Sheikh's Desert Desire: Carrying the Sheikh's Heir
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Gone were the ornate furnishings and narcissistic portraits, the statuary, the huge bed on a platform complete with heavy damask draperies. In their place, Rashid had asked for clean lines, comfortable furniture, paintings that didn’t overwhelm with color or subject matter and breezy fabrics more in fitting with the desert. Certainly the desert was bitterly cold at night, but he didn’t need damask draperies for that.
The palace had been modernized years ago and had working air and heat for those rare occasions when it was needed. Rashid slipped his headdress off and dropped it on a couch. Then he raked his hand through his hair and pulled out his phone. He stared at it for a long moment before he punched the button that would call up his favorites.
Kadir answered on the third ring. “Rashid, it’s good to hear from you.”
“Salaam, brother.” He chewed the inside of his lip and stared off toward the dunes and the setting sun. It blazed bright orange as it sank like a stone. He’d debated for hours on whether or not to call Kadir. They weren’t as close as they’d once been, and he found it hard to admit he needed people. “How are you?”
Kadir laughed. “Wonderful. Happy. Ecstatic.”
“Marriage agrees with you.” He tried not to let any bitterness slip into his voice, but he feared it did anyway. Still, Kadir took it like a blissfully happy man would: as the uninformed judgment of a bachelor.
“Apparently so. Emily keeps me on my toes. But she forces me to eat kale, Rashid. Because it has micronutrients or some such thing, she says it’s good for me.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” It sounded horrible.
“She makes a healthy drink for breakfast. It’s green. Looks disgusting, but thankfully doesn’t taste as bad as it looks.” He sighed. “I miss pancakes and bacon.”
Rashid was familiar with pancakes, though he’d never developed a taste for them during the brief time he’d spent in America. He almost laughed, but then he thought of Daria cooking meals for him and swallowed. She used to make these wonderful savory pies from her native Ural Mountains. He’d loved them. He’d loved her.
Rashid swallowed. “I want you to build a skyscraper for me, Kadir.”
He could practically hear Kadir’s brain kick into gear. “You do? Is this a Kyrian project, or a personal one?”
“I need a building for Hassan Oil in Kyr. I want you to build it.”
“Then I am happy to do so. Let me check the schedule and I’ll see when we can come for a meeting.”
“That would be good.”
Kadir sighed, as if sensing there was more to the call. “I will come anyway, Rashid, if you wish it.”
He did wish it. For the first time in a long time, he wanted a friend. And Kadir was the closest thing he had. But a lifetime of shutting people out was hard to overcome. He’d let in Daria, but look how that had turned out.
“Whenever you can make it is good. I’m busy with many things since you left.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t make the coronation. It was my intention, and then—”
“It’s fine.” He pulled in a breath. “Kadir, there is something I want to talk about.”
“Then I will come immediately.”
That Kadir would still do that, after everything that had passed between them, made an uncomfortable rush of feeling fill Rashid’s chest. “No, that is not necessary. But there’s a woman. A situation.”
“A situation?” He could hear the confusion in his brother’s voice.
Rashid sighed. And then he told Kadir what had happened—the sperm mix-up, the trip to America, the way he’d given Sheridan no choice but to return with him. Kadir was silent for a long moment. Rashid knew his brother was trying to grasp the ramifications of the situation. At any rate, he couldn’t know half of why this unnerved Rashid so much. Rashid hadn’t hidden his marriage to Daria, but he’d been living in Russia then and the information hadn’t precisely filtered out.
And the baby? He did not talk of that to anyone.
“So she might be pregnant?”
The ice in his chest was brittle. “Yes.”
“What will you do? Marry her?”
Rashid hated the way that single word ground into his brain. Marry. “I will have to, won’t I? But once the child is born, she can leave him here and return to America.”
Kadir blew out a breath. Rashid wondered for a moment if he might be laughing. But his voice, when he spoke, was even. “I don’t know, Rashid. The American I married would put my balls in a vise before she agreed to such a thing. In fact, I think most women would.”
“Not if you pay them enough to disappear.”
