Special Deliveries: Heir To His Legacy. Elizabeth LaneЧитать онлайн книгу.
Seven
“It’s very simple, Chloe James. I intend to take you as my wife.”
Chloe felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. All the air leached from her body, making her gasp. “What?”
“Not a real wife, you understand. This is about presenting the image of a family to the people. If I am meant to raise Aden as my own, my wife will be expected to treat him as her own. You want to stay, you want that role, so I am giving it to you.”
“But… you want me to marry you?”
“I don’t want you to marry me. I want to protect Aden and give the people what they expect—give them an image that will bring comfort.”
Chloe felt as if her heart was trying to claw its way up her throat. Failing that, she was certain it would beat through her chest. She knew all about marriage. About the dynamic between a husband and wife. About what a man did when he saw a woman as his property.
SECRET HEIRS OF POWERFUL MEN
Their command is about to be challenged!
Sheikh Sayid al Kadar and Alik Vasin might not be related by blood, but these brothers-in-arms forged an unbreakable bond in the line of duty.
They’ve fought for their countries, for their lives, but has that readied their hearts for what could be the biggest battle of them all…?
HEIR TO A DESERT LEGACY April 2013
Sheikh Sayid discovers that his brother is survived by a son, and he’ll do anything to recover the true heir to the throne. Even if it means taking on the child’s aunt; she’s like a lioness who insists on fighting him every step of the way!
HEIR TO A DARK INHERITANCE May 2013
When Alik’s wayward past comes back to haunt him, he’ll ensure that his young daughter will grow up with a childhood nothing like his own.
But one woman is standing in his way, and there may be only one solution… to marry her!
For my readers. Without you, none of this is possible.
MAISEY YATES is a NYT bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website, maiseyyates.com.
For my readers. Without you, none of this is possible.
SAYID AL KADAR SCANNED the empty street and tugged the collar of his coat up, shielding the back of his neck from the raindrops that were threatening to infiltrate. The Portland drizzle was intolerable in his opinion.
Even in this more desirable part of the city, everything seemed locked together. Stone on the road, the walk, the buildings that stretched up into the sky. It all felt closed in. A glass-and-steel prison. It was no place for a man like him.
No place for the heir to the throne of Attar. And yet, according to every piece of data he’d gathered over the past twenty-four hours, this is where the heir to the throne of Attar was.
The moment he’d found the paperwork in his brother’s secret vault, he’d been driven to find out if there was a chance that the heir had survived. Alik had confirmed not only the child’s survival, but his whereabouts, in record time. Not that his friend’s speed and efficiency should surprise Sayid at this point. Alik never failed.
Sayid shoved his hands into his pockets and crossed the street, just as a woman was approaching the same apartment building he was intent on.
He smiled at her, reaching for the kind of charm he’d buried long ago, if he’d ever truly possessed it. A kind of charm he rarely bothered to feign anymore. It worked. She keyed in her code and then held the door open for him, her smile wide and inviting.
He wasn’t looking for that kind of invitation.
He went into a different elevator than she’d chosen and waited for it to carry him to the top floor. He felt out of place here, and yet, being away from the palace brought its own relief.
His jaw tightened as the lift rose, tension bunching his muscles to the point of pain by the time the doors slid open. The hallway was narrow, the building broadcasting its age with each creak of the floorboards. Dampness hung in the air, clung to his clothes, his skin, another side effect of the unpleasant climate.
It reminded him of a jail cell. He had never had a reason to come to the United States before. His place was in Attar, in the broad expanse of the desert. Though, now that his duties kept him close to the palace, it felt nearly as foreign as this cold, damp place.
Since his plane had touched down, he’d been struck by the constant wetness. A chill that soaked through everything, wrapped itself around his bones.
Or maybe the chill wasn’t something that could be blamed on the weather. If he were honest, he would admit that he’d been cold for more than six weeks now. Ever since the word had come about the death of his brother and sister-in-law.
And now there was this.
The child. He made it a goal of his to avoid children, babies in particular. But there would be no avoiding this.
He paused at the door that had a thirteen bolted to it and knocked. He could not remember the last time he’d knocked.
“Just a second.” There was a crashing noise, a loud curse and the wail of a baby, then footsteps. He could hear someone leaning against the door. Checking the peephole most likely.
In which case he doubted he would be given admittance. Something else he could not remember facing at any time in his recent memory, at least outside of a combat situation.