The Sheikh's Royal Widow: Desert Kings Alliance, #7

By Mel Teshco

He's running from the past. She's afraid to face the future. Can they create a perfect today?

Princess Takisha Hakim never thought she'd desire another man again. Not after Sheikh Fayez's rejection, and certainly not after her sick and depraved marriage to Sheikh Arif. She's learned the hard way that wealth and power comes at a cost and accepts she doesn't deserve to be loved. Then she sees gardener, Akeem Al-Dagher, and all her doubts fade away. Perhaps a commoner is just what she needs?

Akeem Al-Dagher enjoys his simple life as a gardener. For the most part, hard, physical labor drowns out the memories of his past and helps him to forget about his family and the brutal war that made him the hero he never wanted to be. He might have been a killer in the past, but nurturing plants soothes his black soul. A pity his life gets complicated the moment the princess begins to take a personal interest.

He doesn't belong in her world anymore…does he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mel Teshco
• Release date: Sep 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224289257

Mel Teshco

Mel Teshco lives in the beautiful country of QLD Australia, where the open spaces of her acreage, fondly called 'the block', gives her room to breathe. When she isn't writing or dreaming of writing, she is often found gazing out the window at the surrounding mountains and thinking how very lucky she is. With one semi-patient husband, three gorgeous girls, two fat horses, one crazy Belgian shepherd and three cats who run the house, writing has (mostly) kept her sane.

Book preview

The Sheikh’s Royal Widow

Mel Teshco

The Sheikh’s Royal Widow

Copyright © 2023 Mel Teshco

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by HelzKat Designs

https://www.helzkatdesigns.com/

Table of Contents

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter One of The Sheikh’s Temporary Girlfriend

Chapter One

Sheikha Takisha Hakim, Princess of Mendos, was weary to the bone after yet another day of politics, social engagements and general running-of-the-country theatrics. But she had a spring in her step as she stalked through her suite of rooms, opened the glass sliding door to the balcony outside, and then stepped through.

It might be late afternoon and still maddeningly hot, but she wouldn’t miss this view for anything. The new gardener was transforming her courtyard garden into a thing of beauty.

He was presently laying down mosaic pavers alongside sandstone ones, creating a unique pattern. He’d already chipped out those plants that had been struggling and wilting under the intense heat, and had replanted them with a mix of hardy native and exotic shrubbery and trees.

He wore traditional white pants, which most men wore beneath their thobe, but apart from his sturdy boots, nothing else covered his strong, sinewy body. He didn’t even wear a keffiyeh, instead his slightly overlong, black hair was tied at his nape with a cord, while his bare, sweaty chest gleamed under the sunlight, his muscles flexing and shifting as he lifted, carried, then bent to place the next heavy paver into position.

She sighed, at least a thousand fantasies springing into life in her mind. He was alpha male perfection. And she wanted him like she’d never wanted another man in her life. Not even Sheikh Fayez had aroused her half this much.

She winced. Imagining herself in love with that man had almost destroyed her. After he’d rejected her for his mistress, Takisha had been left with no choice but to marry another sheikh, pledging herself to Sheikh Arif.

Bad enough her then new husband had been a portly and a much older, toad of a man. That he’d also been as repulsive in bed as he’d been out of it, and had enjoyed humiliating her however and whenever he could had been even worse...much, much worse.

The glass door peeled open again in a whisper of sound, her maid stepping out onto the balcony with a tray laden with a jug of iced tea and Takisha’s favorite chilled bottle of white wine, two frosted glasses perched either side.

Thanks, Khepri. That’s just what I need.

Her maid set the tray down onto the table in front of Takisha, her long slender hands revealing work-worn skin for someone only two years older than Takisha’s twenty-four years. So why did Takisha feel twice as old? She sighed heavily. Though she didn’t have a servant’s hard life, she’d still been through a lot in her lifetime.

Too much for someone so many other women envied.

Khepri’s hazel eyes twinkled, showcasing her European heritage. Not that she’d ever met her father who’d just been travelling through and had stopped long enough to seduce and impregnate Khepri’s smitten mother. "I think I know what you really need."

Takisha hid a smile. Khepri had been her maid and friend long before Takisha had been forced to marry Sheikh Arif. Khepri had also been the only member of staff Takisha had brought with her from her homeland after marrying the asshole she’d called her husband. But even Khepri only had an inkling of the hell Takisha had gone through being wedded to a madman.

And what is it I really need, then? Takisha finally asked.

"Not what—who," Khepri said, looking pointedly at the gardener before she burst into a fit of giggles.

