Read Online The Sheikh's Twin Baby Surprise by Holly Rayner - Free Book Online
Authors: Holly Rayner
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as we rounded a corner and came upon a huge aviary tucked within the greenery. Exotic birds began to caw and flap their wings at the sight of us. One of them talked back to Omar when he spoke to it in Arabic, and he smiled at me, impressed with himself.
“Just like Doctor Doom,” he said.
I laughed. “What?”
“That character from your country that can speak to animals.”
“That's Doctor Dolittle,” I corrected with a teasing smile. “Doctor Doom is far less nice than him.”
“I did think that was a strange name for a veterinarian,” he laughed.
Omar led us through the aviary as we the conversation moved to lighter fare. We discovered we had much more in common than might be expected of a sheikh and a western doctor. Both of us had grown up restless, taking part in sports and any activity we could be a part of to stave away the dreaded specter of boredom. We both had huge soft spots for animals, and cared passionately about the rights of the oppressed and the working class—something Omar had demonstrated many times in his official work for the kingdom.
I couldn't believe that my date with the Sheikh was swiftly becoming the most successful date I'd ever had. The chemistry we’d been fighting for so many months flowed out of us like a river in spring runoff, surging and full of life.
I realized how foolish I’d been to not see it before; Omar had been holding feelings for me just as long as I had held feelings for him. It was an endless relief to know I hadn't just been holding a candle in the dark, waiting for a day that was never going to come. All that time, Omar had been thinking about me, too. He had dreamed about me like I’d dreamed about him. And we were both so happy to finally come together and say it.
When we reached the garden's intricate fountain, there was already a table set out for us. A selection of Mediterranean delicacies had been spread out over pure white dishes; meats and cheeses, olives, figs, fresh-baked bread, grapes, and dipping oils beckoned to us. Two bottles of wine chilled in a silver, ice-filled bucket, and a small but decadent-looking chocolate cake waited enticingly under a glass dome.
“I know the doctors said to cut back on alcohol, but I figured since you’re not pregnant, a glass of wine might do wonders helping you relax,” said Omar as he lifted one of the bottles out of the ice bucket. “May I?”
“Please,” I said, grateful for the nerve-calming alcohol.
Dinner was a playful affair. Omar told me stories about growing up as a royal son, and I shared with him the gory details of working my way through college and medical school. For some reason, he was enchanted by my stories about growing up in boring old Ohio—stories I usually kept out of my repertoire because they were so mundane. But for someone who had grown up on the other side of the world, learning how to rule a country, hearing about carefree summers catching bullfrogs and climbing trees was like hearing a fairy tale.
“Do you know how I got interested in medicine?”
“No, tell me,” said Omar, a hint of tipsiness teasing his expression.
“I started collecting animal bones I would find along the train tracks outside of town, trying to rebuild the skeletons. Of course, most of them ended up abominations because I had the wrong parts, in the wrong places. Mom hated my collection—she thought it was terribly macabre—but I was just trying to understand how the animals were built so that one day I could help them. Eventually, I decided I cared about helping people more than animals.”
He seemed delighted at that anecdote. “You truly are a scientist at heart.”
“Or maybe I was just a morbid little kid,” I joked.
“Well, if it brought you to such an honorable calling—and to me—then I’m glad for your morbid childhood,” laughed Omar with a wink.
“It certainly got me the hell out of Ohio,” I
“Just like Doctor Doom,” he said.
I laughed. “What?”
“That character from your country that can speak to animals.”
“That's Doctor Dolittle,” I corrected with a teasing smile. “Doctor Doom is far less nice than him.”
“I did think that was a strange name for a veterinarian,” he laughed.
Omar led us through the aviary as we the conversation moved to lighter fare. We discovered we had much more in common than might be expected of a sheikh and a western doctor. Both of us had grown up restless, taking part in sports and any activity we could be a part of to stave away the dreaded specter of boredom. We both had huge soft spots for animals, and cared passionately about the rights of the oppressed and the working class—something Omar had demonstrated many times in his official work for the kingdom.
I couldn't believe that my date with the Sheikh was swiftly becoming the most successful date I'd ever had. The chemistry we’d been fighting for so many months flowed out of us like a river in spring runoff, surging and full of life.
I realized how foolish I’d been to not see it before; Omar had been holding feelings for me just as long as I had held feelings for him. It was an endless relief to know I hadn't just been holding a candle in the dark, waiting for a day that was never going to come. All that time, Omar had been thinking about me, too. He had dreamed about me like I’d dreamed about him. And we were both so happy to finally come together and say it.
When we reached the garden's intricate fountain, there was already a table set out for us. A selection of Mediterranean delicacies had been spread out over pure white dishes; meats and cheeses, olives, figs, fresh-baked bread, grapes, and dipping oils beckoned to us. Two bottles of wine chilled in a silver, ice-filled bucket, and a small but decadent-looking chocolate cake waited enticingly under a glass dome.
“I know the doctors said to cut back on alcohol, but I figured since you’re not pregnant, a glass of wine might do wonders helping you relax,” said Omar as he lifted one of the bottles out of the ice bucket. “May I?”
“Please,” I said, grateful for the nerve-calming alcohol.
Dinner was a playful affair. Omar told me stories about growing up as a royal son, and I shared with him the gory details of working my way through college and medical school. For some reason, he was enchanted by my stories about growing up in boring old Ohio—stories I usually kept out of my repertoire because they were so mundane. But for someone who had grown up on the other side of the world, learning how to rule a country, hearing about carefree summers catching bullfrogs and climbing trees was like hearing a fairy tale.
“Do you know how I got interested in medicine?”
“No, tell me,” said Omar, a hint of tipsiness teasing his expression.
“I started collecting animal bones I would find along the train tracks outside of town, trying to rebuild the skeletons. Of course, most of them ended up abominations because I had the wrong parts, in the wrong places. Mom hated my collection—she thought it was terribly macabre—but I was just trying to understand how the animals were built so that one day I could help them. Eventually, I decided I cared about helping people more than animals.”
He seemed delighted at that anecdote. “You truly are a scientist at heart.”
“Or maybe I was just a morbid little kid,” I joked.
“Well, if it brought you to such an honorable calling—and to me—then I’m glad for your morbid childhood,” laughed Omar with a wink.
“It certainly got me the hell out of Ohio,” I
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