Sheikh's Baby Bombshell

Sheikh’s Baby
Bombshell

USA TODAY
Bestselling Author

Melanie Milburne

USA TODAY
bestselling author Melanie Milburne exposes the truth behind the night Crown Prince Talib and English Rose Abby couldn’t forget in this digital exclusive that will leave you breathless!

Crown Prince Talib Muhtadi was only supposed to spend one night in the arms of delectable English rose Abby Wright. Yet the sizzling night they shared is proving inconveniently unforgettable! So when he sees Abby’s delicate face in the crowds outside his palace, he initially thinks it’s his fevered imagination playing tricks on him...

But Abby is very real—and so is her baby bump! To avoid a national scandal, Talib whisks Abby away to the desert, but under the darkness of the desert skies, their passion burns hotter than ever before...

Don’t miss the other titles in this fantastic collection that celebrates Royal Babies all over the world!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER ONE

A
BBY
GOT
THROUGH
the wedding and the reception without once losing it. Not even a tiny wobble of her chin. Not even a single tear. She smiled in all the right places, said all the right things, even stood next to the bride, her best friend, and the groom—the man who for the past nine years was supposed to be
her
groom—and had photos taken.

She had been polite and gracious on the outside, but inside she was...
gutted
.

She knew it was time to move on. It had been time to move on for the past ten and a half months, but she hadn’t quite managed to do it.

But tonight was the night.

Yes, indeedy. Abigail Lucinda Wright was going to break out of her pathetically introverted shell and find herself a man and have a one-night stand with him.

Not vanilla sex. No, sirree.

Hot sex.

Chilli-hot sex.

The piano bar was tucked in an alley off one of London’s high streets. It had a classy reputation; no riffraff would dare to come here. There was live music and dancing and the drinks were exotic and hideously expensive. Way too expensive for a cake decorator from south London, but what the heck—it wasn’t every day your best friend married your childhood sweetheart while you stood and smiled like a Cheshire cat for the cameras.

Abby steeled herself as she walked into the bar.
You can do this
.

The music was romantic and slow and deeply stirring. Emotions she had bolted down tested their restraints. She felt them nudge around the circumference of her heart like tiny fists punching against damp paper.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’

Abby looked at the fresh-faced, slightly chubby mousey-haired man who was an inch shorter than she was—which meant he was very short, because she was no bean pole and she was wearing ridiculously high heels—and smiled. ‘Sure, why not?’

‘What would you like?’

I’d like to go home!
I
don’t belong here.
What was I thinking?
Abby forced another smile to her lips. ‘Champagne. If they have it.’

‘Classy.’

‘That’s me.’

That’s so not me
, Abby thought as she nervously fiddled with the clasp of her purse while her would-be suitor went to fetch her drink. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so hasty in accepting the first drink offered to her, but she wanted this over with.

It was a rite of passage.

An initiation.

Mind you, she would have liked someone she could feel a little more attracted to. Mousey Man, as pleasant as he seemed to be, didn’t quite fit her fantasy of tall and dark and toe-curlingly handsome.

Abby did a sweeping survey of the bar.
Was no one single these days?
There were couples everywhere, holding hands, sharing drinks, dancing cheek to cheek to the slow waltz that was being played by the concert standard pianist.

Everyone seemed to belong to someone—
hang on a minute
—apart from one tall eye-poppingly gorgeous man who was sitting at the end of the long bar, currently looking at her with a slightly hooded watchful gaze.

Abby felt a slow blush steal over her face as those dark eyes held hers. A strange, totally unfamiliar sensation passed through her body. She felt a shifting of her organs, a stirring of something that had long been lying dormant. An awakening.

An awareness.

‘Here you go.’ Mousey Man handed her a glass of fizzing champagne.

Before Abby could take it off him Tall Dark-Eyed Guy stood up and came over. ‘I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,’ he said.

Abby opened her eyes wide at his arrogant impertinence. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s not real champagne.’

‘Hey, wait a minute! ‘ Mousy Man spluttered.

Tall Dark-Eyed Guy nailed Mousey Man with a look. ‘Do you want to tell her what you put in her glass or would you prefer to make a statement to the police?’

‘
The police?’
Abby swung back to frown at Tall Dark-Eyed Guy. ‘Since when has it been a crime to buy sparkling wine instead of champagne?’

