The sheikh’s seduction...

...has a lifetime of consequences

Desert prince Khalid never loses control...with one exception: his illicit night of passion with captivating dancer Aubrey. Khalid was shocked to discover Aubrey was a virgin. Yet after returning to his kingdom, nothing compares to the bombshell that she’s had his secret child! Claiming his son is nonnegotiable for this proud prince... But claiming Aubrey will prove a much more delicious challenge!

A royal love story with a secret baby twist!

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Also by Carol Marinelli

Their One Night Baby

Claiming His Hidden Heir

Billionaires & One-Night Heirs miniseries

The Innocent’s Secret Baby

Bound by the Sultan’s Baby

Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

Ruthless Royal Sheikhs miniseries

Captive for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

The Ruthless Devereux Brothers miniseries

The Innocent’s Shock Pregnancy

The Billionaire’s Christmas Cinderella

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Claimed for the Sheikh’s Shock Son

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08769-8

CLAIMED FOR THE SHEIKH’S SHOCK SON

© 2019 Carol Marinelli

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘WILL YOU BE speaking at the funeral, Your Highness?’

The questions from the paparazzi started even before Sheikh Prince Khalid of Al-Zahan had stepped out of the luxury vehicle.

Jobe Devereux’s funeral was tomorrow. The press and television crews were gathered outside the late, great man’s Fifth Avenue home, capturing images of visitors arriving to pay their condolences.

Some visitors walked slowly, keen to be photographed and seen, others put their heads down and hurried from their cars to the residence.

Others opted to use the trade entrance.

Khalid did neither.

He had flown to New York from Al-Zahan and at the family’s request had come directly from the royal jet to Jobe’s home. Tomorrow Khalid would be clean-shaven with his thick, black hair freshly cut and he would be wearing a suit. Tonight, though, having come from a retreat in the desert, he was bearded and his tall frame was dressed in dark robes. Khalid was a striking man—tall and slim yet muscular too. Despite his impressive physique he moved in an elegant, unhurried fashion towards the home that he knew well, ignoring the paparazzi’s questions. For Khalid, the presence of the press had barely registered and certainly he didn’t deign to respond. His mind was elsewhere, for he had lost not just a business partner but someone he both valued and respected.

Yet they persisted.

‘Will Chantelle be seated with the family?’

‘Might there be some unexpected guests?’

‘Your Highness, is it true that the King of Al-Zahan is soon to announce your marriage?’

The last question jarred, not that Khalid showed it. But at home the pressure on him to marry was immense. That it was now being aired here in New York, the place he considered his bolthole, now rendered the pressure inescapable.

The door was opened by the housekeeper and as he stepped inside it was clear that even prior to the funeral, Jobe had pulled in quite a crowd. People were mingling and spilling out from the reception room where groups stood talking. Drinks were being served as if the funeral had already taken place.

Khalid was not here to socialise, though, and was taken straight through to Jobe’s study.

‘I’ll let Ethan know that you’re here,’ the housekeeper said. ‘He’s just speaking with the senator.’

‘Tell him there is no rush,’ Khalid said.

‘Is there anything I can get for you?’ she checked, ‘He shouldn’t be long.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Khalid said, but as the housekeeper headed out the door he called to her. ‘Barb,’ Khalid said. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

She gave him a watery smile. ‘Thank you, Khalid.’

It was a relief to be here in the study and away from the hordes. Khalid could, of course, be polite and make small-talk—his royal status demanded it. He was in no mood to, though.

How odd that one room in a house so far from home could hold so many memories. Jobe’s globe had always been a draw for Khalid. It had been an antique when Jobe had purchased it and Khalid would look at all the old countries now gone, while his island country, independent from the mainland, remained.

And it was from this very decanter that Khalid had first tasted alcohol. On that desk that the first tentative sketch of the Royal Al-Zahan Hotel had been drafted.

It was just a year off completion now.

An impossible dream, first born in this study.

Khalid picked up a heavy paperweight and recalled Jobe, for once awkward, tossing it between his hands as a far younger Khalid had opened the study door.

‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jobe? Even my own kids do.’

But Khalid called his own father by his royal title and bowed to him on arriving and leaving, so he struggled to accept the informal greetings in the Devereux household.

‘Sit down, son.’

Khalid took a seat when he would have preferred to stay standing, for he was certain he was about to be disciplined. At sixteen he had been in New York City for close to a year and he and Ethan had discovered fake IDs and girls.

Yes, there were plenty of reasons Ethan’s father might want to have words with him.

‘There’s no easy way to say this.’ Jobe cleared his throat. ‘Khalid, you need to call home.’

‘Is something wrong with the twins?’ Khalid asked, for he knew his mother was due to give birth any day now.

‘No. Your mother gave birth to twins this morning, but there were complications. Your mom took a turn for the worse and could not be revived. I’m very sorry to tell you this, Khalid, but your mom is dead.’

It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the study and though Khalid determinedly didn’t show it, he felt as if he could not breathe. It simply could not be, for his mother was so alive and, unlike his stern father, she smiled and laughed and loved life. Queen Dalila was the very reason that Khalid was here in NYC.

‘Call home,’ Jobe said. ‘Tell your father we can head straight to the airport and that I will accompany you back to Al-Zahan.’

‘No.’ Khalid shook his head, for Jobe did not understand that Khalid had to arrive aboard the royal plane. ‘But thank you for the kind offer.’

‘Khalid.’ Jobe spoke with exasperation. ‘You are allowed to be upset.’

‘With respect, sir, I know what is allowed. I shall call the King now.’

Khalid awaited privacy, but Jobe remained in his seat and then, to Khalid’s mind, did the oddest thing. Jobe Devereux put his elbows on the mahogany desk and buried his face in his hands.

Jobe, Khalid realised with both bemusement and strange gratitude, had found telling him hard. It had hurt Jobe to break the news, and he hurt for their mother, and his two-year-old brother, Hussain, and for the twins just born.

Then he heard the voice of the King.

‘Alab,’ Khalid said, calling him Father.

A mistake.

‘I am your King first,’ he reminded Khalid. ‘You must never forget it, not even for a moment, and especially in dark times.’

‘Is it true?’ Khalid said. ‘Is she dead?’

The King confirmed the grim news, but said there was much consolation that an heir had been spared. ‘We celebrate that this morning another heir to the Al-Zahan kingdom was born.’

‘So she had a boy and a girl?’ Khalid checked.

‘Correct.’

‘Did she get to see them?’ Khalid asked. ‘To hold them? Did she know what she had?’

‘Khalid, what sort of question is that? I was not with her.’

That he hadn’t even found out had Khalid fold then, and an agonised breath shuddered out of him that the King heard.

‘There will be no tears,’ the King said sharply. ‘You are a prince, not a princess. The people need to see strength, not their future King acting like some peasant who weeps and keens.’

As Khalid was being reminded he was royal, and so above emotion and pain, Jobe came around the desk and placed his hand on Khalid’s shoulder. Jobe did not know what was being said, for Khalid spoke in Arabic, yet his hand remained, even when the phone call had ended.

‘I’m so sorry, son. You’ll get through this. Abe and Ethan lost their mom too.’

‘They had you, though.’ It was the most honest admission.

‘So do you, Khalid,’ Jobe said, for having himself spoken to Khalid’s icy father he knew the young man would get no true support at home.

Here in this study Khalid had wept for his mother.

For a short while he had been sixteen and flailing, scared and desperately sad, and Jobe had allowed him to be.

Jobe Devereux had been the only person ever to see him cry for, even as a child, tears had been forbidden.

Khalid had been an only child until he’d been a teenager and his brother, Hussain, had been born, lifting from him the full weight of being the only heir. Now there were twins but no mother to love them.

Yes, Khalid had cried.

But by the time the royal plane had arrived the mask had been back on and it had never, to this day, slipped.

‘Khalid?’

He realised that he had not heard Ethan come into the study and turned and offered his condolences to his business partner and friend, although they could never have been considered close.

Khalid was not close to anyone.

