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

She folded her arms. “Perhaps I’m a sparkling conversationalist. Did you ever consider that?”

“It has not been my experience with most women, but perhaps you will be different.”

She told herself it would be unwise to throw a pillow at him. She chose instead to focus on one aspect of what he’d said. “Most women? Who has managed to please you conversationally?”

He took a bite of food, chewed and swallowed. She didn’t think he would answer her, but then he looked up again and speared her with his hot gaze. “My wife did,” he said. “Not always, it’s true. But often enough. She died five years ago, in case you were wondering.”

Her belly had tightened into a hot ball of nerves. Of all the things he could have said, she hadn’t seen that one coming. Her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry, Rashid.”

She didn’t know what else to say. To lose someone you loved had to be such a tragedy. And someone so young, too. No wonder he sometimes seemed cold and lonely. It made sense now.

He set the plate aside. “This is not something I speak of, but if we are to marry, I thought you should know it.”

Her throat was tight and her heart hammered in her stomach, her chest, her ears. “I appreciate you telling me. But I’m not certain marriage is the answer to our dilemma. Assuming there is one.”

He frowned. “This child has to be born legitimate, Sheridan. It is the only way.”

Panic bloomed inside her. She didn’t want to take away a child’s heritage, but she also didn’t want to have to marry a man she hardly knew. They had sexual chemistry, but what if that was all they had? How could she live a lifetime with a man who’d only married her to claim a child?

“I assume I have no say in this?”

“You would prefer options? Marry me and be this child’s mother, or go home after you give birth. Those are your options.”

She figured it was a good thing there were no weapons nearby. “Those aren’t options.”

His eyes flashed. “They are the ones you have.”

“I won’t leave my child.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. I might have thought so once, but no longer.”

Her head was beginning to ache. “And what brought about this blinding revelation?”

“Daoud tells me you’ve been playing with the puppies. Feeding them, taking care of them. And then there is my kitchen staff, Fatima and even the stable hands. They like you, and you like them. They all say how kind you are, how caring. Yet even without these things, there is this deed you set out to do for your sister. You are a giving person, Sheridan, but I don’t believe you are so giving as to leave your child in Kyr. You will stay.”

His words wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She liked Daoud, Fatima and the kitchen staff. To know they liked her, too, was touching. “There is every possibility I will go home tomorrow.”

“Yes, there is.”

Pain sliced into her at the thought. It confused her. She wanted to go home, wanted to go back to her life in Savannah, her business, her friends. She wanted her life the way it was before Rashid al-Hassan had walked into it.

And yet that thought filled her with despair. Never to see him again? Never to make love to him? He didn’t seem much bothered either way, and that hurt, too.

“All this talk of marriage is premature,” she said tightly.

“Is it? We will know tomorrow. If you are pregnant, things must be done quickly.”

“And you’ve already decided everything. Without asking me what I might want.”

It was just like him, of course. King Rashid acted. He did not consult a soul. He simply did what he deemed best. Just like when he’d scooped her up and brought her to Kyr against her will.

“I have told you your options.” His voice was smooth and even, as if he was explaining things to a child.

Anger wrapped long fingers around her throat and squeezed. “I still have Annie to consider. What about her?”

His expression grew hard. Hard and cold and unapproachable. “What about her?”

That was the moment when the bile in Sheridan’s stomach started swirling hard, pushing upward, demanding release. She got to her feet and staggered toward the bathroom. She barely made it in time, and then she was bending over the sink, retching.

There was a hand in her hair, holding it back. He put another hand on her back and rubbed gently while tears sprang to her eyes and she felt utterly miserable. She wanted to tell him to stop touching her, but in fact it felt nice to have him soothe her. She was a traitor even to herself.

“I’m not trying to be harsh,” he said, his voice gentle for once. “But your sister cannot figure into my dynastic responsibilities. There are other solutions to her problem. You told me yourself about an experimental treatment.”

Sheridan put her hands on the counter, bracing herself, her eyes squeezed shut as she prayed there was nothing else left to come up.

“They can’t afford it,” she said miserably when she could speak.

“I can.”

Sheridan turned on the water and gulped some down before she straightened shakily and turned to face him. His beauty always hit her with a punch and now was no exception. A king had just held her hair while she’d thrown up the little bit of food she’d managed to eat.

If anyone had ever told her such a thing could happen, she’d have never believed them.

“You would do that for them?” Her heart was still pounding, but for a different reason now. It was everything she could have wanted for Annie. There were no guarantees the treatment would work, but it was a chance.

“I would not do it for them,” Rashid said very softly. “I would do it for you.”

* * *

Rashid watched her mouth fall open on a soft “oh” and was seized with a desire to claim her lips and take everything he desired. But she wasn’t feeling well, and he hadn’t come here for that anyway.

No, he’d come because Fatima had said she wasn’t eating. And because he’d been getting endless reports about her roaming the palace, commenting on the architecture, talking with endless people, playing with orphaned puppies and spending time in the kitchen discussing recipes and food service.

At a recent lunch he’d attended with some visiting dignitaries, the napkins were folded in shapes. They had been lotus flowers, he’d realized, and he’d been so fascinated that he’d missed the first half of what one of the dignitaries had been saying to him about water rights and oil production.

When he’d asked about it afterward, someone had told him that Miss Sloane had taught the staff how to do it. Lotus napkins. Puppies. Even Daoud spoke her name with a quiet reverence that set Rashid’s teeth on edge.

Everyone liked Miss Sloane, and that had made him think about her more than he wished. He liked her, too, but in a different way. He liked the way her body moved beneath his, the sounds she made when she came and the way her mouth tasted his so greedily. He’d thought about it for days now.

He’d deliberately stayed away because he didn’t trust himself not to act upon the hot feelings she ignited in him.

He’d been right, considering that he was staring at her mouth and thinking about it drifting over his skin.

Her eyes filled with tears. It was almost a shock, considering that she’d been so strong from the moment he’d first seen her until now. One spilled down her cheek and she quickly dashed it away.

“I don’t know what to say.” She pulled in a breath and rubbed her hand over her mouth.

His throat was tight and he didn’t know why. He cleared it. “You need to rest, habibti.”