Her Ardent Sheikh

“I thought you might wish me to draw your bath.”

“So you can watch?” Jamie cringed. She sounded like she wanted him to watch.

He smiled and Jamie felt it down to her size-five feet. “However tempting that might be, I will allow you your privacy after I help you prepare.”

“I’ll manage. I’m feeling much stronger.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“As you wish. If you find you do need help, there is an intercom near the tub—”

“I can handle this. I promise.”

She backed into the room and slammed the door in his face. Slammed the door on those mysterious eyes and all that out-there sexuality. Turning, she leaned back against the wooden surface for support. But it wasn’t the lump on her head making her feel like an overcooked noodle. He made her weak knees weaker and her shaky body shakier.

Determined to drive him out of her mind, Jamie concentrated on the huge room. A room big enough to house Sadie, her trusty blue sedan. An opulent bath straight out of her fantasies of what a bath should be.

Several black marble steps led to a mammoth whirlpool tub, a huge arched window its backdrop. The matching marble vanity top was graced with gold fixtures and two basins complimented by jeweled soap dispensers and toothbrush holders. And laid out near one sink—for her benefit, she presumed—was a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste and two velvety black towels with a matching washcloth. On a freestanding gold rack near the toilet hung a lush red velvet robe and underwear. Her underwear.

Her underwear?

She reached back and planted both hands on her butt. No lines. No underwear. She wore nothing more than a too-large sheer ecru gown. The armholes, big enough to drive a truck through, hung all the way down to her waist. No wonder she was shivering.

Who had relieved her of her white lace drawers? And why had she just now noticed?

She’d been barely coherent, that’s why. And obviously, the cad had undressed her. Bared her bod and taken liberties.

No way. He hadn’t done anything lewd to her person. No doubt about it. Like he’d said, she would know.

Recalling his suggestive words, the thought of him undressing her again caused shock to course through her already shocked body. And it annoyingly excited her.

Regardless, she planned to have a serious talk with the sheikh. Planned to inform him that, at the very least, undressing her without her permission was ungentlemanly. She valued her privacy, and although she wasn’t all that modest, she did have high standards and certain expectations. If someone was going to get her naked for the first time, then she darn sure better be conscious during the process.

A wave of nausea hit her like a raging bull. She slumped onto the step and considered the intercom.

No. She could do this.

With stilted motions, she managed to draw a bath and slip into the tub without passing out. The warm water soothed her sore limbs and made her feel a bit more human.

After luxuriating for a while, then attending to all her toiletries, Jamie felt halfway decent again. Now all she needed was some food, and to convince the sheikh that she needed to go home. But how could she do that in just a robe and underwear? Where had he hidden her jeans and shirt? Okay, so maybe he hadn’t hidden them, but she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he had. No clothes, no escape. Obviously he was determined to keep her here against her will.

Well, Prince Ben was wrong if he really believed he could do that.

She slipped on her underwear and the robe, then opened the door and tried to gauge where she should begin in order to find him. Starting down the hall, she peered into several rooms, all bedrooms decorated in more bright colors, but she didn’t come upon the man with many names, and probably many talents.

At the end of the corridor, wonderful smells drew her forward. The kitchen must be close, and maybe she would find him there. But before she reached her destination, she came to a den. It gave new meaning to the term great room.

The place was a combination of luxury and comfort. Old West meets Middle East. A set of horns hung near the vaulted ceiling over the massive white-rock fireplace, and, draped below, a purple tapestry with rainbow colors woven throughout traveled down the stone wall to the top of the hearth.

Jamie moved farther into the room and noted another opening and a hallway that seemed to go on for miles. In the immediate area, several chairs and rugs were set out in various locations across the gleaming hardwood floors, all in elegant dark colors. The whole place was velvet and marble, a sprawling ranch house most would only dream of, and something she’d not been exposed to in her twenty-two years. She had always appreciated simple. She liked simple. Not that she couldn’t get used to luxurious.

Scanning the area, she honed in on a huge suede caramel-colored sofa set to one side of the fireplace. And in the middle of that sofa sat a man, reclining against thick cushions, reading a newspaper, his long legs stretched out before him, booted heels propped on the heavy oak coffee table. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. Threadbare jeans. Tight T-shirt.

Considering his lazy posture, his common ranch-hand clothes, he could be just any sexy-as-sin cowboy. But when he looked up, nailing Jamie with those iron-gray eyes, there was no mistaking his identity.

Prince Ben as Bad-Boy Cowboy.

Ben stared up at Jamie now looming over him dressed in an oversized robe, her eyes flashing anger, her delicate jaw set tight. He suspected she would soon demand more answers from him. Answers he was not at liberty to give her.

Tossing the paper aside, he dropped his feet from the table and straightened. “You are looking much better. Refreshed.” With her damp hair falling just below her slender shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed, she was all softness and innocence. A celestial being.

“How dare you!”

She no longer looked angelic. She looked as angry as Alima when a tennis championship interrupted her American soap operas.

What had he done now? “I do not understand.”

She clenched her fists and Ben braced for another swing, but fortunately it did not come. “How dare you undress me and put me in that see-through gown. I have never in my life—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—met a man who thought—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—he could get away with taking off my clothes without me knowing it and—” She put a hand to head and looked as though she might faint.

He vaulted off the couch and circled his arms around her to prevent her from falling. “Miss Morris, you must calm down. You are still not well.”

She looked up at him but did not push him away, or try to punch him. Instead, she leaned into him. “I’m fine, thank you very much!”

She did not seem fine. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and she looked as though she might buckle. “I think not.” He tightened his hold on her.

“I want to go home,” she said willfully, belying her fragile state.

“I told you that is not possible.”

She locked into his gaze, her chin raised up in determination. “You can’t keep me here.”

“I am hoping you will see that it is necessary in order to ensure your safety.”

“I’ll tell you what’s necessary. I need to find a job.” She grasped the front of his shirt. “I’m running out of money. My rent’s due right now. Then the car payment.” She sounded desperate, her voice pleading.

He rubbed her back to comfort her, all too aware of her breasts pressed against him. The way she smelled, fresh and clean. Womanly. He held her closer to anchor himself. “I will provide for you until the time you can return to your apartment. I will arrange to pay your debts and see to it that you are comfortable in my home for now.”

She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t need your charity. I can take care of myself.”

Her attitude was the very reason he had never been involved with an American woman. Although he admired her independence, he did not always understand it, just as he did not understand his mother at times. Pride would not keep her safe, but he could. He would. “We will consider it a gift.”

“A loan,” she corrected, seeming to give in.