‘Thank you for coming, Khalid.’

‘Of course, I was always going to be here for Jobe’s funeral.’

‘I meant tonight. It’s appreciated. How long are you here for?’

‘Till the day after tomorrow.’

‘You have to leave so soon?’

‘I am increasingly needed at home,’ Khalid said.

‘Well, it was good of you to come.’

‘Enough small-talk, Ethan.’ Khalid cut straight to the point. ‘What’s going on?’

‘A lot,’ Ethan admitted. ‘And it cannot get out.’

‘You know it will go no further.’ Khalid was one of the few who could be trusted with bombshell news. He would never gossip—Khalid was far too remote and royal for that—and so Ethan told him what had been revealed since his father’s death.

Jobe Devereux’s life had been interesting, to say the least, and had played out in the press for all to see. His sons, Abe and Ethan, had seen it all.

Or had thought that they had.

‘There was an account we didn’t know about,’ Ethan told him.

Khalid listened as Ethan revealed they had found out that Jobe had had a penchant for gambling and showgirls. As it turned out, those long weekends away that Jobe had frequently taken hadn’t always been spent at the Hamptons; instead they had been taken in Vegas.

Sin City.

‘Are there debts?’ Khalid asked, for he always dealt first with business.

Ethan shook his head. ‘No, he was actually ahead, but this wasn’t an occasional thing, Khalid. There were a lot of women, oh, and a marriage we didn’t know about.’

‘A marriage?’

‘Between his first wife and my mother, it turns out he was married to a woman named Brandy for all of seventy-two hours.’

‘Ancient history,’ Khalid dismissed.

‘Perhaps, but it’s ancient history that might resurface tomorrow.’

‘Jobe’s reputation can handle it.’ Khalid’s words were calm and measured as he poured oil on troubled waters. ‘And so can you. Of course, anything that is recent may prove hard on his current partner.’ Khalid checked his facts. ‘He got back with Chantelle before he died?’

‘Not really.’ Ethan held out his hand in a wavering motion. ‘But they were together on and off for quite a few years.’

‘Ethan,’ Khalid calmly responded. ‘Everyone has a shadow side. And that Jobe kept mistresses, and was married briefly, is hardly going to come as too much of a surprise, surely? Jobe led a colourful life and we all know how much he loved women.’

‘Women, yes,’ Ethan sighed, and Khalid could see his friend’s discomfort and knew he was about to hear the real reason he’d been asked to come by in advance of the funeral. ‘For the last four years my father has been sending a considerable monthly sum to an Aubrey Johnson...’

Now Khalid frowned, for this indeed came as a surprise. ‘Jobe was having an affair with a man?’

And on this dark sombre night Ethan actually laughed. ‘No, Khalid. Jobe wasn’t gay.’

‘But Aubrey is a man’s name.’

‘Not here it isn’t, it’s a unisex name. Believe me, Aubrey Johnson is definitely not a man.’

Ethan handed him some photographs.

No, Aubrey was certainly not a man.

She was barely a woman.

Aubrey Johnson had a curtain of blonde hair and china-blue eyes, but her pretty, delicate features were overwhelmed by elaborate stage make-up, with false eyelashes and painted red lips. Her petite, toned figure was shown to effect in a crimson, sequined leotard.

And nothing else.

‘How old is she?’ Khalid asked, his deep voice hoarse with disappointment.

‘Twenty-two,’ Ethan said. ‘She’ll be twenty-three next month.’

Jobe had been seventy-four.

‘She’s a dancer,’ Ethan said.

‘I’m assuming we’re not talking ballroom...’ Khalid started, and then answered his own question as he looked at the next image. From barely a woman to all woman, she wore a tiny, revealing dress and elaborate make-up and his jaw gritted at her provocative pose.

‘She’s also an aerial trapeze artist, apparently,’ Ethan said as Khalid flicked through the photos of Aubrey. ‘Though not a very good one,’

‘Why do you say she’s not any good?’ Khalid frowned.

