The Sheikh's Borrowed Baby (More Than He Bargained For Book 7)
Holly Rayner
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Sheikh’s Borrowed Baby
Holly Rayner
Contents
The Sheikh’s Borrowed Baby
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
The Sheikh’s Triplet Baby Surprise
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Also by Holly Rayner
The Sheikh’s Borrowed Baby
Copyright 2018 by Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
How could anything possibly go wrong?
It was mid-June, and the Philadelphia weather couldn’t have been more perfect. The summer sun was easing across a peaceful, powder-blue sky, bringing with it the slightest hint of a sea breeze drifting in from the Delaware River. Every tree in the surrounding residential areas had cooperated by blossoming with tender green leaves, which had then invited rock pigeons and turtle doves to coo among them.
Indeed, the day felt so full of vim and vigor, of pep-to-your-step and chin-in-the-air attitude, that surely, nothing could possibly go wrong.
Unless you happened to be Hallie Jameson. Not only had she been born under an evil star (according to her own calculations), but the bad cosmic energy had followed her, directing all the events of her life. This star, Hallie thought, took particular pleasure in those whose fates could be turned for the worse.
Feeling caught between pessimism and optimism that afternoon, as she walked home from the parking lot where she usually left her car after work, Hallie couldn’t help making a mental list of her woes.
Take the tricycle accident that had happened at the very impressionable age of four. Who else could have ridden down a perfectly empty driveway, only to hit a nonexistent boulder and tip completely upside down? Lots of blood and tears later, the toy had mysteriously disappeared.
She had recovered. She had gone on. Her progression to the bicycle, and its aftermath, was a story still told and laughed at in the family. An innocent trial run, a tree that had surely hopped from a side lawn to the center of her sidewalk… She’d been doomed before she’d even clambered onto the wobbly contraption.
From then on, Hallie had decided that nothing fewer than four wheels would do for her.
“Hey, Hallie, how’s life?”
She raised her attention from the curb at her feet.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Gilmore.”
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Sure, if you like that sort of thing.”
The stout, gray-haired neighbor, out sweeping the front step of her apartment, laughed and shook a friendly finger.
“Oh, you. Always joking.”
“That’s me—a laugh a minute.”
“On your way home from the hospital, eh? Things were busy today?”
Hallie paused, lifting one hand to shade her eyes against the dappled sunshine.
“Oh, you know, the usual…a couple cases of flu, minor fender-bender, somebody’s complaint of stomach problems after their alien abduction. You doing okay?”
“Me? Oh, honey, I’m fine as frog’s hair. You take care, now.”
“I will, thanks. See you later, Mrs. G.”
A rogue breeze swirled through, tugging at a lock of Hallie’s shoulder-length chestnut hair as she crossed the street toward home. Her ruminations, still somewhat morose, continued.
The embarrassing (and painful) fall from the top of the cheerleading heap during high school days that had resulted in a broken ankle and several weeks spent wearing a boot. The low mark on a chemistry test that had dropped her grade point average just enough to prevent her from being named salutatorian of the graduating class, which had in turn prevented her from receiving the college scholarship for which she had applied. Quite a disappointing chain of events there, all in one fell swoop, since her future had been so directly affected.
Most recently, the evil star had sent her a gorgeous, charming boyfriend who had swept her off her feet, left her pregnant after just a few weeks of dating, and then conveniently disappeared from her life, just when she’d needed his presence and support the most.
Lost in that thought, Hallie barely noticed she’d arrived at her front door, one in an endless row of apartments in brick buildings in this up-and-coming area of town. Not much in the way of scenery, to be sure. But a nice block-sized square of park right across the street, with plenty of green grass, a well-maintained playground, and mature trees to inform her of the change in seasons.
“Watch out!”
The warning shout from somewhere above and to the left was followed almost immediately by a crash, only inches away from where Hallie was standing, and a great flurry of dust and debris.
“Miss, I’m so sorry! Holy Toledo! Are you okay?”
After a hearty coughing fit—and a cautious glance around to ensure she was still standing on the same plane of earth—Hallie managed to squint toward the roof. A middle-aged man, dressed in working clothes and a bright yellow hard hat which sat on top of a worried face, was peering down at her.
“What was that?” she cried, partly in outrage, and partly in relief that she wasn’t lying flat on the ground, crushed under construction detritus.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, ma’am. Our insurance company frowns on killin’ any passersby. We’re replacing the gutter work up here and some pieces of it got away. Believe me, I’m really sorry.”
