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Mac stood and Rafe stood with him. This was an...unexpected development. He would have to brazen it out as best he could. “Ah, here you are. Violet, this is my old college friend, Rafe bin Saleed.”
“Bin Saleed?” she said, her eyes so wide they were practically bursting out of her head. “Bin?”
“Um, yeah,” Mac said, his gaze darting between the two of them. “Rafe, this is my little sister, Violet.”
V was Violet. V was his mortal enemy’s younger sister.
Destiny had a twisted sense of humor.
Inwardly, he was kicking himself, as the Americans said. Rafiq bin Saleed did not randomly bring a woman back to his bed. He did not seduce her and strip her and he most certainly did not send her love notes the next morning. He was a sheikh. He had no need for those things. His one night of passion with the exact wrong woman could threaten twelve years of planning.
Outwardly, however, he kept his composure. Years of facing his father’s wrath had trained him well in remaining calm in the face of danger. He had to put a good face on this. His scheme had not yet come to fruition, and if Violet placed him in the greater Royal area four months before his “arrival” today, everything could be at risk.
All his schemes could fall apart in front of him, all because he had been unable to resist a beautiful woman.
Unless...a new thought occurred to him. Unless Violet already knew of his schemes. Unless she had been sent by her brother to find him all those months ago. Unless Mac had anticipated Rafe’s attack and launched a counterattack while Rafe was distracted by a beautiful smile and a gorgeous body.
But she had insisted on no names. He had never used his real name, just as she had hidden hers. Was it possible that she had really just been looking for a night’s passion?
He had no choice but to continue to play the part of the long-lost friend. He couldn’t show his hand just because he had accidentally slept with this woman. “Violet,” he said, letting the hard T sound of her name roll off his tongue, just as so many other things had rolled off his tongue. He bowed low to her, a sign of respect in his culture. “It is an honor to finally meet Mac’s beloved sister.”
“Is it?” she snapped.
Mac shot her a warning look. “Violet,” he said quietly. “We talked about this.”
“Sorry,” she said, clearly not sorry at all. “I was expecting someone else entirely.”
Rafe wanted to laugh. Truthfully, he had been, as well. But he did no such thing. Instead, he said calmly, “Have I come at a bad time?”
Americans had an expression that Rafe had never heard before he’d attended university at Harvard—“If looks could kill.” In his sheikhdom of Al Qunfudhah, no one would dare look at a sheikh with such venom—to do so was to risk dismemberment or even death at the hands of Hassad bin Saleed, who had ruled with an iron fist and an iron blade.
But he was no longer in Al Qunfudhah, and if looks could kill, Violet would have finished him off several minutes ago.
He notched an eyebrow at her. He was more than capable of controlling himself. Could she say the same? Or was that why Mac had gone to speak to her privately—were they getting their stories straight?
You were capable of controlling yourself, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Until you met her.
“No, no,” Mac said warmly. “Violet, maybe you should get us something to drink.”
She turned her wrathful gaze to Mac and Rafe decided that, even if Mac had sent Violet to him, she had not told her brother the truth of their evening together. “Excuse me? Do I look like your maid?”
“Violet!” Mac sent another worried grin toward Rafe. “Sorry, Rafe.”
Rafe waved his hand as if Violet’s attitude were nothing. “We are not in Al Qunfudhah,” he said, trying to set Mac at ease even as he enjoyed his old friend’s discomfort. “I remember how things in America are quite different than they are back home. I do not expect to be served by the women in the house.”
But even as he said it, he casually sat back in the middle of the sofa, spreading his arms out along the back and waiting to be served by someone. He took up as much space as he could. I am here, he thought at Violet, catching her eye and lifting his chin in challenge. What are you going to do about it?
Oh, yes. If looks could kill, he would be in extreme pain right now. “That’s where you’re from?”
The bitterness of her tone was somewhat unexpected. The last time he had seen her, she had been asleep in his bed, nude except for the sheets that had twisted around her waist. Her beautiful auburn hair had been fanned out over her shoulder, and even as she slept, her rosebud lips had been curved into a satisfied, if small, smile. She had looked like a woman who had been thoroughly pleasured, and Rafe had almost woken her up with a touch and a kiss.
But she had only asked for a night, so he quietly let himself out of the room, arranged to have breakfast sent up and then met with Nolan to go over his plans for purchasing more of the land around Mac’s Double M ranch. He had tried mightily to put his night of wanton abandon with the beautiful V out of his mind.
Which was not to say he had succeeded. Not for the first time, he replayed their evening together. He had not coerced her—no, he specifically remembered several points where he had given her a respectable out.
It had been her choice to come to his room. Her choice to make it one night. Her choice not to use names or places.
As far as Rafe was concerned, Violet had nothing to be bitter about. He had made sure she had been well satisfied, just as he had been.
“I’ll get us something to drink. Violet, can I talk to you in the kitchen?” Mac said, forgoing subtlety altogether.
