Sheikh's Fake Fiancee

“God,” she said, pushing away from him, heat flaring in her cheeks. “I know things just happen when you’re the royal head of a whole country. People fall in line and say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘how high, sir,’ but in reality we can’t just have an underling murdered for a good available kidney.”

“That’s not what I’d do and don’t make those assumptions about my culture. We’re not so completely different from you. But I do have the influence. I can get her what she needs with a donor and the best surgeons in my country. You have no idea what I could get for her.”

“Why would you do that? I’m just some girl you met at a club. I’m nothing to you,” she said, her anger draining out of her. It was all too much, the stress and pressure and that crushing reality seeming to close in all around her.

“Because…” he said, getting down on one knee, and Jennifer felt her eyes bulge out of her head. This couldn’t possibly be real. “I want you to be my sheikha. You won’t just be ‘anyone’ anymore. You’ll be royalty too, and there are things that you can expect. And one of those things is that there are no limits on what the world can offer you and what you can have. If you need a kidney and great surgeons for Sydney, then we’ll be able to find them. It won’t be a problem.”

“But you don’t even know me,” she objected.

Then he pushed open the small velvet box’s top, revealing the large diamond inside. Seriously, it would put the average princess or movie star to shame. It was princess cut and set in a ring base of filigreed silver.

“Well, then, Jennifer, uh…”

“Wilde,” she supplied, chagrined that he didn’t even know her last name.

“Yes,” he said, composing himself and starting over again. “Miss Jennifer Wilde, would you take me to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you be my sheikha and rule Yemen faithfully by my side? Will you let me care for you for as long as I live?”

It was hard to swallow when he said that last part. The lump in her throat came out of nowhere, but seemed to take up half the space there. He was offering to take care of her, to be what she needed, especially now. So it gutted her to give her answer.

“Of course not.”

Chapter Six

Rejection.

This was a new sensation for Bahan. He’d never had any woman refuse him. It would be intriguing if it weren’t also annoying. They didn’t have much time to dither, and yes, he could still try and keep his title by marrying the sheikha of Lebanon, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Not that he was ready for a full marriage, but he agreed with his brother’s plan. There was no one he’d want to at least work with and make love to for a couple of years outside of Jennifer. He loved the taste of her on his lips, the feel of her body—so soft and feminine—in his arms, and he want

ed to pursue this fragile, budding relationship.

So he was completely dumbfounded when she said that she didn’t want to marry him. Yes, it was beyond sudden, but he was a sheikh and one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet. Surely he’d just misheard her.

Staying on his knees, he presented the ring to her again. “I’m serious, Jennifer, would you marry me?”

“We’ve known each other for a weekend.”

He nodded and stood, but not before handing her the velvet box. “Perhaps I need to explain. I didn’t realize how sick Sydney was or how terrible a time this is for you, but I think we can truly help each other.”

“Because if you’re a sheikh you can just get important organs down at the KidneyMart or have an underling get on the operating table for you,” she drawled.

“No, because I need a wife in order to comply with arcane laws in our country, and I need one before my ailing father dies. You need someone who can cut through the red tape and who can make sure that with the right donations and the right political influence, Sydney gets that special organ within the month.”

“You could do that?”

“I can make it possible. They want you to think that no matter how rich or powerful you are that you can’t jump the list, but I can call in some favors that some senators and others owe me here. If you marry me…hell, even if you don’t…I’d do anything to help your sister survive. I’m not lying, though, when I say that if you also had the title of royalty surrounding you that it would help you to speed up the process even more. But, Jennifer,” he said, taking her empty hand in his, “I care about you and I don’t want your family to suffer.”

“You barely know me.”

“Well, I might have a playboy reputation and I might be a ruler—or will be someday—but I can see people in pain and suffering. I can see how stricken you are, and even if you were just a member of my kingdom asking for help, I’d want to assist you. The fact that we’ve already shared a connection…”

“It was more than that,” she said, adding a wry smile despite the seriousness of their situation.

“Exactly, so let me make this deal with you. You only have to stay married to me for a couple of years, to fulfill the contract. If you feel it’s too odious a duty, then we can always divorce. Yemen isn’t as strict as some kingdoms. It never has been. I need to obey the spirit of the law,” he added, winking at her. “Not the letter. Please, can you help me? Hell, will you let me help your family?”

She nodded and swallowed hard, then slipped the ring onto her finger herself. It wasn’t what he wanted. A big part of her soul already wished that he could have slipped the diamond ring on, done it all the old-fashioned way, but there was nothing old fashioned about this. Frankly, his immediate family and hers would know it was all for show, a farce to get them both what he wanted.

It didn’t make the feelings in his chest any less sharp or genuine.

“Well,” she said, tears welling up a bit in her eyes. “I have to call Mama and explain to her everything that’s going on. I…we’ve always been terrified this would come, even when she was just a baby and the doctors figured out why she was so sick all the time.”