Page 28 of Sheikh's Virgin Love-Slave

Chapter Eleven

Six Months Pregnant, Almost Five Months after Leaving Dubai…

Twenty-five pounds.

It wasn’t a massive amount of weight gain, but more than recommended, especially with the regular walking exercise that Bridget was able to get in at Dr. Murfee’s suggestion. However, she’d always had an Olive Oil body type, or maybe a bit of a Paris Hilton physique. Wiry and gangly were sort of her thing, and now having all that extra weight basically centered around her stomach left Bridget feeling even more klutzy than usual. It also drained her. While she was far past the morning sickness and even some of her weird cravings had subsided, Bridget just felt so tired all the time. Dr. Murfee was adding extra Vitamin D supplements to her regimen. Hopefully she would start feeling peppy again.

Of course, even now, it could be her broken heart.

She was six months pregnant, and every day she looked at the ultrasound pictures of her son—their son—and think about how she needed to give it all up and call Ravi. Then again, Ravi had let Sabella ram her tongue down his throat and didn’t give a shit about Bridget. Would she bring a child into a situation that loveless and fucked up? Wasn’t it better to keep the baby here and away from a father who didn’t care, and from a country that would speak ugly of their sheikh’s bastard, American heir?

Thanks to her own father, she knew exactly how horrible it was to have a dad who didn’t want you in their lives or who, at best, only used you when it was convenient.

The doorbell rang, knocking her out of her morose thoughts and same circular logic. Struggling up out of the couch cushions, Bridget made her way to the door. She definitely made it at about a third of the speed should would have months ago, but at least she didn’t have more than one more trimester to go.

Yanking open the door, she smiled, expecting Cindi to be stopping by after her final patient of the day to do a girls’ night with Chinese and bad DVDs. Her expression froze on her face when she found her father standing before her, more bedraggled than usual. Dean Callahan seemed as shocked to see her as she was to be gazing upon him. His eyes were wide and he couldn’t stop gaping at her ever-expanding belly.

“Whoa, so you got yourself knocked up.”

She stepped outside of her apartment and shut the door behind her. “You have exactly five minutes to give me a good reason not to just call the cops. I’m sure you have outstanding warrants. Maybe there’s a bench warrant somewhere.”

Her father started to look over his shoulder anxiously, enough proof to let her know she was right. It wasn’t hard to guess; a leopard couldn’t change his spots, and Dean Callahan would never be more than a failed thief.

“Now, sweetie, let’s not go that far.”

She put her hands on her hips. “That far? You sold me to Sheikh Shamon. You left me to be a prisoner in your place.”

“Well, then word on the street from an old Baltimore friend of mine—”

“You have no friends.”

“Fine, a bookie I owe money to. Anyway, I heard you were back in the city and in the family way.”

“Can’t imagine how a lowlife would know that. I try and stay above the law. It’s actually not that hard.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of having connections. He knew what he needed to.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did,” she said, her tone clipped. “I repeat: why are you here?”

“I wanted to get the story from my little girl. You’re pregnant, so tell me if it’s just some barfly or guy at your office. Or is this a bigger deal?”

A pang dug deeply into her heart. Surely he had to be kidding. This couldn’t be why he was visiting. Unbidden, both her hands came to her belly and cupped it protectively. “You better not be implying what I think you’re implying.”

“Is it the sheikh’s child?”

“I…”

He grinned, looking like he just won the lottery. “It is, isn’t it? Kiddo!” he exclaimed, hugging Bridget for the first time in years. “Do you know what this means?! That’s a billion-dollar brat in your stomach. No, it’s better than that. That kid in there is worth billions, plural. Do you know how much oil money is in Dubai? I mean, that guy buys van Goghs and everything else like it was nothing and…”

“Stop!”

“What? Come on, tell me you’re not a little like your old man. That was so smart of you, leaving off your pills or whatever. Now we’re set up for life.”

She shoved him off of her. “No, there’s no ‘us,’ and there really hasn’t been since long before Mom died. You know that, and there certainly never will be again after you sold me! What happened between Ravi and me was complicated.”

Her dad smirked. “Ravi, see? You do know how to be like your old man. You got the mark to really care for you.”

“Ravi isn’t a ‘mark’ or a part of a plot or anything else. He’s the father of my child, and I do love him, Dean, but he doesn’t love me. So you just need to get out of my life because I swear to God, if you come near me or my son again, I will call the cops and you will rot in jail like you should have long ago.”

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