He gave her the sort of look an adult does to a very naive child. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you not to accept unsealed drinks from strangers? He could’ve slipped anything in that glass while you weren’t watching and you’d be none the wiser until you woke up next morning with a bad headache and no memory of what had been done to you the night before.’

Abby’s stomach dropped like an elevator with snapped cables.

‘I didn’t put anything in her drink!’ Mousey Man said.

‘Prove it,’ Tall Dark-Eyed Guy said. ‘Drink it yourself.’

Mousey Man glared at him before finally tipping back the glass and draining it. He put the glass back on the bar with a thwack. ‘Who are you? Her bodyguard or something?’ He threw Abby a dismissive glance as he brushed past them. ‘I’m outta here. This place is too darned expensive anyway.’

Abby swallowed as she looked up at Tall Dark-Eyed Guy. ‘Did you see him put something in my drink?’

‘No.’

‘
No?
Then what was all the fuss about?’

His eyes were a rich dark brown, so rich they were almost black, fringed with thick sooty lashes and prominent eyebrows that met in the middle when he frowned. ‘You asked for champagne. If he lies to you about the quality of the drink he buys you, then what else will he lie about?’

Abby chewed at her lower lip. ‘I guess you can see I’m pretty hopeless at this hooking-up thing....’

He slanted one brow in a questioning arc. ‘Hooking up?’

She gave him a self-deprecating grimace. ‘I came out tonight specifically to hook up with someone. You know...to have a one-night stand. Today is my wedding day...well, it would’ve been if my fiancé hadn’t married my best friend instead. Ever since we were sixteen we said we’d get married on the first of May when we were both twenty-five.’ She let out a despondent sigh. ‘Some promise that turned out to be....’

Something flickered behind his eyes. A touch of empathy perhaps? ‘It’s a long time to keep a promise. Circumstances change. People change. Feelings change.’

Abby looked at him.
Really
looked at him. He had a sensual mouth that looked as if it was comfortable with smiling even though it was set rather grimly now. He was olive skinned and deeply tanned, with at least twelve hours of stubble on his lean, somewhat uncompromising take-no-prisoners jaw. He was dressed casually but stylishly. The fabric of his shirt lovingly framed his broad shoulders, the open collar giving a tantalising glimpse of a muscled chest with a sprinkling of dark hair. He was spectacularly good-looking in an intensely male way. And so tall!

She suddenly realised she was staring at his mouth. ‘Um...can I buy you a drink?’
Did I just say that?

His mouth tilted upwards at the corners. ‘Do you know no one has ever asked me that before?’

‘No?’

‘No.’ His gaze slipped to her mouth. ‘Which kind of makes me wonder if I should say yes, just for the novelty of it.’

Abby’s breath moved against her throat like butterfly’s wings as that dark gaze reengaged with hers. ‘I have to tell you I can’t afford champagne. It’s not quite in my budget range. I’ve never even tasted it. Not the real stuff, I mean.’

His eyes glinted with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. ‘Are you usually this honest with people you’ve only just met?’

Abby bit her lip again. ‘I know... It’s totally pathetic. It’s because deep down I’m really rather shy. I overcompensate when I’m feeling nervous and out of my depth. I talk too much. It just comes tumbling out, and once I start I can’t stop because I hate those really awkward silences when no one says anything and you don’t know if people like you or—’ she gave a little gulp as his index finger came towards her lips like someone reaching for the mute button ‘—
nofftt
.’

His slow smile was dangerously attractive. ‘I like you, Miss Naive, so you can stop fretting and relax.’

‘It’s Wright.’ She offered him her hand with a bashful smile. ‘Abigail—Abby for short—Wright.’

His fingers closed like a warm firm cage around hers. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Wright.’

CHAPTER TWO

T
ALIB
FELT
A
tingling sensation shoot from his fingers all the way to his groin as soon as his hand came into contact with hers. Something about her touch spoke to him, alerted him.
Warned him
. Her eyes were a nutmeg-brown, wide and innocent looking and darkly and very thickly lashed. Her glossy chestnut hair was slightly curvy and loose about her shoulders. He could smell her fragrance, an unusual mix of spring lilacs and winter violets. Her skin was clear and creamy, with just a tiny dusting of freckles over the bridge of her uptilted nose that her light makeup hadn’t quite concealed.

‘Talib Muhtadi,’ he said, giving the soft little hand in his a gentle squeeze.

