Sheikh's Desert Desire: Carrying the Sheikh's Heir

He let her go and stepped back. His mouth was a white line now. “It costs nine months of your life, it places a burden on your body and then there is the emotional impact of giving up the child at the end. That is not nothing.”

He was confusing her. Just a couple of days ago he’d suggested she turn over any child to him and now he was talking about the emotional impact of that kind of decision. Who was this man?

“I knew that when I offered.”

His expression was black. “Yes, but did you also know that you were offering to risk your life? Did you consider that? Did she?”

Sheridan’s heart pounded. “Childbirth is safe. This isn’t the eighteenth century.”

He stood stone-still but she sensed his muscles had coiled tight. As if he was a nuclear reaction waiting to happen. But then he pulled in a deep breath and huffed it out again and she knew he’d found the switch to turn it off.

“Of course it’s not. You are correct.”

Sheridan had a strong urge to reach for him, but she didn’t. Something was bothering him. Some dark emotion reflected in his gaze, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“What’s this about, Rashid?”

“It’s not about anything,” he finally said.

Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I don’t believe you.”

He stood there for a long moment, as if he was fighting an internal battle. And then he turned and strode away without another word, disappearing into the long gallery running along the back of the palace.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ueec0312f-d437-581c-a9ee-84c6e712effb)

THE DAYS PASSED too slowly. Sheridan kept hoping to see Rashid, but he seemed to be avoiding her. She emailed with Kelly, planned the menus for two upcoming parties and felt guilty for not being there to help with the physical preparations. But there was really no need. Dixie Doin’s operated like the efficient party machine it was meant to be.

Sheridan had spent a lot of time making sure that was so when she’d decided to have a baby for her sister. Though she’d intended to work until the birth, there were never any guarantees and she’d wanted to be prepared for anything.

Kelly hardly missed her, though she assured Sheridan that she missed her personally. Emails from Annie were another story. Sheridan dreaded to open them. She knew Annie was upset, but the lack of understanding about the situation made her stomach hurt. Her sister actively hoped that the IUI had failed. Sheridan understood that wish, understood it would be the easiest thing for them all. She’d thought the same thing when she’d first been told, but now that she was here with Rashid and he was real to her, not just a random sperm donor, the situation was much more complicated.

She thought of the man who had touched her so sensually, the man who heated her blood and chilled her bones and confused her to no end. No, this situation was no longer random and impersonal. It had ceased to be so the instant he’d walked into her life.

If Rashid hadn’t come looking for her in Savannah, what would Annie have wanted her to do? Sheridan didn’t want to know, and yet she couldn’t help thinking about it. Would Annie have wanted this baby, too? Or would she have wanted Sheridan to terminate the pregnancy so she could start fresh with Chris’s sperm?

She didn’t even know if she was pregnant yet, but already she was emotional over the idea of losing this baby. Would it have been simpler if she’d never met Rashid, never slept with him?

Probably, but it was too late for that.

Sheridan took her usual route through the palace, stopping in the kitchen to see the staff and find out what they were preparing. She was fascinated with the food here, the fresh olive oil and breads, the fruits and nuts, and the flavorful dishes made with chicken and goat. The staff seemed wary at first, but as her visits increased—and Daoud, her formerly silent guard, or Fatima translated for her—they began to look forward to her arrival.

She tasted food, oohed and aahed appropriately and discussed ingredients. She even made note of some things to try for Dixie Doin’s. Not everything was Kyrian, however. There was plenty of French cuisine as well, which surprised her at first but not when she considered that the French had once sent colonists to Kyr.

If anyone found it odd that an American woman roamed the palace, they did not say so. In spite of the women she saw in business attire, she kept to the rules Rashid had set and wore Kyrian clothing. She even wore the hijab, because when her blond hair was hidden people seemed less likely to see her as an outsider.

Not that all Kyrians had black hair—there were some brown and tawny gold heads she’d seen—but her hair was so pale as to be noticeable when uncovered.

She’d gone to see the puppies again. When there was no sign of the mother dog, she asked Daoud why. That was when she learned that the puppies were orphans. They were being bottle-fed and taken care of by the grooms. She’d had Daoud ask if she could feed them, though he’d seemed reluctant to let her.

But she’d done it, and then she’d found herself surrounded by yipping dogs while she giggled and petted them and watched them suck down the milk. They were so sweet and she loved spending time with them. It was the highlight of each day, especially as she never saw Rashid.

She thought about him. She lay in her bed at night with her hand over her belly and thought about the man she’d made love to only once. The man whose baby might be in her womb right now.

She wondered where he was, if he was in his own bed and thinking of her, or if that single night had been an aberration and he now gave her no more consideration than what he’d had for breakfast. Probably the latter, considering she hadn’t seen him since that night when he’d left her standing in the darkened courtyard.

She’d considered walking down the corridor in the middle of the night again, opening his door and making him talk to her. But when she’d gotten brave enough to act on it, a guard had been stationed outside her own door. He’d looked up from his tablet computer, his eyes meeting hers steadily until she’d shut the door.

Clearly, Rashid had thought she might come looking for him and had taken steps to prevent it. She was somehow both embarrassed and furious at once at the notion.

Still, Sheridan went through the days and did not ask where Rashid was. If he thought she was pining for him, then she was going to prove she wasn’t. How could she when he was still such a stranger?

An enigmatic, compelling stranger that she wanted to know better.

Soon it was the night before her pregnancy test and Sheridan couldn’t seem to settle down. Her stomach was twisted in knots and nothing Fatima brought seemed appealing. She finally tried a little bread and some sparkling water and settled onto the couch to read for a bit when the door to her suite opened and Rashid walked in without preamble.

Emotion flooded her in an instant: happiness, anger, fear, sorrow. So many things it was hard to sort them all out, and all caused by this dark man who stood there in a smartly tailored gray suit and Kyrian headdress. Not for the first time, he made her heart skip a beat.

“Fatima says you aren’t eating,” he said, his voice tight and diamond edged. Just the way she expected it.

Of course he was getting reports about her. “I’m not hungry.”

He came over and glared down at her. If he would put his hands on his hips, it would be the perfect admonishing parent pose.

“You have to eat. It’s not good for you or the baby not to eat.”

She put her hand over her belly automatically. “We don’t know if there is a baby.”

“We will know soon enough. Besides, it’s better to assume there is a baby and do everything to take care of it properly.”

She wanted to yell at him. “I didn’t refuse, Rashid. I can’t keep anything down right now. My stomach is upset.” She set the book aside and matched his glare. “You promised we would spend some time together so we could know each other better, and yet I’ve not seen you in five days now.”

His expression didn’t ease. “I’ve been busy. This is what happens when one is a king.”

“Yet you found time to come here tonight and chastise me for not eating.”

He stripped off the kaffiyeh and tossed it aside. Then he raked a hand through his hair. “I came straight here from a meeting.” He walked over to the table where Fatima had left food in chafing dishes and examined the contents. Then he picked up a plate and dished some things onto it.

Sheridan bristled. “If you think you’re going to force me to eat—”

“Not at all,” he said, picking up a fork and heading over to sit in a nearby chair. “I haven’t eaten yet and I’m starving.”

Sheridan blinked. After days of silence, he was planning to eat with her? He’d taken her to bed, made her feel things that excited and confused her and then when she’d been certain he was planning to do it again, he’d left her standing alone in the courtyard.

To say she didn’t understand him was an understatement.

“Wow, I’m being graced with your majestic presence for dinner? I’m honored.”

He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming. But not with anger. “You said you wanted to talk to me. Here I am. Talk. Bore me silly if you must.”