‘Well, she’s not a big name or anything. Ms Johnson lives in a trailer park and does a routine over the gaming tables. And when she’s not performing it would seem she’s my father’s...’ Ethan couldn’t finish. ‘She was barely eighteen when the payments started.’

What the hell had Jobe been thinking?

Khalid could not stand to think that the man he had so deeply admired would be involved with someone so young. No, he could not accept that from Jobe. ‘Could there be another explanation?’

‘If there is, we’re doing our damnedest to find it.’ Ethan shook his head. ‘But no.’

‘Could she be his daughter?’ Khalid persisted, still not wanting to think the worst.

‘No.’ Again Ethan shook his head. ‘My father was a generous man and if he’d known he had a daughter she would not be living in a trailer park. If the money was for a benevolent reason he had trusts and charities set up for that but the payments to Ms Johnson came from the buried account—he didn’t want anyone to know.’

‘It’s better that you do,’ Khalid said. ‘Before it gets out.’

‘Look, if there’s scandal brewing, Abe and I will deal with it, we just don’t want anything to hit at the funeral tomorrow. We want our father to have a dignified send-off.’

‘Of course.’

‘We’ve made security aware of the names of these women and they are to be kept well back—’

‘No, no,’ Khalid interrupted. ‘You are to let them into the funeral.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Ethan stated. ‘We are not turning Jobe’s send-off into a Vegas show.’

‘Ethan, I thought you invited me here for advice.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Do you want a scene outside with the cameras where you have no control?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then add these women to the guest list. If they arrive, have security watch them and my detail shall keep an eye out too. You focus on saying farewell to your father. And remember, if any of them do turn up it might just be to pay their respects. No one should be denied that chance.’

‘No.’ Ethan let out a long breath, but it hitched when Khalid spoke on.

‘If they are at the funeral they are to be invited back to the private wake.’

‘No way! That really is just for family and close friends.’

‘You don’t need me to tell you to keep your enemies close, Ethan.’

‘And risk his wake being turned into a circus?’ Ethan gave a shake of his head, but he knew Khalid well enough to know that he never offered rash advice and so, rather wearily he nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Abe.’

‘This will all be sorted,’ Khalid reassured him. ‘Your father might have had some secrets, but he was inherently a good man.’

‘I know.’ Ethan nodded. ‘Look, thanks for being here. It would have meant an awful lot to Jobe.’

‘Your father meant a lot to me,’ Khalid said.

With that out of the way, they went through the details for the next day. Khalid’s royal title had been omitted from the order of service at his own request.

‘You’re sure about that?’ Ethan checked, as Khalid stood to leave.

‘Absolutely. That was always the best thing about being here,’ Khalid admitted to Ethan. ‘I wasn’t treated as a prince, or next in line to be King. Here I was just Khalid.’ He grew serious then. ‘Tomorrow you are to focus on remembering your father. Any problems are now mine to deal with.’

Ethan gave a grateful nod, for he knew that Khalid would take care of things.

As formidable as he was to outsiders, Khalid looked after his own.

‘What about you, Khalid?’ Ethan asked as he walked him out of the study.

‘What about me?’ Khalid frowned.

‘If everyone has a shadow side, what’s yours?’

‘You really don’t expect me to answer that, do you?’ Khalid said, and opened the door.

Of course not.

For no one really knew Khalid.

Here the press described him as a playboy, but that was inaccurate for he did not play.

At anything.

His emotions were always kept strictly in check and he allowed no one close to him, even in bed.

Especially in bed.

For his own reasons he had chosen not to have a harem. He loathed how his mother had suffered when his father had taken himself there. How he had taunted her when another infant had been sired and he could tell her the ‘problem’ with her failing to provide more heirs was clearly not his.

Those children had no status and were considered unrelated to Khalid, and he did not want those ways to be his own. So he had rejected the harem, but here in New York he dated sophisticated, experienced women who accepted there would be no feigned tenderness.

It was sex.

Khalid’s absolute lack of affection was paid for in diamonds, gifts and sometimes plain old hard cash.

Tonight he had plenty with him.

CHAPTER TWO

NEW YORK, THE CITY of Dreams.

