The Sheikh's Miracle Baby Daughters Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Sheikh’s Miracle Baby Daughters

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  The Sheikh’s Miracle Baby Daughters

  By Sophia Lynn & Ella Brooke

  All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2018 Sophia Lynn & Ella Brooke

  This story is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Frannie

  When Frannie was just a little girl, her father told her that when things were going badly, she should always stop, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly as she counted to ten. Her father had died when she was just seventeen, but she had always kept his advice in her mind.

  Of course, there wasn't time to stop and count to ten on the Lombard's shooting schedule, and she had a feeling that if she stopped and even tried counting to three, she would be right on her rear.

  “Fran, look alive, the sheikh is due in just five minutes!” snapped Philip, striding behind her with his camera in his hands. He was the sole dictator of his tiny little kingdom, which today was a drafty loft in Notting Hill. There were perhaps a half dozen people around besides her scuttling about and trying to avoid Philip's sharp eye, and Frannie knew that they were right to be afraid. Philip was the Lombard's head photographer, and he got away with fits of artistic temper simply because he was just that good.

  I'll be that good someday. I just need to survive being Philip's assistant. Maybe in another few months or so, he'll figure out that I hate being called Fran.

  She didn't think he would. It had taken him almost three months to stop calling her “that American girl.” It was progress of a sort, and she couldn't deny that she was learning a great deal from him.

  Today, Frannie was learning how to throw together a luxurious set for an impromptu interview and photo shoot with a big name while having next to no sleep.

  Honestly, can't Mr. Big Shot Sheikh just get on the calendar like everyone else?

  Given the way Marlene, the writer, had called the photography staff in so frantically late last night, obviously he couldn't.

  Frannie shimmied up the ladder to hang up yet another swathe of mosquito netting, letting the diaphanous material drop from the ceiling to the floor. It looked dull and tacky in real life, but she knew that when Philip trained his lens on it, it would be transformed into something magical. For a moment, she simply looked at the bustling set beneath her, and then with a deep breath, she started to descend the ladder.

  Oh, that mosquito netting is drifting. I need to make sure that I don't step on it…

  The thought flew completely out of her mind, however, when on the last step of the ladder she was jostled by someone passing too close. She stepped back to avoid getting stepped on, her foot came down squarely on the mosquito netting, and somehow she and the ladder were falling.

  She heard a low curse just as she realized that she was not going to regain her feet, and she flinched, waiting to come into contact with the concrete floor, the aluminum ladder, or both. Frannie braced herself for the pain, but somehow, it never came despite the almighty clatter that ensued.

  Frannie opened her eyes warily, and then she blinked. She had been caught in a pair of strong arms, and she was looking into the face of a man she had never met before. She knew she had never met him before because she would definitely remember someone who was so incredibly handsome. His face was only saved from sheer beauty because of a slightly crooked nose, and beneath dark, dark brows, his eyes were a breathtaking pale green.

  God, I need to do a shoot with this man...

  Frannie only realized that she was staring when the man's sensuous lips quirked into a small smile.

  “Are you all right? Can you stand?”

  “Can I—? Oh...oh yes! I can stand, I'm sorry...”

  Frannie scrambled for balance, all of a sudden too aware of her mousy brown hair pulled back into a sloppy bun, and her set clothes baggy and a little tattered. For a terrible moment, she was afraid she would fall down into a pile of nerves and flailing limbs, but then his arms were there, pulling her up and settling her on her feet.

  “There. No need to be so frantic. Are you going to be all right?”

  Frannie, aware that there was a red blush on her cheeks, started to nod, but then she heard an outraged cry, and she knew that the answer probably wasn't going to be yes.

  Philip stormed over, taking in the fallen ladder, the ripped and torn mosquito netting, and he looked around furiously.

  “What the hell? Who's responsible for this? The client is coming in five minutes, and I swear I will have whoever's head was responsible for this!”

  He looked around at the cringing staff accusingly, looking so much like an affronted dragon that Frannie wanted to laugh. It was either laugh or cry, because she was fairly certain that she was not going to have a job after she confessed to her crime.

  “Philip, it was—”

  “I am sorry, I arrived a little early, and I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. I was not watching where I was going, and I tipped the ladder over.”

  The man who had caught her interposed himself smoothly between Frannie and her irate boss, taking Philip's hand as naturally as if Philip had actually gone in for a handshake.

  Philip blinked. “Er... Your Highness...”

  “Properly, the title is Sheikh, but for today, simply call me Khaliq, yes?”

  Oh god, he's made of charm. I'm pretty sure that Philip's straight, and he still looks fairly dazed...

  “Oh, of course, Khaliq. Of course it is no problem, we can have it fixed in a moment...”

  “Ah good. Your assistant here, she tried to warn me, and I would hate to have anyone put out by my clumsiness.”