Her tongue darted out over her lips in a sweeping motion. ‘How do you do?’

Talib waited for the gasp or flicker of recognition, but surprisingly none came. His name was rarely out of the press, along with his best friend from university days, Remy Caffarelli. It was quite refreshing...
liberating
to meet someone who hadn’t heard of him. He was so used to women fawning over him because he was a crown prince and ridiculously wealthy that he had totally forgotten what it felt like to be treated like a normal person. It was so hard to know if his lovers wanted him for him or for the prestige it gave them to have been seen with him, even if it was just for a few weeks. None of his relationships lasted more than a month or two. Any longer than that and people starting mentioning marriage and he felt that all-too-familiar clawed fist of claustrophobia clutch at his throat.

He would have to do his duty soon. His father, Sheik Sayid Yasin Muhtadi, had already had The Talk with him. At thirty-two it was time for him to settle down, to marry the bride that had been chosen for him since childhood according to the ancient tradition of his homeland, Dharbiri. He would have to produce heirs, two at least, and take over from his father when the time came. Duty would always come first. It had been drummed into him from a young age. Duty. Duty. Duty.

Talib had come to London for business, but now that it was complete he had put aside this one last night for himself. He had shaken off his bodyguards and booked into a modest hotel just so he could have one night of freedom without the restraints that being a desert province royal entailed.

But even with or without his entourage he felt restless. Bored.
Lonely
.

He hated that word. It annoyed him. It irked him. How could he feel lonely when he had everything money could buy?

‘So...what would you like to drink?’ Abby asked. ‘Apart from champagne, of course.’

‘I’ll have soda water.’ Talib smiled a half smile. ‘I want to keep a clear head.’

She blushed like a schoolgirl and went off to fetch their drinks.

Talib followed her with his gaze, taking in her slim curves beneath the simple but elegant black dress she was wearing. She had long legs with thoroughbred-thin ankles, dainty wrists and a swanlike neck. Her mouth was full, the top lip only marginally thinner than the lower one and curved upwards in a perpetual Cupid’s bow.

A kissable mouth.

A
very
kissable mouth.

She came back with a glass of soda water for him and lemonade for herself. ‘What shall we drink to?’

Talib held her gaze as he clinked his glass against hers. ‘To us.’

A tiny frown wrinkled her brow. ‘Us?’

‘Two single people at a loose end with nothing better to do than pick up strangers in a bar.’ He drank a mouthful of his drink before looking at her again. ‘What?’

Her eyes suddenly seemed too big for her heart-shaped face. ‘Is that what you’re doing? Picking me...um, up?’

Talib stroked a lazy finger down the regal slope of her cheek. Her skin was velvet soft and pure as cream. ‘You want a one-night stand, don’t you?’

Her tongue moved over her lower lip, her throat rising and falling on an audible swallow. ‘Um...yes...’

He edged up her chin so her eyes locked with his and his groin turned to fire. ‘I want you.’

Her eyes almost popped. ‘Y-you do?’

Talib was bewitched by her unguardedness, by her innocence and naivety. He was used to women who played every trick in the How to Catch a Prince handbook, but she was completely and utterly guileless. ‘You can’t tell?’ he asked as he traced a slowly moving finger across the fine scaffold of her collarbone.

‘I don’t have a lot of experience....’ Her gaze went to his mouth. ‘I’ve only had one lover....’

‘Did he satisfy you?’

Her eyes flicked back to his. ‘Pardon?’

Talib gave a cynical grunt. ‘Apparently not.’

She bit her lip again and shifted her gaze. ‘It wasn’t his fault. I’m not very good at being...intimate. I have trouble letting go. I think I’m a control freak. I find it impossible to relax. I’m easily distracted. My mind is always racing with all the things I’ve got to do or want to do or ought to do and never have the time.’

Talib placed a fingertip beneath her chin and turned her back to face him. Her eyes were bright and wide, her mouth slightly open, her breath sweet and warm and vanilla-scented as it danced in front of his face. ‘Do you want to come back to my hotel?’

Did she just gulp, or had he imagined it? ‘And do...um, what?’

‘I think you know what.’

She let out a fluttery sounding breath. ‘Wow...’

He quirked his brow. ‘Wow?’

‘I didn’t realise it would be this easy, you know, finding someone to sleep with.’

Talib took her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Who said anything about sleeping?’