And for Aubrey Johnson, New York was also a city of might-have-beens.

How she wished she were here under different circumstances, but instead of arriving in Manhattan to study music, as she had once hoped to, Aubrey was here to say goodbye to a man who had given her a chance.

Only she hadn’t taken it.

The day had only just begun and already Aubrey was tired. She was at the very end of an ear infection and the flight from Vegas through the night to JFK hadn’t helped matters.

Jobe’s funeral was at midday and that it was a private, very high-profile funeral to which she hadn’t been invited didn’t deter Aubrey. She knew a few tricks and would try to get in, but if not, then she’d pay her last respects from a distance.

It felt important to be here today.

Aubrey headed for the restrooms and there her denim skirt, sandals and loose top were replaced with a black slip dress that she had borrowed from a friend.

It was a little too big for Aubrey’s slender frame, but she had a shawl to wear over her shoulders. She pulled on black pantyhose and court shoes. The clothes that she had taken off were neatly folded and packed into her slim black shoulder bag. Aubrey would not be paying for storage.

She took the AirTrain and then the subway and, following the instructions her friend had given her, found herself on a very busy street on a crisp spring day in Manhattan.

Aubrey stood for a moment soaking it all in, her head tipped back as she gazed up in awe at the tall buildings, but she was soon jolted by the sea of people walking determinedly by. Aubrey headed into a large department store and headed up a level to an in-store coffee shop and bought a well-deserved drink.

She had budgeted carefully for today.

For the last few weeks, having seen on the news that Jobe was nearing the end, she had been trying to put a little away whenever she could. It had been hard. Her ear infection had meant her balance was off, and so she’d been unable to do trapeze, and the tips were less when waiting tables. Still, she’d saved enough to buy the cheapest return flights for her and her mom to attend the funeral.

But Stella had refused to come, insisting she wanted to stay home.

Aubrey’s mom was a Vegas lifer and loved it. Or she had loved it.

Now she never went further than the porch of their trailer, and that was only after dark.

Aubrey made her coffee last then, when it was done, she popped a mint and an antibiotic pill and took the escalator down to the make-up counter. There she tried lipsticks on the back of her hand until the assistant came over and asked if she could help.

‘I hope so,’ Aubrey sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for really. I don’t usually wear make-up...’ That wasn’t true, Aubrey wore several inches of it each night when she performed, but if her friend was right then the assistant should offer a make-over. Sure enough, she was soon invited to take a seat on a high stool, except Aubrey hesitated.

It felt wrong.

‘I wear stage make-up,’ she admitted.

‘So you’re looking for a more natural look?’ the assistant asked.

‘Yes, but...’ Aubrey took a breath. The young woman was around the same age as herself, and no doubt relying on commission and hoping that Aubrey would make some purchases after the make-over. There was no chance of that and Aubrey admitted the truth. ‘I actually can’t afford to buy anything,’

Their eyes met for a moment, but then the assistant gave her a small smile. ‘At least you’re honest.’ She shrugged. ‘Let me give you a make-over anyway. Hopefully we’ll pull in a crowd and both come out winning.’

Soon she was sitting on the high stool. ‘So where are you off to?’ the make-up artist asked, glancing at Aubrey’s black attire. ‘A funeral?’

‘Yes, for a family friend.’ Aubrey nodded. ‘Though it’s going to be very well-heeled. I don’t want to stand out.’

‘It must be the day for funerals. Today’s Jobe Devereux’s—’ Her voice halted when she felt the heat sear in Aubrey’s cheeks. ‘That’s where you’re headed?’

Jobe was New York City royalty and so, when Aubrey nodded, the make-up assistant knew exactly what her customer was up against. ‘Let’s get to work, then,’ she said. ‘I’m Vanda, by the way.’

‘Aubrey.’

Vanda plugged in some flat irons and smoothed out Aubrey’s wavy blonde hair before taking a very close look at her face. ‘You have the most incredible bone structure.’

‘You should have seen my mother’s,’ Aubrey said. ‘She had the most amazing cheekbones.’