  To Frannie's surprise, she realized that the sheikh—the sheikh! —was gesturing at her. Philip gave her a suspicious look, but he nodded curtly at her.

  “Fix it up as best you can. I'll start by shooting our guest over by the bay windows before I come back over here.”

  Watching Philip herd Khaliq away was like watching a Jack Russell terrier harry a lion. Khaliq was a big man, and though he was dressed simply in designer jeans and an extraordinarily well-cut, deep blue shirt, it was easy to see that there was a lot of muscle on his frame.

  No wonder he caught me so easily, Frannie thought, reaching down for the mosquito netting. In her line of work, she saw a lot of gym bodies, a lot of men who spent at least a fifth of their lives chasing the perfect body with dedicated trainers and dietitians. There was something different about this man. For some reason, she got the idea that his strength was born from actual use rather than climbing a zillion stairs at the gym.

  “What the hell, the damned girl with the paintbrush had to tell me that my interview was...”

  Amelia, the feature writer for Lombard, came to a halt when she saw Philip arranging Khaliq on a stool close to the bay window. The man might have been a menace in the studio, but there was absolutely no question he knew his work. The light coming in the window highlighted the shei
kh's sharp cheekbones and gave his green eyes an almost unearthly glow.

  “Wow,” Amelia muttered just loud enough for Frannie to hear. “That's some piece of man, huh, kid?”

  Frannie blushed a little, and Amelia snorted, punching her lightly on the shoulder.

  “Can't always be swooning over a pretty face in this business. Even if that face does have muscles coming outta its ears.”

  Amelia moved forward with a smile, and Frannie was left with mosquito netting in her hand, far behind the action.

  Well, what else is new, she thought wryly, getting back to her task.

  Despite her resolve, she couldn't help sneaking looks at Khaliq throughout the day, watching him laugh, watching him tilt his head to one side thoughtfully, turning with amused tolerance when Philip wanted him in better light. There was something more than beautiful about the sheikh, she realized. There was an elusive quality about him that made her yearn for her own camera, to see if she could capture some of it on film herself.

  Then he laughed, and she felt a ripple of something else go through her. Frannie laughed at herself.

  Well, wanting to know what he kisses like is certainly more normal at least.

  She was smart enough to know that realistically she would get to do neither, and she got back to work.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Khaliq

  The interview was a fluff piece, one more brick in his campaign to put his homeland into the Western eye, but it was run fairly competently. The photographer was good at his job, and Khaliq was certainly vain enough to be pleased he would look good. The writer was more of a problem. There was something sharp and greedy in her eyes and behind her sharp red smile.

  It had started out innocently enough, speaking about his initiatives to bring more educators to his home country of Beian, of his reforms during the first three years of his rule, and how his little sister was doing at Harvard. Then she started asking about his ex-wife, and Khaliq could feel his hackles begin to rise.

  “Well, Amina does not speak about me, and therefore I would feel somewhat bad if I repaid her so poorly.”

  “Oh, but can't you tell us anything? Three years ago, people were calling it the wedding of the century. A month long celebration, a whirlwind tour of the world, I remember covering the London part of your honeymoon...”

  Khaliq managed to turn the conversation to some of the pleasures of London he had discovered in the last few years, but he couldn't shake a vague feeling of distaste. It was certainly true that Amina wouldn't speak about their married life and the end of it, but he had some very specific reasons of his own for wanting to keep away from that particular topic.

  By the end of the interview, night had fallen and the set had an almost smoky and nostalgic quality to it.

  “Well, that's a wrap,” said the writer. “You know, I was planning to hit a club close to here, get some dancing and some drinks in after a hard day's work. Would you be—?”

  “Thank you, but no,” he said. “I have a flight tomorrow.”

  She could at least take a hint, but Khaliq still went into the small, cold room they had designated as his dressing room until the noise outside had died down. He wouldn't have put it past the writer to try to follow him to his hotel room, to see if she could get some kind of personal follow up.

  I need to be at home. I'm sick of this.

  It was funny, really. He had spent the first half of his thirty-three years being completely enchanted by the West and all the pleasures it had to offer. Then the second half had been spent realizing that everything he really wanted, everything he really loved and wanted to preserve, was at home in Beian, with its windswept mountain peaks and its pristine beaches on the gulf.

  He had been in the United States and England for four months now, and he was ready to be home. Then he walked out of his dressing room and thought, maybe not yet.

  He hadn't felt anything but sympathy for the girl he had caught off the ladder hours ago. She was certainly cute enough, with a round face and wide, bright blue eyes. He had been peripherally aware of her as she’d scuttled around at the various tasks barked at her by the photographer. Now, though, with the set mostly empty and only a few floor lamps giving the place an amber glow, he watched as she stood at the window, staring out at the London skyline with a nearly awed expression on her face. There was something about her expression, the way she was utterly enraptured by what she saw, that stirred something inside him. It made leaving just then utterly impossible for some reason.