Takisha’s gaze slid back to the man whose strength and endurance was all too evident. She was only glad that, as a widower, she now had far more freedom. She deserved it, too, after her depraved marriage. She swallowed hard, pushing back the horrid memories crawling into her head before she forced a smile. Yeah, well, I didn’t sit out here in this heat for nothing.

Of course you didn’t, Khepri said as she poured some iced tea into a glass, her pretty lavender hijab offset by her darker abaya. And who could blame you?

Who, indeed?

If she was being honest, probably the entire country of Mendos, which she now ruled in the place of Sheikh Arif, would blame her. That she was a woman, even one who’d previously been a princess of a prosperous nation, meant little to the people of Mendos—her people now. They were baying for a male leader.

Too bad.

She wasn’t ever marrying a man again to please everyone else, no matter how much pressure there was to do just that. Better to be single and judged unworthy than to marry and be miserable and subservient.

He’s doing a great job, Khepri murmured, her voice as admiring as her wide-eyed gaze.

Isn’t he, Takisha agreed. That she was bristling a little at Khepri’s interest made her realize just how involved she’d become with the man. That he’d never once glanced her way or acknowledged her as he’d worked both intrigued and infuriated her. If only I knew his name.

The gardener straightened, then looked up at the balcony where she sat, his gaze zeroing in on her. She resisted clapping a hand to her mouth. That her voice must have carried right across to him in the still air was now all too apparent.

My name is Akeem Al-Jalal, he said in a low, rumbling voice that twanged her most intimate parts. His deep bow was more mocking than respectful, yet all she could focus on was his rippling muscles, his wide shoulders and trim waist. It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Takisha.

Oh, the pleasure is all mine.

She managed a serene smile, though inside she was a mass of quivering nerves, like she was wild prey facing off a predator. Well then, Akeem, now we’re on a first name basis, perhaps you’d like to get out of the hot sun for a moment and quench your thirst?

She half-expected his refusal, after all she was royalty and he was a commoner. Instead, he dusted his hands on his stained white pants, then nodded acquiescence. How could I refuse an invitation—from a princess and a sheikha, no less?

Khepri sucked in a shocked breath before she tore her gaze away from the gardener back to Takisha. Are you sure you should be so forward with this man?

Takisha snorted. After what I went through with my husband, I don’t imagine anything worse could happen. She took a sip of her iced tea, her heart rate galloping as she watched Akeem put away his gardening tools. Turning back to her maid, she said, But thank you for your concern. She nodded. That will be all for now.

Khepri’s eyes narrowed, then she bowed her head and said with stiff formality, Of course, Princess Takisha.

There was no time to worry that she’d offended her maid—her friend—who disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived, not when Akeem was already stalking toward the balcony. She waved a hand toward shuttered doors on the ground floor. If you go through those doors and take the—

In one bound he was clasping the balcony rails in front of her, then in an effortless flex of his arms and shoulders, his strong core visibly tightening, he pulled himself up and over.

Her breath squeezed out of her suddenly tight lungs as he landed next to her and straightened. He was enormous up close and intimidating as he towered over her while she sat. He was like some untamed beast, ready to pounce.

Was it a thousand times wrong that she wanted him to do just that?

She gulped, her womb fluttering right along with her pulse. Or you could simply climb onto my balcony. She nodded at the seat opposite, trying not to notice his smooth, tanned chest, with the light trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his pants. Even the slight tang of his masculine sweat did things to her insides. Take a chair, relax. You look thirsty.

He smirked and nodded, his whole body one fluid, graceful motion as he did as she instructed. She poured him a drink, her hand tellingly shaky. I hope you like iced tea.

He nodded. But he didn’t seem interested in the tea or small talk when he said, You’ve been watching me.

She managed another tremulous smile, though her heart thrummed like a bird desperate to escape its cage. Does that bother you?

Should it? he countered.

She put down the jug and managed an idle shrug. Not many commoners I know would choose to sit here with me wearing nothing but their sweaty, stained gardening pants.

"I believe you invited me, Princess," he drawled.

His mockery struck a chord inside her, bringing her to life in a way she couldn’t even begin to explain. Aside from Khepri, her servants and staff scraped and bowed to her thanks to their former sheikh who’d demanded respect and obedience, even if it had only ever been to his face.

Behind Arif’s back she could only have imagined their scorn. No doubt that same scorn had continued on after his death, passed like a baton from Sheikh Arif to his widowed wife.

This man had definitely dropped that baton. His derision toward her wasn’t hidden in the least.

She tilted her chin, her voice regal. Then it’s good to know I have such an obedient servant.

"Is that how you really see me?" he growled.

She stood, took a couple of steps toward the balcony railing, then tipped the iced tea from her glass onto the newly laid pavers below. Returning to her seat, she refilled her glass with wine, then closing her eyes, she tipped the