Sheikhs Pact

  Sheikh’s False Fiancée

  Sheikh’s Pregnant American

  Sheikh’s Pretend Engagement

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, OCTOBER 2021

  Copyright © 2021 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.

  Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations.

  www.relaypub.com

  Blurb

  Love always finds a way…

  Sheikh Camil Abadi believes love is just a silly fantasy. Lust, however, is another matter. So when the irrepressible American Piper McCarthy careens into a meeting with him, asking to write about his great-grandparents, he’s much more interested in her than some ancient local legend concerning the infamous Lovers of Al-Fahr…

  After they share an unforgettable night of pleasure, Camil assumed that was the end of it. But two months later, Piper is back… And Camil is shocked to discover that she’s pregnant with his child. But as they spend more time together, the Sheikh who doesn’t believe in love suddenly finds himself falling head over heels for the beautiful writer.

  Piper is excited to research the famous Lovers of Al-Fahr. It’s the perfect story for her romantic soul. She only wishes that kind of love would find her. Camil may be the most gorgeous, sexiest man she’s ever met, but love? That’s not in the cards—at least not for Camil. And Piper’s still not sure what she feels.

  With a baby on the way, will either of them discover the truth in their hearts, before it’s too late?

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  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

  End of Sheikh’s Pregnant American

  Thank you!

  Make an Author’s Day

  About Leslie

  Sneak Peek: Sheikh’s Pretend Engagement

  Sneak Peek: Sheikh’s Surprise Son

  Also by Leslie

  1

  Piper couldn’t breathe.

  This meeting. This meeting. She’d been trying to get this meeting for weeks, and then she’d almost missed the call. Prince Camil’s assistant had called as she was padding to the kitchen in her flat. The tea kettle had been whistling, the water at a boil. If it hadn’t been for her phone falling off the coffee table, she wouldn’t have known it was buzzing. She’d flipped off the stove and jogged over to answer it.

  “Prince Camil has had a cancellation in his schedule,” he’d said. “I’m willing to give you the slot if you can be here in ten minutes.”

  Here—the palace. Piper had spent thirty seconds shoving off the leggings she was wearing and throwing on a floor-length dress that was good for any occasion, with three-quarter-length sleeves and an embroidered detail at the hem that made it look polished. Another ten shoving on matching flats. And thirty seconds in front of the mirror by the front door, making sure her bun looked professionally tousled and not just-out-of-bed.

  She’d sprinted from her flat to get a taxi. The small, dingy car had not been air-conditioned, but she ignored this in favor of dabbing on lip balm and a hint of blush from the pots in her bag.

  And now—

  Now she took the wide, grand staircase at the main entrance of the palace as fast as her legs could carry her without tumbling headfirst into the stone. Her bag bounced against her hip and nearly caught on the oversized doorframe that led into a soaring foyer. The palace at the heart of the city was ornate but modern, with shining black marble floors and high ceilings that gave her the sensation of being in a museum.

  Piper stopped herself in front of a small receptionist’s desk and did her best to catch her breath. Impossible. It was overwhelming, getting this invitation. It was overwhelming, being in the palace. And she could feel that the breeze and the running had pulled tendrils of hair from her bun.

  “I have a meeting,” she said to the man behind the desk. “I have a meeting with the prince.”

  The man, dressed in a sharp suit and frowning a little, looked her over.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. Piper straightened up and put on her best smile. It was easy because this was already a victory. She had the meeting. “I’m sorry to be so blunt and...and disheveled. Prince Camil’s assistant called and said there was a cancellation. I’m supposed to meet them in the conference room.” She couldn’t stop grinning. “I’m just so excited.”

  This brought a smile to the receptionist’s face. “I’ll show you the way.”

  “Thank you,” breathed Piper. Her heart thudded in her chest as if it was jumping for joy. Okay. Get a grip.

  The receptionist came out from behind the desk. Cool air lifted the tendrils of hair away from her neck. Piper had never been so grateful for air conditioning. Her face had to be red from the running and the taxi and the mad dash up the steps of the palace. She followed the receptionist through the wide expanse of the lobby and down a short hallway. He stopped at a set of large, ornate double doors. For all the palace’s modern touches, the doors looked original. Original—and very well-maintained.

  Those gleaming doors opened easily for the receptionist, who stood in front of one and ushered her in.

  Piper took one step inside the conference room, and—

  Oh, dear holy God.