“I should hope so!”
Once more, she glanced up, this time more focused
on frowning at that devilish star that continued to plague her.
Reason returned as she fitted her key into the lock.
All right, all right. Maybe she had also been blessed with a guardian angel, working the other side of the coin.
Because every untimely event, with all its negatives, certainly came with its positives, as well. The accidents had caused harm, yes, but could have been much worse. While her sidetracked plans for school couldn’t be easily shrugged off, evidently, the road she’d taken was meant to be—like it or not. As for the ill-planned affair, with its whirligig of emotions (and expenses), she’d ended up with a prize: Aaron.
Hallie’s mood was usually positive, despite the bad luck she claimed was overshadowing her life, because she generally looked for the good instead of the bad. Everything probably just felt a little shaky today because she was nervous. Because she uncertain. Because she had a date.
And how long since she had last been out with a man? Well, let’s see… Aaron had just celebrated nine months on this earth—nine months prior to that…my goodness. A year and a half since her last contact with an age-appropriate male who wasn’t dressed in a hospital gown. No wonder she was feeling as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.
It had taken some planning, this simple meeting at a coffeehouse. When one is a working single mother, with a multitude of bills to pay, one doesn’t just casually say yes to any suggestion and flit off to this, that, or the other. There was the arrangement to be set up through one of her fellow ER nurses, whose cousin this fellow was, at a convenient time and place. There were the extra hours added onto necessary childcare, currently being provided by her parents.
There was also the whole dilemma of trying to make herself look as attractive and un-frazzled as possible.
Inside her small home, Hallie made a quick trip to the bathroom to strip off her wrinkled blue scrubs and take a shower. Then, to the bedroom, to put on a flirty skirt, coral-colored cotton sweater, and her best sandals. Lastly, a chance to freshen up her makeup, comb her hair, and grab her purse before making the two-block walk to where her ten-year-old sedan was parked.
Café Mud had opened its glass doors to an enthusiastic public several months ago, and its clientele had remained loyal ever since. A comfortable décor of forest green and rich dark wood, free Wi-Fi, and the menu’s appetizing variety of drinks and foodstuffs catered to a respectable crowd of any and all ages.
At 4 p.m. on a summer afternoon, Hallie waltzed into the establishment with as much confidence as she could muster, nervous but excited to meet her blind date.
“If you’re Hallie Jameson, you’re early.”
That sounded more like an accusation than a greeting, and Hallie turned in surprise.
“Then I presume you’re Mark Buchanan, and you’re even earlier.”
Smiling, he rose from behind a small square table and approached.
“Yep. Didn’t want you standing around all on your own. What would you like to drink?”
While he went to the counter to place their order, she sized him up. Just as, she had no doubt, he had sized her up. He was a sturdy man, a few inches her superior in height, with a middle that carried several extra pounds and shoulders not quite wide enough to balance them. His blond hair was cut short, and he’d worn a casual blue plaid shirt that matched his eyes.
A friendly enough demeanor, one which offered another smile when he returned to join her.
“Here you go. You sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
“Oh, no, thanks. This will do me just fine.”
Her own smile, as she lifted her cup in a semi-salute, crinkled her eyes, which were as green as the new-budded trees on the bank, and emphasized two charming dimples.
He took a sip, laid both forearms crosswise on the table, and leaned forward just a little.
“So, Hallie Jameson. All I know is that you’re a nurse, and you work in the Emergency Room at Cranston Memorial. And those few details are all that I could pry out of my cousin. So. Tell me about yourself.”
His posture told Hallie that he was genuinely interested. Encouraged, she spoke about her work, since it took up so many hours and so much energy of her life. Brief summaries of several of her most interesting patients (anonymous, of course) followed, along with how the medical team had cared for them.
Finally, she gave an embarrassed laugh.
“But listen to me, going on and on. What about you, Mark? Paula mentioned you work in a law firm?”
“I do. Nothing grand or glorious—I mean, I’m far from the top rung. But I like to think I’m on the partner path, anyway.”
“What kind of law do you practice?” Another laugh. “Sorry. I always thought that was a strange way to describe it. For doctors, too. Practice—like, you’re just in training for the real thing.”
He joined her in a chuckle. “Yeah, English language. Goofy, huh? I do criminal stuff. Defending those charged with criminal activities, I should clarify.”
“Oh. Courtroom work?”
