Her Billionaire Sheikh Read online

  Her Billionaire Sheikh

  Jewel Allen

  Her Billionaire Sheikh

  Copyright © 2019 Jewel Allen

  Editor: Christina Schrunk

  Cover design: Josephine Blake

  Interior formatting: Jewel Allen

  First publication: May 2019

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations for critical articles and reviews. All rights reserved.

  Join Jewel Allen’s Gems to get new release alerts.

  To my darling Drew, for watching the moon rise over the Sahara Desert with me

  Created with Vellum

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Love Royal Romance?

  1

  Morocco, North Africa, midnight

  Reese Morgan paused at the top of the marble stairs until she was sure everyone was watching before slowly making her way down to the party under the stars.

  Her heels clicked on the steps as she moved in her fitted blue dress. She’d checked and double-checked her appearance in the hall mirror to her satisfaction.

  Her dress, dark as midnight. Her platinum blonde hair, cut in a bob to her chin, sleek and perfect. Her nails, red as her lips.

  She acted as if she owned the place, like she came to these international soirees all the time. When in fact, her knees quaked, and she was reduced to being the little pickpocket her brother Quinn had trained her to be when they were younger.

  Over the years, she’d graduated from pickpocketing to more complex con jobs.

  This is the last job, Quinn had promised. She wanted to believe him. Because the alternative was too hard to bear. If she failed, Quinn’s safety was at stake. Her future was linked to his.

  Now to find her mark.

  Sheikh Samir Al-Hana. At thirty, Morocco’s most sought-after billionaire bachelor. The host of this engagement party for Dr. Michael Monroe and his fiancée.

  Her marks were always bachelors. They fell hard for her, she fleeced them for whatever it was that Quinn needed her to fleece, and then she moved on.

  It shouldn’t be too hard to find the sheikh. He was the host of this billionaire bash.

  There the doctor and his fiancée were, the happy couple, dancing in a circle of friends. Michael Monroe towered over his gorgeous blonde fiancée. They looked strikingly handsome together.

  In love. A feeling she had never truly experienced.

  Shaking off the pang of envy, Reese studied her surroundings.

  The sheikh’s mansion, one of his vacation homes, was the height of opulence. The sleek, modernist house towering three-stories high. The Olympic-size pool accented with floating candles. The breathtaking view of the Moroccan desert lit mysteriously by a nearly full moon. Beautiful guests in glittering dresses and black tuxes. The sound of the surf from the nearby beach, screened by palm trees.

  She stepped out onto the balcony, taking a lemon water from a tray offered by a server. The Moroccan air made her throat clench with thirst, and it was nice to have something soothe her throat. She was still adjusting from Italy, where she’d left Quinn.

  “Reese Morgan?”

  She recognized the woman’s voice. Esther Mastroni. Broker for one of the biggest auction houses in the world. Always on the look-out for fabulous jewelry and art.

  Reese wanted to flee the other way, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to without attracting suspicion.

  “Darling,” Reese said, turning toward Esther with a big grin. “How have you been?”

  The two women kissed the air by their cheeks and surveyed each other.

  Reese knew Esther’s kind—calculating and flashy. She’d just returned from a safari in Africa—she’d been telling everyone—where she’d helped establish a charity service program for the sheikh’s special guest, Dr. Monroe.

  “You look terrific,” Esther said. “Looking younger every time. Are you sure you don’t get a few tucks here and there?”

  “Twenty-six is hardly old,” Reese said, raising an eyebrow. “The only tucking in I get is in bed when I’m sick.”

  Esther let out a brittle laugh. “Oh, you are funny. Enjoy your youth while it lasts.”

  Reese nodded. “I intend to.”

  Esther lowered her voice. “How is that brother of yours?”

  Oh, the one whose heart Esther had taken and spit out? “He’s fine,” Reese said, sipping her water again. “Neck-deep in all his ventures. You know.”

  Esther’s eyes glittered. She obviously hadn’t forgotten, nor had she moved on from that relationship, apparently. “Oh, I know. I had hoped he would retire.” Esther looked her over. “And you, are you still up to your old tricks?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Reese moved away.

  Tried to anyway. Esther’s hand detained her. “I would be careful, Reese.” Esther looked around like a cat seeking its prey. “This isn’t the place to flaunt your charms. Someone just might find you out.”

  With that, Esther walked on.

  Reese should probably be more upset, but she wasn’t. Not with Esther. Quinn was more careful than that. Esther had her suspicions, but nothing for a detective to hang his hat on. No crime could ever be traced to them, not with the system they’d built up over the years.