‘Had?’

Aubrey didn’t answer. Her mom insisted that her injuries were kept quiet, and even far from Vegas still she didn’t reveal how her mother’s looks had been ravaged in a fire.

‘So...’ Vanda asked another question as she worked. ‘If you wear stage make-up, what do you do?’

‘All sorts,’ Aubrey admitted. ‘I dance in some shows and do a bit of trapeze...’

‘Get out!’

‘Nothing too glamorous,’ Aubrey was honest. ‘Anything and everything really...’

Anything and everything to avoid going into the oldest profession in the world.

It beckoned to Aubrey, of course it did. When the rent was overdue, when the shifts at work dried up...when her mother, disfigured in a fire, needed her meds. But Aubrey had found other ways to make ends meet.

Jobe Devereux’s money hit her account each and every month.

And each and every month the very generous sum had been spent.

Aubrey had let him think that she was studying music and Jobe, estranged from her mother and a busy man, had never checked.

He’d trusted her, Aubrey guessed, yet instead of education the money had gone on surgery, doctors’ bills, medication, rehabilitation, more surgery...

More medication.

Even her mom thought that she was on the game. It was never said outright, of course, but it was Aubrey who took care of the bills and Stella never asked where the money came from.

Aubrey had had serious offers—and some rather glamorous ones too—but she’d declined them all. In truth, she mistrusted men. Her mother had been an escort, that was how Aubrey had come about. Her mom had, for a brief time, been a showgirl, but when parts in the big Vegas shows had got fewer her mom had done what she’d had to to make ends meet.

Until Jobe had come into her mom’s life there had been a parade of men through their home, and it had left Aubrey both cynical and scared of sex. Despite the skimpy outfits and provocative moves, she had never been so much as kissed, let alone anything else.

‘Don’t let history repeat itself,’ Jobe had told her.

The simple fact was, Aubrey was too terrified to, even if needs were starting to must—especially now that Jobe was dead and the money would stop.

Still, despite her reluctance, there was an awful feeling of inevitability to it.

That thought had Aubrey’s eyes suddenly screw tightly closed, which wasn’t ideal when eyeliner was being applied. ‘One moment,’ she said, and took a deep breath, doing what she could to pull herself together.

‘It’s okay,’ Vanda said. ‘We’re just about done here, just your lips left to do...’

Aubrey opened her eyes to find that there was quite a crowd now gathered around the counter, all watching the transformation take place.

And it really was a transformation.

Vanda held up a mirror and Aubrey’s eyes widened when she saw herself. ‘I look...’ She swallowed.

‘You look amazing.’ Vanda smiled.

‘No.’ Aubrey was struggling to find the right word. The make-up was subtle and neutral and her eyes looked so big and blue. Her blush beige lips looked soft and pretty, and so unlike how they did with the deep crimson she was more used to. ‘Sophisticated.’

‘You’re going to blend right in,’ Vanda said, and then glanced down at Aubrey’s rather cheap dress, but decided there was nothing that she could do about that. ‘I’ll give you a sample size of the lipstick so you can top up before the service.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Have you seen how many customers I now have?’ Vanda said. ‘I really hope today goes as well as it can for you.’

So did Aubrey.

She might appear streetwise, but she was terrified.

* * *

Crowds were gathered and the security was tight, with the street cordoned off, but it did not deter Aubrey. She walked towards the barrier and spoke to a uniformed security guard. ‘My driver took me to the wrong drop-off,’ she attempted, but was immediately cut off with a question.

‘Name?’

‘Aubrey,’ she mumbled. ‘Aubrey Johnson.’

‘Wait there.’

There was no chance of getting in, Aubrey knew that. She certainly wouldn’t be on the guest list. Still, she was used to slipping into concerts and things and had hoped to find a chink in security’s armour, a group to tag onto, or even a less-than-vigilant security guard.

No such luck.

He was talking into his mouthpiece and, knowing that she wouldn’t be on the private guest list, Aubrey’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a vantage point that might give her at least a view of the casket. She wanted to say goodbye, she really did, not just on behalf of her mother but for herself.

