just never refuted it since I was still wrapping things up before I came back to Azmahar.”

Roxanne looked impressed. “And that you managed to keep that from someone like me tells me everything about how good you are at what you do. I’ve heard there are many concerns vying to do business with you as Patrick’s heiress. Prepare for the restoration of some serious personal space when the news comes out.”

Roxanne’s words suddenly hit her with a realization.

She never really explained to Jalal how things stood.

But he had once made it clear he believed she possessed Patrick’s wealth. What if part of her…acceptability now was because of her assumed wealth? Princes did have far more to consider in marriage than normal men. Money and power married money and power. What if, when he realized she didn’t have either, it changed everything?

From then on, she barely knew what Aliyah or Roxanne said or what she answered. At some point they stood up, kissed her, and promising to join her wedding preparation mayhem starting tomorrow, they took their leave.

In a similar fugue, she returned to her family who tossed her around in more wedding details before they called it a night. Instead of spending the night in the palace like them, she slipped away to Jalal’s villa. Or as he insisted it now was, home.

Labeeb received her at the gates and suggested that she surprise Jalal. He had turned out to be a closet romantic. Before he disappeared, he reassured her that Adam was asleep after a bath that had left him happily exhausted and Jalal and Labeeb wet. Both grown-ups had their baby monitors on their person, but there hadn’t been a peep from Adam for the past three hours.

Inside the villa, Jalal’s favorite music, a hybrid of western, Zohaydan and Azmharian, was emanating from their family room, wrapping her in its evocative magic. Approaching in silence, she stood watching Jalal as he sat on the couch in profile. He was covered in a laptop and open files, looking totally engrossed, and more heartbreakingly beautiful than ever. Barefoot, hair tousled, black trainers riding low on his hips, and the rest of his body was exposed to her devouring.

Seeing him this way, relaxed in their home, surged in her heart with thankfulness and longing. But anxiety ruled all other emotions.

He turned suddenly, his gaze slamming into hers, delight flaring in his eyes.

After hurriedly clearing his lap, he jumped up to his feet and rushed to her, arms open. He swept her off the floor, groaned into her hair, “Habibati…” before he took her lips, submerged her in his hunger.

When he let her draw a breath, her feet almost buckled as he put her back on them.

“So how did you do it?”

She blinked.

He elaborated. “Escape your posse of wedding wardens?”

She hugged him, filled with the wonder of him in her arms. “I slipped out behind their backs, how else?”

“They intimidated me so much with their lists and color schemes I didn’t even dare ask you to do this.”

She chuckled at the incongruous image he painted, the desert warrior tiptoeing around a bunch of females in fear they’d attack him with ribbons and cake tastings.

His laughter echoed hers as gravity relinquished its hold over her, delivered her into his power. She plunged into his craving, wanting to take all she could now, before anything happened to spoil this magic, as she lived in fear it would....

* * *

The night’s breeze was blowing their bedroom’s gauzy, cream-colored curtains in a hypnotic dance when she finally resurfaced from another surrender to ecstasy in his arms. He was stroking her sweat-drenched, still-quivering body when without preamble she poured out everything about Patrick’s assets.

He kept on caressing her throughout her account.

When she fell silent, he shrugged. “And?”

She rose over him, anxious to read his expression. There was only his usual indulgence. “And I’m not an heiress.”

“Darn.” He combed his fingers through her tousled tresses, his grin devilish. “I was hoping you’d lend me a billion or two to develop a cloaking device so I can make love to you anywhere.”

“Be serious for a second here, okay?” she groaned.

His eyes sobered. “What’s to be serious about? Your involvement or lack of in Patrick’s legacy doesn’t change my pledge to fulfill it. Other than that, what does your being an heiress or not matter?” He rose on his elbows, frowning. “You still think anything but you matters to me?”