  She moved on in search of her prey and saw him. His profile was turned to her. She’d only seen photos of him—on the internet, in newspapers. In person, he took her breath away. His raw animal magnetism was unmistakable despite that tailored tux.

  She steeled herself for what she was sure would be a formidable opponent.

  Drink in hand, she walked over casually and bumped into him.

  “Oh, pardon me,” she said as some of her water spilled on his sleeve.

  The man turned fully, training dark eyes on her. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze became more intent. Intrigued. His hair gleamed black as the night. He was beautiful, with a chiseled jaw and a perfectly clipped beard.

  “I saw you earlier,” he said in a cultured voice, a slight exotic accent on his words. “I wanted to meet you. So mysterious in the night. I was getting tired of all this.” He gestured to the crowd. “I was ready to leave until I saw you.” He paused. “And here you are.”

  “Like magic,” she said, taking a sip and watching him over her glass.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Like magic.”

  “Poof!” she whispered.

  The corner of his mouth lifte
d. “You aren’t planning to disappear on me now, are you? Just when I’ve found you.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to, but I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me find him?”

  His eyes roamed the room briefly and then returned to hers. “Perhaps. Who is this lucky gentleman?”

  “Sheikh Samir Al-Hana.” The syllables rolled off her tongue like sand.

  That hypnotic gaze bore deep into hers. Curiosity lurked in their depths. He pursed his lips, his eyes dancing.

  “Why,” she asked, “what’s so funny?”

  “I am Sheikh Samir Al-Hana.”

  2

  Well, it must be his lucky night.

  Samir studied his guest with pleasure. Up close, she didn’t seem as standoffish as she seemed on the stairs. When she had first appeared, like a model, he was intrigued.

  But here, just an arm’s length away, she had a vulnerable quality in her eyes, quickly masked. Her short blonde hair was cut with precision to the chin. The blue of her shape-flattering long-sleeved dress made her eyes sparkle. Those eyes were huge, staring at him directly. Not hiding her fascination.

  The fascination was mutual.

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. Her palm was soft, the back of her hand smooth. “And who do I have the pleasure of looking for me?”

  “My name’s Reese,” she said, sounding breathless. “Reese Morgan.”

  “Miss Morgan—”

  There was a commotion at the stairwell, and he let her hand go. Event security streamed in conspicuously, angering Samir. He had given specific instructions that his guests weren’t to be ruffled, even by emergencies. He would have to speak with his security detail head, Axel.

  And wouldn’t you know it, Axel himself was heading their way, making a beeline for Reese.

  “Your Highness," Axel said before flicking his eyes toward Reese.

  “Must you make a scene?” Samir said, his tone clipped.

  “Pardon me, sir,” Axel said in a low voice meant only for Samir’s ears, “but this lady is not on your guest list.”

  Samir glanced at Reese’s face. All innocent. If she was rattled, she didn’t show it. “Then how did she get in here?”

  Axel’s eyes darted sideways and then back. “I don’t know, sir.”

  Samir’s gaze settled on Reese, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “How did you get into my party, my dear?”

  “I walked in,” she said, blinking like a lamb.

  “It appears that my security has been derelict in their duties,” Samir said dryly.

  “Your Highness,” Axel huffed, “I asked her to wait in line. By the time I checked in other guests, she was nowhere to be found. I assumed she had gone on in, and I was right.”

  “How many of your men were stationed at the entrance of the palace, Axel?” Samir asked.

  Axel’s expression hardened. “Four, sir.”

  “And none of you were able to keep a non-guest out? Granted,” his gaze trailed her jaw in a caress, “I can see why you’d be distracted.”

  A light went out in Axel’s eyes. “They were helping others.” His arrogant tone dimmed. “I apologize. We have no excuse.”

  “Miss Morgan,” Samir said, “why did you gate-crash my party?”

  “I’m alone in a new city, and I wanted to make friends.” Her eyes danced. Why, she was enjoying this, was she?

  Samir thought for a moment. Normally, he didn’t like intruders. In Morocco’s political climate, they were a real threat. But she seemed harmless enough. He supposed she could slip poison into his drink or stab him with a subtle weapon. And then again, she might not.

  Samir turned to Axel. “She’s my friend now. She may stay.”

  Axel’s eyes turned turbulent. “But—”

  “Thank you, Axel,” Samir dismissed him.

  Axel’s heated glance flicked with distaste toward Reese before he bowed stiffly and gathered his staff to leave them alone. Samir would have to have a word with him later.

  Other guests stared and then returned to their gossiping.