  She’d seen pictures of Prince Camil. Of course she had. Everyone who lived in Al-Fahr had. But those pictures had lied. He wasn’t just handsome, with his dark hair and a jaw so finely cut he could have modeled for the great artists. He was, without question, the most handsome man Piper had ever seen. His deep, hazel eyes met hers from across that long table, and her cheeks burned with the contact. The distance didn’t matter. The force of his gaze was so intense he could have been inches away. His flawless dark suit made him seem even larger in the space, the fine fabric falling smoothly over a tall, hard body.

  Piper couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  Oh no—she truly couldn’t. And now she’d been staring at him a second too long—long enough for the prince’s grin to grow. She remembered herself at the last possible moment and bobbed into something between a curtsey and a bow. He was grinning now. Prince Camil, grinning at her. Piper half-expected him to laugh. To send her right back out of the room.

  “I’m Piper McCarthy, Prince Camil,” she said before he could cut the meeting short on account of her ridiculous curtsey. “Thank you so much for meeting with me today.”

  But his eyes weren’t mocking. Prince Camil gestured to a seat near his side. “Join me, would you?”

  “Of course.” Her pulse tapped at her throat, a quick hummingbird rhythm. Piper turned back to the receptionist, who had folded his hands in front of him and waited silently by the door. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly. “I’d never have made it here on time without you.”

  “My pleasure,” he murmured.

  Then it was time to concentrate on the walk to her seat. Piper made it without tripping, without falling, without trying to curtsey again. She left one chair open between them. Better to see his face from there. If she sat too close—

  Well. If she sat too close, those eyes of his would make her forget what she’d come here to say.

  Prince Camil gave her a quick nod. “What is it you want to discuss? I understand you’ve been a constant buzz in my assistant’s ear.”

  Her face warmed all over again. The palace’s air conditioning was no competition for his voice. But Piper straightened her back, lifted her chin, and looked him in the eye. “I’ve been persistent because I’m passionate about the project idea I’ve come up with. I want to write a book about the Lovers of Al-Fahr.” These were Prince Camil’s great-grandparents, and Piper couldn’t begin to describe how much she loved their story. “I’ve done as much research as I can about the fairy tale of their romance—as much as I can using the information available to the public, anyway, but I know there’s more. I want to tell the real story. And in order to do that, I’ll need access to the palace archives. I need your permission to make that happen.”

  The story of Camil’s great-grandparents and their “magical�
�� love was the first one he could remember hearing as a child. He’d grown up listening to it, repeated again and again at every available occasion.

  The whole thing was ridiculous.

  Too many of his relatives had held up that mythical story as their only goal in life, and too many of them had failed to ever attain it. Worse, their relationships usually crashed and burned in spectacular fashion. It was no surprise to Camil that real people couldn’t measure up.

  But right now, sitting at his conference table with Piper McCarthy, he could see the appeal in the story. Or perhaps the appeal was all her. It would be hard not to enjoy listening to her sweet voice, confident and melodic.

  “I need your permission,” she went on, “because the story has such a beating heart.”

  “Does it?” He let himself smile at her.

  She smiled back, her blonde hair escaping from her bun. “Oh, yes. Two people who shouldn’t be together fall in love, and through that love, they bring this emirate to where it is today. They were—” Both hands came up in front of her as if she held an invisible, priceless object. “They were perfect for each other and for their people. This place, all of Al-Fahr—”

  “Are you enjoying it here?”

  Piper shook her head a bit, but her smile didn’t falter. “In Al-Fahr? Yes, very much.”

  He didn’t know what had gotten into him, interrupting her like that. “My apologies, Ms. McCarthy. Visitors to our emirate have been on my mind lately.”

  She went pink at the words. “Especially ones who have been bothering your assistant?”

  Her boldness sent a shock of pleasure through him. People didn’t breeze into his conference room, fall all over themselves, and then recover enough to flirt. “The very ones.” This wasn’t strictly true—it was tourism in general that he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. More specifically, it was the project his father had tasked him with. A project that had plagued him for weeks. Bring more tourism to Al-Fahr. You have one year. But now, with Piper blushing and her blue eyes sparkling, his attention had become focused. “Now tell me. Where have you been bothering my assistant from? Are you staying with someone in the city?”

