The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 3) by Holly Rayner Page A

spun toward him, her eyes wide. She sniffed, hoping he couldn’t tell that she’d been crying. She felt that ache in her throat—so familiar, from childhood—that meant she was losing something she truly cared about.
     
    “Looks like you’re going somewhere?” Aziz said. He wasn’t smiling. His voice was firm, but soft. She longed to crawl to him, to roll into his arms. She longed to turn back the clock.
     
    “I am,” she said. She could hardly speak, her throat was so tight. “I’m sorry, Aziz. I have to go back to L.A.”
     
    “Did something happen at home?” he asked her. He crossed his arms, giving her that deep, penetrating gaze that made her stomach flip over.
     
    “No,” she whispered. She felt the tears welling up once more, and she knew she couldn’t fight them. “It’s nothing like that. I’m just so sorry. I don’t think I should stay here, Aziz. I haven’t been professional, and I can’t trust myself to keep my feelings separate from my work. I will send a replacement to finish the work I’ve started. In the end, I’m not the one who can help you.”
     
    Aziz didn’t say anything for a moment. He readjusted his arms on his chest, considering her. The space between them was tense, awkward. Amity wanted to rush from the scene and eliminate any memories from her mind.
     
    “Well. I have to say, I’m shocked,” Aziz said. He shook his head sadly. “And sad that you’ve come to this decision—”
     
    Behind Aziz, one of the maids appeared. She gestured down the steps. “Miss Winters! Your taxi has arrived!” Her voice cut through the tension, killing the moment.
     
    Amity shrugged her shoulders and grabbed her suitcase, rushing past Aziz and down the steps, willing her body to carry the heavy load. She could rest her weary eyes on the plane, she reminded herself. She could find solace as the days passed, as she pushed further away from this moment.
     
    Seconds later, she burst from the mansion and found the waiting taxi. The driver opened his arms to her suitcase and greeted her with a curt hello. She felt her legs and shoulders jittering, shaking as she pushed the strap from her body and handed it away. She could feel Aziz’s presence behind her; she could sense that he’d followed her down the steps and into the blistering sunshine. Could she push into the taxi and abandon him like that?
     
    No.
     
    She lost her head; she refuted any thought of professionalism. And she spun on her heels, back toward the mansion, where Aziz was standing with lost eyes. He opened his arms to her, but she stopped short, blinking at him. Behind her, the traffic revved full-force. Merchants screamed in Arabic. The world kept spinning.
     
    “This is off the record,” she said then. She cleared her throat and made earnest eye contact with him. She felt alive. But she kept her distance. “Do you remember what you told me the first morning I was here, in the desert?”
     
    Aziz cocked his head but didn’t speak.
     
    “You told me that you’re nothing like the man that the public thinks you are. And it’s completely true. You’re not like that perception of you—and you’re also not like anyone in the world.” She swallowed, feeling the brevity of her words. “And that’s why I’m leaving. I’m leaving because there’s nothing I can really do here. You don’t need me. You don’t need a PR rep; you don’t need anyone to arrange your words for you. You just need to be yourself, wholly and truly, and the public will love you.”
     
    Behind her, Amity could hear the taxi driver clear his throat. His impatience was mounting.
     
    “Anyway. I just wanted to—to tell you that. That you don’t need me.”
     
    But I need you , Amity thought hopelessly, swallowing once more, using every last shred of restraint to keep herself from throwing her arms around him. Keep it together, Amity , she told herself. Keep it together.
     
    Aziz sighed once more, clearly exhausted. He placed his