“I’ll take some lemonade,” Violet responded, ignoring her brother’s request and sitting in a chair across from Rafe. “Thanks.”
Of course Rafe knew they were not in Al Qunfudhah anymore, but it was something of a surprise to not only see a woman give a man—her guardian, no less—an order, but to see that man heave a weary sigh and obey.
Perhaps if Nasira had felt freer to assert herself as Violet did...
Well, things might have been different. But knowing his father, things would not have been better.
Rafe pushed away those thoughts and focused instead on the woman before him. Violet was seething with barely contained rage, that much was obvious.
Once Mac was out of the room, Violet leaned toward him. “Rafiq bin Saleed?”
He would not let her get to him. She may be a slightly hysterical female, but he was still a sheikh. “It’s lovely to see you again, V. Unexpected, yes, but lovely nonetheless.”
“Oh, it’s unexpected all right. What the hell?”
He ignored her outburst. “You are well, I trust?”
Her eyes got wide—very wide indeed. “Well? Oh, you’re going to care now?”
He bristled at her tone. “For your information, I cared that night. But it was you who asked for just that—a night. Just one. So I honored your wishes. No names, no strings—that was how you put it, was it not?”
She continued to glare at him. “What do I even call you? Not Ben, I assume.”
“Rafe will do for now.”
“Will it? Is that your real name? Or just another alias?”
“My name is Rafiq,” he said stiffly. He did not enjoy being on the defensive. “Rafe is a well-known nickname in my country.”
Her nostrils flared, as if she were getting ready to physically attack him. “Well, Rafe, since you asked, I am not well.”
“No?” Against his will, he felt a plume of concern rise through his belly. He should be glad she was not well. That would only cause Mac more suffering.
But Rafe was concerned. He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her breath against his skin and make her well. He was a wealthy man. There was nothing he could not provide for her. “Not because of something I have done, I hope.”
She was breathing hard now, as if she were standing on the top of a tall peak and getting ready to jump. “You could say that. I’m pregnant.”
Rafe blinked at her, trying to comprehend the words. Had she just said—pregnant? “Mine?”
She looked much like a lioness ready to pounce on her prey, all coiled energy and focus. “Of course it’s yours. I realize we don’t know very much about each other but I don’t normally pick up men. That was a one time thing. You’re the only man I’ve been with in the last year and you were supposed to use condoms!” She hissed the word but quietly. It was for his ears and his ears alone.
Before he could come up with something reasonable to say—something reasonable to think, even—Mac strode back into the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses. “Lemonade?”
Two (#ulink_eb54bd57-0cef-5029-950c-8b1911abfc0e)
Rafe just...sat there. For Pete’s sake, he didn’t even blink when Mac walked back into the room. Violet’s whole world was falling apart around her and Rafe looked as though she’d announced she liked French fries instead of the fact that she was carrying his child.
She couldn’t take it. She needed to go. If she could make it back to a bathroom, where she could throw up in peace and quiet, that’d be great.
“Actually,” she said, forcing herself to stand. “I’m not thirsty. Thanks anyway, Mac.”
The father of her unborn baby was not just some nameless stranger she’d met in a bar. Oh, no—that would be getting off easy. If that were the case, she’d merely be pregnant and alone. Which was a terrifying prospect, but comparatively?
The father of her child was a sheikh. And not just any sheikh. Her brother’s former friend, the one who had blamed Mac for seducing his sister and ended the friendship under no uncertain terms.
Oh, she was going to be so sick.
She willed her legs not to wobble as she stood. Ben or Rafe or Sheikh Saleed or whatever his name was stood with her.
In the past thirty-some-odd minutes, her perfect fantasy night had somehow become an epic nightmare. Had she been dreading telling Mac she was pregnant before? Ha. How the hell was she supposed to tell him now? I’m expecting and by the way, the father is your old friend. Isn’t that a laugh riot?
Mac already treated her as though she was still a lost little girl of sixteen. What would he do now that she’d proven how very irresponsible she was?
Oh, God—this was going to change everything. It already had.
She turned and headed for the door, but due to her wobbly legs, she didn’t get out of the room fast enough. “Violet,” Rafe said in his ridiculous voice, all sunshine and honey, and damned if the sound of her name on his lips didn’t send another burst of warmth and desire through her. Her head may have been a mess, but her body—her stupid, traitorous body—still wanted this man. Hell.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let his accent melt her from the inside out, because what had happened the last time? She’d ended up pregnant and unmarried. Violet did not often think of her parents—the loss was too painful, even after all these years—but right now, what she wanted more than anything was her mother.
“What?”
Mac winced and Violet could almost hear him adding, Said Violet, impulsively.
“I would like to know more about Royal and catch up with my old friends.” Something about the way Rafe said friends hit Violet wrong, but before she could figure out what it was, he went on, “Would you both join me for dinner tomorrow night?”
What had she done to deserve this? Because the torture of sitting through dinner with both her brother and her former lover at this exact moment of her life and pretending that nothing had changed was right up there with being stepped on by a herd of stampeding cattle.