Kadir might have groaned. Rashid wasn’t certain, because his blood was rushing in his ears. “You could try. It would certainly make it easier with the council if she would agree to disappear afterward. If she’s pregnant, they will have to accept her. But they won’t like it.”
Rashid growled. “I don’t give a damn what the council likes.”
And it was true. The council was old and traditional, but there were lines he would not allow them to cross. He was the king. They had power because he allowed it, not in spite of it. They wanted him to marry a Kyrian. But if he wanted to marry a dancing bear, he would. And if he wanted to marry an American girl, he would do that, too.
“At least be nice to the woman, Rashid. You are being nice to her, yes?”
“Of course I am.” But a current of guilt sizzled through him. He could still see her eyes, so wide and wounded, looking up at him today when he’d told her there was no reason for them to spend time together. No reason to know each other.
And perhaps there wasn’t. But the days were ticking down and they would soon know if she were pregnant. And then he would have to take her as his wife.
It made him want to howl.
“We will come for a visit soon,” Kadir said. “Perhaps it would be good to have Emily there. The poor woman is probably confused and scared.”
He didn’t think Sheridan was all that scared. He could still see her standing up to him, spitting like a wet cat when he’d told her he would take the child and raise him in Kyr.
“I am nice to her,” he said defensively. “She is my guest.”
Kadir laughed softly. “Somehow, I don’t think she sees it quite the same way.”
They spoke for a few more minutes about other things, and then Rashid ended the call. He sighed and went out onto one of the many terraces that opened off his rooms. There was a soft breeze tonight, hot and scented with jasmine from the gardens. In another few hours, it would turn chilly, but for now it was still warm.
The minarets glowed ocher in the last rays of the setting sun. The sounds of vendors shouting in the streets filtered to him on the wind, along with the fresh scent of spicy meat and hot bread.
Rashid breathed it all in. This was home. Unbidden, an image of Sheridan Sloane came to mind. She had a home, too, and he’d forced her out of it. For her own protection, yes, but nevertheless she was here in a strange place and nothing was familiar.
Guilt pricked him. He should not care about her feelings at all, but if she was truly carrying his child, did he want her upset and stressed? Wasn’t it better to make her welcome?
He sighed again, knowing what he had to do. Tomorrow, he would take lunch with her. They would talk, she would be happy and he would leave again, content in the knowledge he’d done his part.
It was only an hour—and he could be nice to anyone for an hour.
* * *
Sheridan awoke in the middle of the night. It was dark and still and she was cold. She sat up, intending to pull the blanket up from the bottom of the bed, but she wasn’t all that tired now. Her sleep was erratic because of the time difference. She checked her phone for the time—still no signal—and calculated that it was midafternoon at home. She never napped during the day, so it was no wonder she was messed up.
She got up and pulled on her silky robe over her nightgown before going into the bathroom. Hair combed, teeth brushed, she wandered into the living area. And then, because she was curious, she went and opened the door to her suite. The guard was not there. She stood there for a moment in shock, and then she crept into the corridor.
She didn’t know where she was going or what she expected, but she kept moving along, thinking someone would stop her at any moment. But no one did. The corridors were quiet, as if everyone was asleep. She didn’t know how it usually worked in palaces, but it made sense they were all in bed.
When she reached the end of a corridor and came up against a firmly locked door, she turned and went back the way she’d come. There were doors off the corridor, and she tentatively opened one. It was a space with seating, but it wasn’t quite as ornate as hers. It was, not plain precisely, but modern. Personally, she preferred some antiques, but this space was intended for someone who liked little fuss.
She thought perhaps she’d stumbled into a meeting area since it was so sterile. A breeze came in through doors that were open to the night air and she headed toward them. She hadn’t been outside since she’d arrived, and she wondered what it would be like in the desert at night.
She stepped onto a wide terrace. The city lights spread out around her and, in the distance, the darkness of the desert was like a crouching tiger waiting for an excuse to pounce. She moved to the railing and stood, gripping it and sucking in the clean night air. It was chilly now, which amazed her considering how hot it had been when she’d arrived.