  “Thank you,” Reese said.

  “You’re welcome. I wanted to spare you the dungeons.”

  She crinkled her nose. “Do you really put people in dungeons?”

  “Sure.” He left it at that.

  “I can believe it.”

  “Now, that’s a loaded statement.”

  Shrugging, she sipped her drink. “I read the news.”

  “And what does the news say about me?”

  “As the crown prince, you are a fair but sometimes heartless ruler.”

  He raised a brow. “Oh? In what way am I heartless?”

  “You don’t allow refugees across your borders.”

  “I do,” he demurred. “I just want them to go through the proper procedures.”

  “You’ve turned them away from your coast.”

  “Correct. What would you have me do? Accept all of them in our borders? The problem is, it’s not just one country but several. All wanting in. Relaxing our borders is hardly sustainable.”

  The temperature between them had risen.

  He scrutinized her lovely face. “Why were you looking for me anyway?”

  Her eyes flew to his then veered away. “I wanted to meet my host.” She sighed. “Here I am, wanting to make a friend, and I’m offending you instead.”

  He adjusted his jacket sleeve. “In general, I think American women can be overbearing, but I don’t mind a vigorous debate once in a while.”

  “Overbearing!” She put a hand on her narrow hip.

  “Bossy. Fresh.” He smirked. “Too…much.”

  “What movie are you basing your stereotypes on?” she asked archly.

  His laughter drew speculative stares. “Come,” he said, “let me introduce you to my inner circle. They will be happy to meet an American in person.”

  He took her around dutifully, introducing her to celebrities, business associates, politicians, and their respective sycophants.

  Samir watched the scene as though seeing it through her eyes for the first time. It wasn’t pleasant or pretty. The weight of his responsibility as Morocco’s Crown Prince was a heavy one to bear, and yet here he was, frittering away a Friday night out of duty among people he didn’t truly care about. If he had someone special to spend the evening with, he wouldn’t have to throw these parties.

  But duty called. And so he continued them.

  After several rounds, he led her to the railing overlooking the palace beach, lights casting interesting shadows among the palm trees dotting the view. Beyond, the moon kissed the sea, splintering its beauty into silver coins.

  “What a beautiful place,” she said, sighing. Her profile glowed in the moonlight. Achingly lovely.

  “You must see it in the day. It’s positively tranquil.”

  She stared ahead, lost in thought. “I would love that. Tranquil.” Her mouth twisted. “There’s no safe place in the world anymore, it seems.”

  “Oh, there is. It just takes some doing to get there.”

  She studied his profile. “And where is that, for you?”

  “There’s an island just off our coast a little ways. It’s private and quiet. I go there sometimes.”

  “Not all of us have that luxury.” But her tone was friendly, not bitter.

  “True. Surely, in your life, you’ve found safe places.”

  Seconds passed, and he wondered if she’d heard him. When she answered, she simply said, “I can’t seem to remember, unfortunately. I had to grow up fast.”

  He heard an insistent beeping, and she opened her purse, releasing a louder sound, and fished out a phone. Gazing at the caller ID, she inclined her head.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “My brother calls.”

  “Of course.”

  She walked off, leaving Samir pondering her words about safety and why someone who seemed young like her would not have been able to find it easily in her life.

  3

  “Cut i
t out,” Quinn said.

  “Really?” Reese replied. “Let me find a quieter spot. I can’t hear you.”

  She ended up going downstairs that probably led to the beach if she were to keep marching on. Looking around to make sure she wasn’t within earshot of the others and waving at Samir, who watched her from the rail, she turned so he couldn’t lip-read.

  “What’s up?” she asked, bracing herself.

  “I can hear you perfectly. Why are you being so tentative?”

  “Just because I’m not flirting outrageously doesn’t mean I’m being tentative.”

  “Cut out the pleasantries. He’s obviously into you. There isn’t much time. His father is dying, which means the jewels could be nabbed by someone soon.”

  “You didn’t tell me about his father.”

  “So I forgot. Shoot me. I thought I mentioned it.”

  “You know I hate it when I have to be around death.” She thought of Samir and his kindness. Most billionaires, let alone royalty, wouldn’t hesitate to kick out a gate-crasher.

  Quinn said, “Anyway…make him fall for you already, I say.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Can you hear me roll my eyes? Give me, oh, five minutes.”

  “Well, you used to be pretty efficient—”

  “I’m going to turn off my mic. I can’t work while I have you breathing down my neck.”

  “But how am I supposed to coach you?”

  He meant how was he supposed to control her?