“Well, damn,” Mac said. “I’m going to be out of town. But Violet can go with you.”
That was just like Mac, to assume that she spent all her free time painting her nails and listening to Backstreet Boys. She rolled her eyes at Rafe, which must not have been something people in his country did, given the way the color on his cheeks deepened.
Still, Rafe forged on, by all appearances completely unbothered by her impulsiveness or her pregnancy—except for that blush, which only made him look more sinfully handsome. Damn the man.
“Ah, that is acceptable. That way I can keep an eye on you.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “Shall we meet tomorrow, say at seven?”
And Mac, the rat bastard, nodded his approval, as if they were having this entire conversation about her without remembering she was in the room.
She was totally going to blame this on hormones, this mix of rage and self-pity and the sudden urge to cry, all folded in together with desire and relief until she was so mixed up she couldn’t think straight.
But had Mac already asked this man to keep an eye on her? Violet so did not need a babysitter at this point. In six months or so, yes, she would need a babysitter. But before she had an actual baby, she did not. “I don’t—”
“Sure, that’d be great,” Mac said warmly, as if Violet were incapable of having dinner on her own without getting into some sort of trouble. “I have a meeting with Andrea scheduled that I can’t get out of—Andrea’s my assistant,” he added, seeing Rafe’s quizzical look. “But you two can go on and have a nice time.”
A nice time? Oh, she had some things she wanted to say to her brother—about Rafe—but the fact was, she did actually need to talk with Rafe. Alone. “Yeah,” she said, trying to sound at least a little bit excited about the prospect. Four months ago, another evening with her mystery man, Ben, would have been too good to be true. But now? “Sure. Dinner.”
Rafe gave her a small smile that absolutely did not appease her. She hated him right then, because her entire world had just blown up in her face and the father of her child stood there looking as sexy as he had the night he’d taken her to bed. This pregnancy was going to change everything for her—but for him?
Yeah, they needed to talk. Preferably where no one would interrupt them to offer lemonade. “Tomorrow, then,” Rafe said.
“Sounds good.” Mac was staring at her, so she dug deep for something polite to say. “I look forward to it.”
Rafe tilted his head down but kept his gaze locked on hers. “As do I.”
“Say, Rafe, in two nights, I’ll be at the Texas Cattleman’s Club—we’ve got a meeting. If you’re interested in setting down some roots locally, you could come with me.”
Violet started choking. Somehow, the air had gotten very sharp in her throat. She couldn’t have heard that right—could she have? “What?”
Rafe inclined his head at Mac, but he spoke to Violet. “I have been considering branching out into the energy business, so naturally I sought out my old friend.”
“Oh, naturally. That makes total sense.” She tried to smile, but it must have looked more like teeth baring, because both men recoiled slightly.
Something didn’t add up here. But her head was such a hot mess right now that she had no hope of figuring out what it was.
“I shall see you for dinner tomorrow night,” Rafe said, and she didn’t miss the particular timbre of his voice that seemed designed to send a thrill through her body. Then he turned, giving Mac a big smile that seemed less than sincere, Violet thought. “And I would be delighted to see this club of yours.”
“Great,” Mac said, clearly missing the forced smile. “It’s a plan!”
* * *
Morning sickness was a lie. This was what Violet had concluded after a night and a day of suffering with a roiling stomach.
Of course, there was also the possibility that it was not morning sickness. A quick web search revealed that most people were only sick for the first three months, and Violet was safely in her fourth month. After all, she knew the exact date of conception.
Just thinking about that night in Ben’s—Rafe’s—arms again made her stomach turn. Frankly, she defied anyone to not have an upset stomach in a situation like this.
She stood in front of her meager closet in nothing but her panties and bra—her regular bra, not the black-with-white-embroidery number she’d been wearing when she met Rafe. This was a smooth white T-shirt bra. Not a danged thing sexy about it.
Because that’s who she was—functional and dull and not terribly sexy. If Rafe thought she was going to show up for dinner tonight as V again, he had another think coming.
Besides, her one fancy cocktail dress—black with the lacy sleeves—well, it didn’t exactly fit right now. She’d already tried it on and she couldn’t get it zipped.
All those little changes her body had been experiencing—the slight weight gain, the nausea, the overwhelming urge to nap—she’d written off each and every little bump in the road as exhaustion or a bug or the changing of the seasons or stress or, hell, the phases of the moon. But now?
Not a bump in the road. A baby bump.
She had a plan. She had an appointment with an obstetrician in Holloway in two weeks. It was ridiculous that she felt she had to go to the next town over, but she hadn’t exactly decided just yet on how she was going to tell Mac about this “bump in the road.” She kind of had it in her mind that once she had a doctor’s official...whatever, it would be easier to talk to Mac. But if she went to the local doctor in Royal, word might get back to Mac before she could gird her loins. So she was just buying a little time here.