A frisson of excitement dripped down her spine. It surprised her, but in some ways it didn’t. She’d never been to the desert before. Never been to an Arab country with dunes and palaces and camels and men who wore headdresses and robes. It was foreign, exotic and, yes, exciting in a way. She wanted to explore. She wanted to ride a horse into that desert and see what was out there.
She heard a noise behind her, footsteps across tile, and she whirled with her heart in her throat. How would she explain her presence here to her guard? To anyone?
But it wasn’t just anyone standing there. It was a man she recognized on a level that stunned her. Rashid al-Hassan stood in a shaft of light, his chest and legs bare. He looked like an underwear model, she thought crazily, all lean muscle and golden flesh. He was not soft—not that she’d expected he would be after he’d pressed her against him—but the corrugated muscle over his abdomen was a bit of a sensual shock. Real men weren’t supposed to look like that.
“What are you doing here, Miss Sloane?” he demanded, his voice hard and cold and so very dangerous.
The warmth that had been undulating through her like a gentle wave abruptly shut off.
Run! That was the single word that echoed in her brain.
But she couldn’t move. Her limbs were frozen. Not only that, but Rashid al-Hassan also stood between her and escape....
CHAPTER SIX
SHERIDAN SUCKED IN a deep breath and pulled her robe tighter, even though it couldn’t protect her from the fury in his dark eyes. She thought of Fatima’s fearful look earlier today and wondered if perhaps this man was more frightening than she’d thought. Her blood ran cold.
“The door was open. I—I wanted to see outside.”
“You are in my quarters, Miss Sloane.”
Oh, dear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He still hadn’t moved. He stood in the door, his broad frame imposing. She told herself not to look below the level of his chin. She failed.
“So you decided to wander in the middle of the night and open random doors?”
She twisted the tie of her robe. “Something like that. I’m on a different schedule than you, I’m afraid. Wide-awake and nothing to do.”
“Nothing to do.” His voice was somehow full of meaning. Or perhaps she imagined it.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He still looked imposing and impossible. And then he shoved his hand through his hair and moved out of the doorway and onto the terrace. Sheridan stood frozen.
“You didn’t disturb me. I was awake.”
“You should try hot milk. It helps with insomnia.” Oh, no, she was babbling. Sheridan bit her lip and told herself to shut up. This man was dangerous, for heaven’s sake. Not at all the sort to put up with babbling in the middle of the night.
“I don’t need much sleep,” he said. “And I don’t like hot milk.”
“I don’t either, actually. But I understand it works for some.”
He went and leaned on the railing, near her. She thought she should take this opportunity to escape, and yet she was curious enough to want to stay. He made her nerves pop and sing. It was an interesting sensation.
“When it’s light, you can see all the way to the gulf from here,” he said. He lifted his hand. “In that direction, you can see the dunes of the Kyrian Desert. The Waste is out there, too.”
“The Waste?” She moved closer, reached for the railing and wound her fingers around the iron.
He turned his head toward her. “A very harsh, very hot part of the desert. There is no water for one hundred miles. The sands are baked during the day, and at night they give up their heat and turn cool. You can freeze out there, if you don’t die of heatstroke during the day.”
It was hard to imagine such a place in this day and age. “Surely there are ways to bring water into it.”
“There are. But there is no reason to do so. It would be cost prohibitive, for one thing. And who would live there? There are nomads, but the people who are accustomed to the cities would never go.”
“Have you been there?”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. “I have. There is an oasis midway. It was once part of a trade route across the desert. I went as a boy. It was part of my training as an al-Hassan.”
She could imagine this harsh, dark man out there now. But as a child? It seemed so dangerous and uncertain. “I’ve never been to a desert before. I’ve never been anywhere but the Caribbean. Until now, I mean.”
He looked at her. “Are you more comfortable now that you have a television and internet access?”
“It helps. But I’m still used to doing more than I have the last day. I like to be busy.”
“Consider it a vacation.”
“That would be easier if it actually were.”
“Miss Sloane—”
“Sheridan. Please.” Because she felt so out of place when he called her Miss Sloane. She needed him to acknowledge her as more than a random stranger. Because, regardless of whether or not there was a baby, they’d shared something incredibly intimate. Even if it had been clinical.