  She jumped a little when he came up behind her, and he smiled to put her at her ease.

  “What are you looking at?”

  She blinked in surprise at being spoken to, and pointed. “The lights. The way they seem to rush at you if you look at them just right. The way they look like a star field, which is good, because you'll never see stars in the London sky.”

  She blushed a little as if she had somehow said too much, but Khaliq laughed softly. There was something oddly fragile about the moment, as if it could never happen at another time or place.

  “Poetic. Do you miss the stars?”

  “I'm from Montana originally, so yes.”

  “Montana?”

  “A place in the United States. People call it ‘big sky country,’ and I lived hundreds of miles away from the biggest city. At night, you could see so many stars.”

  “It's the same in Beian. You can climb to the peak of the Allulai, where the air is so thin you feel separated from the stars by just a breath.”

  “That sounds beautiful,” she said, and it wasn't until the little photographer's assistant looked away from him with a start that he realized she had been staring at his mouth. Khaliq was aware that he was a handsome man, but seeing it affect this girl so clearly sent a shock of pure pleasure through his system.

  Well, my flight will wait for me.

  “Tell me what your name is.” It came out as more of an order than Khaliq intended, but she looked up at him, her eyes wide and wondering.

  “It's…it's Frannie Blake.”

  “Well, Frannie, will you let me take you for some food?”

  “Yes. I will.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Frannie

  Frannie still wasn't sure why she had followed Khaliq from the set. She had been left behind to finish the clean up, and the last person she had expected to still be there was the subject of the day. Asking her to dinner was something the lighting guy might have done, or the junior editor at the office.

  It wasn't something she had expected the sheikh of Beian to do, and she had not expected him to take her to La Marana, one of the most exclusive spots in London. A single word got them a private, intimate nook, and she had never felt more underdressed in her jeans and T-shirt than when the waiter came by with caviar and crackers as an appetizer.

  “I think you look just fine,” Khaliq said when she mentioned this. “It suits you well enough.”

  “And I guess everything suits you,” she said, and when he looked surprised, she cursed herself. “I mean...the way you look. I bet you could wear just about anything and make it look good. Like a garbage bag or...or a kilt made out of a bunch of pine cones or something.”

  “Thank you. Is that something that comes up much?”

  “What?”

  “A kilt made out of pine cones or wearing a garbage bag?”

  Frannie had thought that he was laughing at her, but there was a sincere if confused interest in his eyes. Well, he knew he was getting dinner with the weird photographer's assistant. Might as well give him the full experience.

  “Actually, unfortunately, yes...”

  Somehow, she ended up telling him the story of that terrible shoot, helping out a friend in college who’d had a vision. He might have had a vision, but the poor model was parked in freezing water in a garbage bag for several hours, and it had been Frannie's job to try to make the light look just right reflecting off of the water and the garbage bag. By the end of the story, there were a d
ozen small plates of delicious foods between them, and Khaliq was laughing at her experience, which she figured couldn't have been such a bad thing.

  “And is that your vision as well? Garbage bags and pine cones?”

  “Oh no, not at all. I mean, I like the weird stuff, but...”

  She took a big bite out of something that was completely unrecognizable and completely delicious, but for some reason, Khaliq was still staring at her with interest when she had chewed and swallowed.

  “But?”

  “Are you sure you want to hear this? It's kind of...artsy, I guess.”

  “Believe me, when I ask for information, I always want it. Tell me.”

  There was a note of command in his voice that made her shiver, but she guessed that if all she had to pay for a dinner that cost more than her rent was a dumb artist's statement, she was ahead of the game.

  “Well...I think photography...art in general really, needs to show you something deeper than you can see on your own. Stuff like pine cones and garbage bags, I'm not saying they can't help. All sorts of things can help, but at the end of the day, photography should show you more, not less. The props, no matter how cool, shouldn't get in the way.”

  Khaliq looked almost shocked at that, and she prepared herself for some dismissal or rebuttal. She had gone through art school where views on art were as different and apt for attack as anything else, and she thought she was prepared.

  “What do you want to see deeper?”

  She was unprepared for that question, and so, surprised and more than slightly overwhelmed by everything that was happening, she blurted out the truth.

  “You.”

  Frannie swore she saw his pale green eyes turn a shade or so darker at her statement. A shiver ran down her spine, and she wondered at how she could feel like this without his touching her at all.

  “I see. Shall we go to your place?”

  She swallowed hard, every good girl instinct in her body rebelling against this shocking thing she was doing.

  “Yes. Yes please.”

  CHAPTER FOUR