The Sheikh Who Claimed Her. Barbara McMahon
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flown over this turquoise sea on her way to the Gulf. At least on this occasion she was prepared, Antonia reflected, and full of determination to finish what she’d started. There would be no hitching lifts on fishing boats, or desert-island idylls—there would be no distractions at all. This time she was here on business with a track record of success behind her.
After returning home in disgrace she had cancelled her initial meeting in Sinnebar to give herself time to regroup. The wounds from her ordeal with the pirates had gradually faded, but not so the wounds in her heart, and her brother Rigo had taken some convincing before agreeing to give her a second chance. It was then Antonia had discovered that a broken heart was the best engine for change. To forget Saif, she had thrown herself into her work, and in a short space of time had managed to double the number of children they were able to help. Having picked herself up, she had gone on to open branches of her brother’s charity in Europe. Sinnebar was the next natural choice, and it was a place she couldn’t wait to visit, though negotiations at the highest level had been necessary to arrange a visa for someone who had been deported from the country.
But this wasn’t all about work. While she was here she would find Saif and tell him about their baby. What would happen next was a little hazy at the moment, but she was sure they could come to a civilised arrangement.
She would succeed in achieving all her goals this time, Antonia determined. She had a child to protect and set an example for now—a miracle she was still getting used to. And expecting a child had only intensified Antonia’s longing to know her mother. She was more determined than ever to find out what she could about Helena’s life in Sinnebar. Finding Saif was perhaps the most important goal of all.
She’d settle for that, Antonia realised, tightening her grip on the briefcase that held all the paperwork relating to the charity. If anything, it was Saif who had given her the courage to continue this adventure, and just knowing she was in the same country as the man was enough to make her heart fly. She had a good feeling about this as she disembarked the aircraft.
He had watched her progress over the past three months, knowing she would come back to Sinnebar. She had no other option if she wanted to extend the reach of her brother’s charity. Antonia Ruggiero, daughter of Helena Ruggiero; Tuesday; Wild-child; Criminal; Cheat.
Lover …
She had bewitched him once and would never be allowed to do so again.
He thanked the immigration official on the other end of the phone for informing him that the individual under surveillance had landed, and replaced the receiver in its nest. He would see Signorina Antonia Ruggiero at the meeting in his government offices this afternoon. Antonia had no idea he would be there. He would surprise her at her appointment with his Minister of Charities.
Had it been a chance meeting on his yacht three months ago? How likely was that? He would trust no one with Helena’s blood in their veins, and the coincidence was too much for him to swallow. Antonia had come to Sinnebar, like her mother before her, to weigh up the ground before greedily scooping up whatever she could. No wonder she hadn’t been prepared to tell him her name. The charity she represented might be wholly above board—he’d had it checked out—but as far as he was concerned Helena’s heir was a cheat out to rob his people of their land. The reckless escapade on a local fishing-boat was nothing more than vanity for the indulged wild-child of an Italian industrialist with more money than sense. Antonia Ruggiero had set out to deceive him. She was a criminal with a plan to steal his people’s land—a woman who thought she could stroll back into the country and threaten him with her mother’s bequest.
Let her try. He was ready for her.
Ra’id smiled grimly as he buckled on his belt with the royal insignia emblazoned on it.
‘Signorina Antonia Ruggiero,’ a quietly spoken man announced.
As the double doors shut silently behind her, Antonia was instantly aware of an atmosphere of ceremony and history. She could see the majestic council-chamber with its high, vaulted ceiling had been adapted to modern life with consoles and monitors positioned in the centre of a highly polished oval table, but nothing could take away from the craftsmanship around her. The gilt scrolling on the ornate plasterwork, like the exquisitely tiled floor and the artefacts decorating the room, was magnificent. Life-sized murals on the walls picked out scenes from Sinnebar’s past, while giant gold vases at least twice her height stood like sentries at the doors. The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed honeyed light to flood in, and the air was scented and streaked with sunbeams. She felt it was a privilege to be here where time was measured in millennia rather than minutes.
Air-conditioning cooled her as she walked deeper into the room, and as she drew close the dozen or so men seated round the table stood and gave her the traditional greeting.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said, dipping her head politely before taking her seat. She had dressed for the occasion in a sober, beautifully tailored suit, in a subtle shade of dove grey that was both comfortable and modest, and she was wearing hardly any make-up. Her hair was neatly tied back, and though she had already given one presentation that morning her enthusiasm for the charity project had kept her fresh and alert.
She had left that last meeting with a positive feeling. Many of the men the sheikh had chosen to sit on his council were family men and they had quickly come to share her passion for the concept. This meeting was the final stage before Sheikh al Maktabi put his seal of approval on the scheme. She had been assured he would, as the ruler of Sinnebar always put the interests of his people first. She fully expected to start work on a centre for parents and children to enjoy in the next few weeks—providing the ruling sheikh would allow her to use some of his land for the project.
He had to—he must—Antonia determined. Ra’id al Maktabi famously cared about his people. How could he refuse such a simple request?
She was halfway through her summing up when the huge, arched golden doors at the far end of the room swung open. She felt a shiver of prescience and, following everyone else’s lead, she stood up.
The thought of finally meeting the formidable Sword of Vengeance was both a thrilling and terrifying moment for Antonia, but as she turned to catch her first glimpse of him the light streamed into her eyes. It made no difference. She could still sense his animal power as he strode towards her.
Tall and lithe, the ruler of Sinnebar was bearing down on her like a jungle cat, deep blue robes rustling rhythmically as he walked. At his waist a jewelled symbol flashed.
Fear rippled down Antonia’s spine. She had imagined the infamous Sword of Vengeance would be older. Sheikh Ra’id al Maktabi of Sinnebar’s reputation was built on the solid rock of dedicated service to his country, but she could see now that this was a man in the prime of life—and that for some reason he disapproved of her.
‘Signorina Ruggiero.’
‘Saif …’
The breath shot from Antonia’s lungs as His Imperial Majesty, Sheikh Ra’id al Maktabi, clasped her hand Western-style in greeting. She would have known that grip anywhere, and the name Saif had escaped her lips before she’d had chance to think.
But now …
Antonia began to shake as a debilitating fear swept over her.
‘Water,’ she heard a man’s voice command and then someone was drawing out a chair for her and she sank back. That same someone had stopped her falling, and now he settled her into the chair, and she found herself staring down the long stretch of table into the face of a man who was both a stranger and her lover.
And the father of her unborn child.
The realisation that the father of her baby was none other than the Sword of Vengeance was a devastating emotional blow. Most things she could get around, but not this.
Any hope she’d had of finding Saif and living happily ever after had just been crushed. How could she tell this man—this formidable king—that she was carrying the heir to his throne? When would she tell him? Would he be willing to grant her a private audience—or would