‘This way, Miss Johnson.’

She turned around at the sound of her name and blinked in surprise as the black velvet rope was pulled back and she realised that she’d been allowed through.

It was a mistake.

Of that she was certain.

Johnson was a common surname after all, but Aubrey took good news when it came.

‘Follow that group,’ the security guard told her.

Aubrey did so, climbing the stone stairs and then standing in line to sign the book of condolences before heading in. She kept her head down, worried that security might realise their mistake, because she was rather certain that she shouldn’t have been allowed in.

And that was how Khalid first saw her.

Alerted that one of the mystery women was here and about to sign the book of condolences, Khalid scanned the line.

His eyes drifted past her twice, but then a gentleman stepped back and he saw her.

From the way she had been painted, from the photos he had seen, Khalid had rather expected a less demure figure.

She was tiny.

A mere wisp.

Her blonde head was bowed down and around her slender shoulders there was a lace shawl that she clutched with one hand.

Khalid made his way over to the line-up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the people who stood behind her, and promptly stepped in. They didn’t argue, and not just because it was a funeral. Despite the fact he was today clean-shaven and wearing a black suit, there was still a commanding air to Khalid that had people instinctively defer to him.

In his country they would, of course, have knelt.

Aubrey was far too worked up to notice the movement in the queue behind her.

It was his scent that reached her first.

Khalid always smelled divine—al-lubān, or frankincense as it was known here, had been subtly blended with oil of guaiac wood from a palo santo tree that had been gifted to the palace. To that there was added a note of bergamot, cardamom and saffron, all blended in the Al-Zahan desert by a mystic, exclusively for Khalid.

It was subtle yet captivating.

So much so that when it reached Aubrey her head rose like a meerkat’s and she turned to its source. A man towered over her, so she had to look up from the black tie she first glimpsed. Up to the thick white collar of his shirt and to his throat and strong jaw.

And when Aubrey first met his burning gaze, everything she knew she forgot.

She forgot not to make eye contact.

And she forgot that she generally did not trust men.

In the moment that their eyes met, she simply forgot.

Khalid’s features remained impassive, yet despite his calm demeanour he instantly felt her allure. From the china blue of her unblinking eyes to lush, full lips, she was captivating. She wore far less make-up than she had in the tasteless photos. Well, a touch too much blusher perhaps, but Aubrey really was exceptionally beautiful; there was no doubting that. Khalid could see how a man could be beguiled.

He refused to be.

‘I believe,’ Khalid said, ‘that it is your turn to sign.’

His voice was rich, deep and accented, and to Aubrey, for a second, his words made no sense, but then she remembered. Oh, yes, the condolence book. She turned from the assault to her senses and picked up a heavy silver pen. Her hand was shaking as she wrote her name.

Aubrey Johnson.

For her address... Well, she left out the trailer park and just put Las Vegas, then she forgot the beautiful stranger behind her and pondered over her message.

What could she say?

Thank you for making Mom feel like a queen and for the trips and the fun times...

Of course she could not put that; his long affair with her mom had been a faithfully kept secret.

Thank you for believing in me...

Aubrey would have liked to write that, but knew she could not. Or...?

Sorry I lied.

Jobe had insisted that she take this chance, and not follow a more familiar, familial career path, for her mother and Aunt Carmel had both made their living on the game. Would Jobe have forgiven her if he’d found out that she’d used her scholarship money for her mom’s medical care?

Aubrey would never know now.

And so she wrote a short line and then put down the pen, and Khalid watched as she moved on before reading her words.

Dearest Jobe, thank you for everything. You were wonderful. Xxx

The thought of her with Jobe revolted him.

Khalid picked up the pen she had just held and wrote exactly what he would have before his eyes had held Aubrey’s.

Allah yerhamo.

May God have mercy on him.

Those words felt more pertinent now.

‘Your Highness.’ One of Khalid’s security detail was at his side and discreetly told him that another guest on the watch-list had arrived. And then more news must have come into his earpiece, for he added, ‘And another.’

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