“Sheridan.”
She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips. Why? Because it sounded like a silken caress. “Thank you,” she said.
“I was going to say that I realize this is not easy for you. It is not easy for me, either.”
“I know.”
He turned to look out at the city lights and she watched the play of the wind in his hair and the soft glow of moonlight on his profile. He was a very beautiful man. And a lonely one. She didn’t know why she thought he was lonely, but she did.
“I have decided to give you what you’ve requested,” he said, and her heart thrummed. “I want your stay to be pleasant. If it pleases you to talk to me, then I will grant it.”
She was surprised and pleased at once. “I appreciate that very much.”
They stood there in silence for a long moment. “It is an extraordinary length to go to, to have a baby for someone else.”
She felt a touch defensive. “It’s not just for anyone. Annie is my sister.”
“I am aware of this.”
Sheridan sighed. The night breeze whipped up then, just for a moment, and she shivered. “She and Chris have tried and tried. They’ve seen doctors and been through one treatment after another. Nothing seems to work.” She gripped the railing tightly, staring off toward the flickering lights of the city. “There was one doctor who mentioned an experimental treatment in Europe. Annie wanted to do it, and Chris would do anything for her. But the cost... Well, it’s a lot. And there are no guarantees. They would have to sell everything and then hope...” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I offered to step in before they went deeper into debt.”
“So you would put your own life on hold to have this child for your sister. And then you would hand him or her over as if the previous nine months had happened to her instead of you.”
The lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. She hugged her arms around herself to keep from shivering. The air seemed colder now. “I didn’t say it would be easy, but it’s what you do when you love someone. You make sacrifices.”
He seemed very quiet and still as he watched her. She’d expected him to make some sort of remark, but he said nothing at all. It began to worry her, though she didn’t quite know why. She cleared her throat softly and told him the truth.
“I don’t quite know what to say to you,” she admitted. “I never know if you’re angry or if you’re just the kind of man who doesn’t speak much.”
He was looking at her with renewed interest. “I’m not angry. I’m frustrated.”
“We’re both frustrated.”
“Are we?”
“I...” She sensed that this conversation had moved out of her control somehow. His eyes glittered in the night. He seemed suddenly very intense. And very—dear heaven—naked. “Yes, uh, of course. Why wouldn’t we be? This is a frustrating circumstance.”
“I find it very interesting that you could be carrying my child, and yet we’ve never been intimate. I’ve never undressed you, never tasted your skin.”
She was growing hot now. So very hot. “Well, er...”
“Have you thought of it, Sheridan? After that kiss, have you wondered?”
Her heart hammered hard. Another moment and she would be dizzy. Yes she’d thought of that kiss. And she’d thought of her flesh pressed against his, nothing between them but skin and heat. She’d wondered what it would be like to be this man’s lover. This dynamic, incredible man.
“Of course I have,” she said, shocking herself with the admission. And him, too, if the way his muscles seemed to coil tight beneath his skin was any indication. He was like a great cat ready to pounce. The Lion of Kyr, indeed. “But that doesn’t mean I want to do anything about it.”
Liar.
“Then I think perhaps you should be more careful which rooms you wander into in the middle of the night.”
His voice was icy again, yet it was somehow hot, too. Not menacing, but promising in a way that had her limbs quivering.
“I didn’t know this was your room. And I didn’t come here for...for...”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her ears were hot, which was ridiculous because she wasn’t a naive virgin. She hadn’t had many lovers—well, only two, in fact—but that didn’t mean she didn’t know what happened when a man and a woman got naked together.
But it was the imagining that was killing her here. Rashid was beautiful, dark and dangerous and mysterious, and the idea of him completely focused on her body was more arousing than she could have imagined possible. She reminded herself that she didn’t like him, but her body didn’t seem to care. So what? That was the message throbbing in her sex, her veins, her belly. A relentless throb of tension and yearning that would only be broken if this man took her to his bed.