“Sometimes. Usually just as a second-stringer, so far. I’m hoping to cut my teeth on a really big case, since that’s where the money is. And we all do like money, don’t we?”
Tilting her head slightly, Hallie considered the man across the small table with a puzzled, wistful look.
“We do. We certainly do. It’s only…”
“Only what?”
“Well…you sort of make it sound as if money is the end-all, be-all.”
Mark shifted to take a sip of his coffee.
“What’s wrong with that? Isn’t it true of everybody? Or do you not take a salary from your hospital?”
“Sure, I take a salary. And, yes, it’s true that it never seems to be enough. But the work itself is more important than what I make. Helping people, I mean. Trying to make things better—”
“That’s just the great system called capitalism, Hallie. We all want a piece of the pie. But some of us want bigger pieces. So why is there never enough for you?”
Still troubled, she shrugged.
“All the expenses seem to keep going up, and the wages don’t keep pace. Utilities, rent, childcare—it all takes a bigger bite out of the paycheck each month, I guess.”
He suddenly went very still, blue eyes focused with laser attention on her face.
“Hold up. Childcare?”
“Yes. I’m a single mom, with a beautiful little nine-month-old son to provide for, and sometimes I worry that—Mark?”
Tight-lipped, her companion seemed to draw in on himself and pull a few inches away from the table, all at the same time. An interesting feat to accomplish.
“Funny. Paula didn’t seem to think it was relevant to mention that you have a kid.”
Not surprisingly, the date fizzled out after that. In fact, their time together died a nearly immediate, awkward death. When Mark rose to take his leave from her, politely expressing appreciation for the pleasure of her company but pointedly not suggesting they repeat the experience, Hallie knew, with a sinking heart, that she would never see the man again. And poor little innocent Aaron was the cause.
Damn that evil star!
Left alone, she finished her cup of cold coffee and gathered up her purse. What a disappointing, disenchanting afternoon—what a waste of her time.
For this, she had put on her second-best outfit, squashed her toes into a pair of ill-fitting sandals, rearranged her entire schedule, and set off with head and hope held high, only for none of the effort to be worth it.
It was enough to make her want to swear off dating forever.
Chapter 2
Glitter. Glitter and glam. Whichever way you turned, however you shifted your attention, it was all there, shining out and down and across like the accoutrements of some storied castle ball. Not so subtly done, perhaps, but certainly worthy of attention.
A series of chandeliers, each immensely proportioned, sent twinkling prisms of light into every corner of the enormous room, which
tonight, was given over to the rule of a corporate dinner and celebration for the privileged one-percenters.
Mirrors reflected the silver flash of a disco ball, burgundy curtains provided the backdrop, and the highly polished marble floors and plush blue carpet reflected the attendees’ collective wealth. The hum of conversation and the clink and clatter of dining utensils vied with the subdued musical renderings of a twelve-piece orchestra.
It was supposed to be a charitable dinner dance, but wheelings and dealings of all kinds were being conducted over every inch of white linen tablecloth.
Sheikh Karim Al Ahsan, native of the Middle Eastern nation of Al Mediznah, glued his jaws together, stifling a yawn. How many of these pretentious functions had he attended in his twenty-nine years? How many had he endured simply in the name of commerce and industry, to enhance his own or to attract new?
The chase for the almighty petrodollar extended around the world, pulling him and others like him along like the tail of a comet. Would it end only when the fossil fuel empire finally ran dry? When forward-looking entrepreneurs sought new, renewable resources?
Of course, for Karim, member of a well-connected family and cousin of his country’s ruler, these were but distant, wandering thoughts. His main concern tonight was to ensure that his own plan did not fall through.
“Ah, Karim, my friend. You seem pensive.”
It was Chip Griffin, the suave and distinguished white-haired reason for Karim’s attendance, leaning forward slightly from his place opposite him to make the comment. Chip was the owner and CEO of Griffin Oceanic, a ship-building conglomerate whose sale to Karim’s own company was scheduled to be completed within the next couple of weeks (after a boatload of lawyers had had their way with the paperwork).
He had welcomed Karim to the festivities tonight as if he were not selling off a great chunk of himself.
“Just taking in my surroundings,” Karim replied pleasantly.
A tall, well-built young man whose clean-shaven face showed off a sharp jawline, Karim had been educated at some of the finest schools and universities in the world and spoke three languages fluently, without a trace of an accent.