  “All by myself.” Camil didn’t imagine that she leaned toward him a little further. “I rented a little flat near one of the markets, and—” Both hands went to her chest. Piper tipped her head back, a simple rapture on her face, and something inside him pulsed with the urge to touch her. But then she raised her head and grinned at him. “I could listen to the sounds of the merchants and the haggling through my window for hours. And I do.”

  “But you could listen to that in any market anywhere in the UAE.” And more besides. The main problem for tourism in Al-Fahr was that they were so far from the coast. What was the draw?

  “Not like this one. This one is my market,” she countered.

  “I’ll see your market and raise you my palace.”

  “What?” She laughed.

  “I believe your market is special, but I have a palace. Care to compare the two? I’m in the mood to give a tour to one persistent tourist.”

  She lifted her chin. “I would like to compare them,” Piper said regally. “I can’t guarantee I’ll love the palace more.”

  He stood and offered her his arm. Piper took it, and he led her out of the conference room. “I can make one guarantee.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You haven’t enjoyed your market with a handsome prince.”

  Her face flushed, highlighting the blue of her eyes. “I can’t argue with that.”

  And she did not argue. Not when he took her through the sprawling gardens, the well-tended grass, green and soft, and the flowers like jewels. Not when he took her to the center of all that life and showed her the enormous water feature his father had designed himself. He took her to the galleries that housed the palace’s art collection and led her through the displays. He showed Piper the grand ballroom with its soaring ceilings and the herringbone hardwood floor that had been installed by a team of ten artisans over the course of two weeks.

  “Think of the dancing,” breathed Piper in the echoing space.

  “Don’t just think.” With her arm still on his, it was easy enough to take her hand and twirl her out. She moved easily with the motion and came back to him, breathless and laughing, and all of him pulled toward her in an attraction that wouldn’t be assuaged by a tour of the palace’s public areas. “What’s your verdict?” he asked her, his hand on the small of her back, her body held close to his. “Does it compete with the market?”

  She faked a serious frown, but her eyes shone in the dim ballroom. The scent of her skin was a delicate perfume—new flowers warmed by morning sun, so light he would miss it if she weren’t so close. “I’m not sure. Is there any more of the palace to see?”

  Camil leaned in so that his breath would brush the shell of her ear. “My private quarters are available.”

  “For—” Piper angled her head so his lips brushed her skin. “An hour or two of uncomplicated fun?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “And so you can make your decision. It would be rude of me to leave you wanting answers about which place is better.”

  “Take me there,” she said.

  2

  Piper climbed the steps of the palace at a slow, measured pace that didn’t match the pounding of her heart. And boy, was it pounding. Thud, thud, thud, a nervous drumbeat in her chest.

  The last time she’d been to the palace, almost two months before, it had been at a dead sprint. She could still feel the adrenaline of running up these steps, racing to get to that meeting in time.

  Things were different now. She needed to see Camil, but she hadn’t had a number to call except the official palace number. That meant she had to start the process of getting an audience again. It had taken longer than she wanted and twice as much persistence as before. It was a scheduled meeting this time. Not a last-minute dash. Piper almost wished there was a reason to run. It might make this easier.

  She entered the cool of the lobby area and crossed to the receptionist’s desk. Behind it sat the same man she had met the last time. He was smiling before she had fully approached. Oh, that was a relief—he recognized her and was pleased to see her. It probably would be a different story if Camil hadn’t wanted to meet.

  “Prince Camil is waiting in the conference room,” the receptionist told her. “I’ll take you right there.”

  Piper remembered the way, but it was nice to have someone by her side as they approached. A question about his mood stuck in her throat and refused to come out. It didn’t matter what his mood was. She had to talk to him. This conversation was not negotiable.

  The smiling receptionist opened the doors to the conference room. “Piper McCarthy, Prince Camil,” he announced, and swung out his arm to usher her in. Piper’s heart was ready to leap out of her chest and flop around on the floor in a panic. What she needed to do was breathe, and smile. If she could keep the smile on her face, she still had some control over the situation.

  She stepped through the doors, and a shiver of memory rocked through her. Camil looked just the same, sitting in his three-piece suit at the head of the table. Just the same. Her stomach swooped just like it had before. Her face heated just as much. And Camil’s hazel eyes made it impossible to look away from him. All this in a heartbeat, maybe two.

  And then Camil stood up.

  “Piper.” At the sound of her name, she knew what was going to happen. She saw the guarded look on his face, the concern in his eyes, and a wariness, too. “We had agreed to go our separate ways. As much fun as we had, I’m not in any position to enter into a serious—”