“Perhaps you did not,” he said smoothly, “but you want it nevertheless. I can see it in your eyes, Sheridan.”
She tried to stiffen in outrage. She was fully aware her nipples had beaded tight against the silk of the robe. Instead of trying to hide them, she wrapped her arms beneath her breasts and hugged herself against the chill air. Not that she was all that cold with Rashid al-Hassan looking at her like he might devour her. Which was a bit of a shock since she’d convinced herself that he wasn’t really attracted to her.
Apparently she was wrong....
“You’re being too polite, Rashid. You mean to say you can see it in my nipples, but the truth is it’s cold out here,” she said brazenly. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m not the kind of man one issues challenges to, habibti. I have a pathological need to prove the issuer wrong.”
She took a step backward. “We don’t know each other well enough. Touch me and I’ll scream.”
He laughed. It was completely unexpected. She didn’t like the warmth dripping into her limbs at the sound. “You forget this is the royal palace of Kyr and I am the king. If I wish to tie you to my bed and have my way with you on a nightly basis, there is no one who will stop me.”
Her heart hammered. She wasn’t supposed to be titillated by the idea of being tied to Rashid’s bed. And yet she was.
He moved then, toward her, and she didn’t even try to get away. She was frozen like a gazelle, waiting for the big cat to strike. And strike he did. He tugged her against him, her body in the thin silk robe flush to his naked flesh, and spread his hands over her backside.
Yet he didn’t hold her tight. She could escape if she wished. She knew it and he knew it—and she didn’t even try.
He laughed again, softly, triumphantly. “Such a liar, Sheridan,” he said thickly. And then his mouth came down on hers.
If the kiss in her store had been surprising in its intensity, this one was downright earth-shattering. Rashid’s tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened to him, tangling her tongue with his almost eagerly.
The sensations rioting through her were more intense than she ever recalled experiencing before. It was the hormones from the shots, she told herself—but it was also the man. He was more exciting than anyone she’d ever known. Which didn’t make any sense because he was also the least likable person she’d ever known.
Not to mention she didn’t even really know him at all. He was a king, a desert sheikh, an autocratic ruler accustomed to ordering people around and getting his way.
And she was giving him precisely what he expected.
But it felt so good. Their tongues fought a blistering duel, her skin grew moist and impossibly hot and wetness flooded her sex. Her limbs were weakened by the kiss and she lifted her arms to put them around his neck. The shock of his hot skin beneath hers made her whimper.
Rashid turned her until her back was against the railing—and then he untied her robe and slipped it off her shoulders. The next thing she knew, his hot mouth was tracing a path down the column of her throat while she threaded her fingers into his dark hair and clutched him to her.
His teeth bit down on her nipple through the silken fabric of her nightgown and she gasped. It wasn’t a hard bite, but it had the effect of sending pleasure shooting straight to her core. Her body clenched hard with desire as she gripped his shoulders and thrust her breasts toward his mouth.
She wanted him to remove the thin tissue of silk between his mouth and her body, but he didn’t. He licked her through the fabric, nibbled and sucked until she was wild with need. Her nipples were more sensitive than ever since she’d had the hormone shots. If he did nothing but this all night, she knew she would come from the stimulation.
But he had no intention of doing only that. He reached down and gathered the hem of her nightie, lifting it up her legs, exposing her. Sheridan thought she needed to protest, but some needy, wicked part of her really didn’t want to.
Rashid’s hands glided beneath her gown, up the flesh of her abdomen, until he was cupping her breasts beneath the fabric, his hot hands spanning her skin, making it burn.
His mouth claimed hers again. It wasn’t a tender kiss, or even a teasing kiss. It was a full-out assault on her senses. He stepped in closer, pinning her body to the railing with his much bigger, much harder one.
And that was when she felt him. That insistently hard part of him that pressed into her, letting her know that he was every bit as affected by the tension and heat between them as she was.
Sheridan acted instinctively. She reached for him, cupped her hands over that hard part of him she shouldn’t crave but did. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone and she was suddenly ravenous. Rashid made a noise, a growl of satisfaction or encouragement in his throat. A thrill shot through her.