To Wed a Sheikh. Teresa SouthwickЧитать онлайн книгу.
Zafir everything you hope.”
“Thank you.”
As she watched him walk away, she couldn’t help wishing his shoulders weren’t quite so broad and his stride not quite so long. Because rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief—it made no difference. Loving any man wasn’t easy. Period.
Not that their paths would cross. He ran a country. She’d been hired to run the maternity ward of his hospital. And if that wasn’t enough to convince her, not a single research source she’d consulted about El Zafir had ever promised that Ali’s foreign adventure would include a dalliance with a handsome prince.
Ali Matlock was a distraction.
Kamal knew because his meeting had dragged on longer than it should have. And the fault was hers. The ministers of finance and education had repeated information two and three times because thoughts of the attractive American had splintered his concentration. It was a weakness he would take pains to overcome.
He looked at his watch as he left the palace business wing and hurried to the family quarters. No doubt he’d missed Johara’s prenatal checkup. His sister was eight months pregnant, an unfortunate result of her teenage rebellion. After the first angry confrontation, the king had ignored his daughter. And the baby’s jackal of a father had the audacity to be killed in a motorcycle accident before Kamal could take him apart with his bare hands, then force what was left of him to marry his sister. Instead, Kamal had given her his promise that she could lean on him. Always.
Today he hadn’t exactly broken his promise. But he’d certainly bent it.
He stopped before the door to his sister’s suite of rooms and knocked. When his aunt bade him enter, he did so, grateful the older woman had been there for his sister.
Following the sound of female voices, he crossed the marble foyer and entered the living room. Along with his two sisters-in-law, Penny and Crystal, he found Farrah on the semicircular sofa that dominated the room.
“Has the doctor been here?” he demanded of his aunt.
Holding a delicate china cup, she looked up at him. She was an elegantly attractive woman in her fifties, although she could pass for twenty years younger. Her black eyes snapped with intelligence in her unlined face. Black hair, expertly coiffed, turned under and brushed the collar of her jewel green silk suit jacket. “Yes.”
“Been and gone,” Penny informed him. “He apologized for not waiting for you. But he had to get back to the hospital.”
This small, delicate, blond, blue-eyed American had captured his youngest brother’s heart when she’d been assigned as his assistant. The family charmer, Rafiq had been charmed by her and they quickly married. Although her slender figure didn’t show it yet, they were expecting a child within the year.
“I was delayed,” he explained.
“A likely story,” Crystal said, her hazel eyes twinkling. “I think you would grab any excuse to avoid a chick thing.”
“Chick thing?” he asked.
“You know.” Crystal’s grin betrayed the fact she was baiting him. “Prenatal care, babies, swollen ankles, water retention.”
“Ah,” he said, permitting himself a small smile.
He’d once thought Crystal’s hair nondescript. But long and loose as now, it shone with red highlights. She’d been hired as the nanny to his brother Fariq’s five-year-old twins and they’d fallen in love. Looking at her rounded curves, one would never guess that she, too, would give birth to his brother’s third child before the end of the year.
A fleeting twist of envy gripped Kamal before he suppressed the feeling. His brothers were second and third in line to the throne. They could afford to fall in love. He could not. He had no intention of letting any weakness distract him from his responsibilities to his country and its people. For him, marriage was strictly a duty to be undertaken, but love wouldn’t be involved.
“Where is Johara?” he asked, looking around.
“In the other room,” Farrah answered, lifting her chin toward his sister’s bedroom.
He could hear the distant, indistinct sound of a female voice. Looking at his aunt, he asked, “What did the doctor say?”
“He wishes to see her once a week until she gives birth.”
“Why?”
“It is standard procedure during the last month of pregnancy.” Her smooth forehead wrinkled with worry. “One thing of concern—her blood pressure is slightly elevated. As yet, he doesn’t believe it’s of consequence, but instructed us to call him if we have any worries or questions.”
He nodded grimly. Pregnancy and birth were the cycle of life. The most natural thing in the world. Unless there was a problem. He’d watched Johara’s mother lose her life while she was with child. Pushing aside his dark thoughts, he looked at the three women sitting on the sofa—two of them with an unmistakable glow.
“May I inquire about your checkups?”
“A-okay,” Penny informed him. “Morning sickness has passed and we’re doing fine.”
“Me, too,” Crystal said. “My only hitch was on the scale. I have to cut back on dessert and beef up the protein, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
“Of course. Anything for a beautiful woman.”
She grinned. “Kamal, you’re a shameless flatterer, just like your brother. Although Fariq didn’t reveal that trait at first.”
Penny laughed. “That was before he saw through your disguise.”
An interesting time, Kamal remembered. His aunt had gone to an exclusive agency in New York to hire a new nanny for his brother’s children, preferably a plain woman who would not attract undue attention and disrupt the palace. She’d come back with two new employees who had bewitched his brothers. He realized his aunt was also responsible for bringing Ali Matlock here to work in the hospital and wondered if he should be concerned. Then he decided not to be. He had yet to meet the woman who could persuasively divert him from his duty. Ali was nothing more than a distraction; he wouldn’t let her be anything more.
But he was expected to produce an heir. Soon. The hints from his father and aunt Farrah were getting bolder and less veiled.
Crystal sighed. “Did you know the first time I met Fariq he told me beautiful women are an unwelcome distraction?”
“No,” Kamal said a little too quickly and forcefully. She couldn’t know he’d just had the same thought a moment ago. But Ali had splintered his concentration, producing the weakness. Fortunately, she worked in the hospital, not the palace. It was unlikely she would distract him a second time.
Just then the sound of female laughter carried to him, before Princess Johara waddled—walked—into the room. Behind her was his own personal unwelcome distraction. Ali Matlock.
“Kamal!” His sister came forward to greet him.
He leaned down and kissed her on both cheeks. “How are you, little one?”
“Not so little.” She placed her hands on her bulging belly. “Did Aunt Farrah tell you what the doctor said? My blood pressure?” she asked, her lovely dark eyes brimming with worry.
“I was informed.” He looked at Ali.
She was dressed as she’d been when he’d seen her at the hospital several hours before. White lab coat over green scrubs. Women in El Zafir dressed conservatively with long sleeves, high necklines and hems that covered their legs to mid-calf. She was covered appropriately for her work, but somehow what he couldn’t see tantalized him more. Her auburn hair was twisted up and off her collar, but several tendrils caressed her cheeks and flirted with her long neck. Big eyes, brown with flecks of green and gold, stared back at him.
Six months ago,