Carrying the Sheikh's Heir Page 4

  He had not thought that would bother him so much, but it did. He missed Daria. Missed having someone in his life who loved him because of his flaws, not in spite of them. But Daria was gone, and there was no one.

  Sheridan shifted in his arms and he felt her confusion, her hesitation. She was fighting herself, fighting her nature, and if he’d learned anything about her in these last few minutes, he knew she would conquer her baser instincts and fight against him soon enough.

  A people pleaser? Perhaps she was, but she was not a Rashid pleaser. He knew that well enough now.

  Because he was angry, because he was frustrated, he took the kiss to another level, ravaged her mouth like a man starved. He wanted to confuse her, wanted to keep her quiet and, hell, yes, he wanted to disconcert her. How dare she disobey him?

  She gripped his lapels, twisted her fists in them. And then she met him as savagely as he met her. His body responded with a surge of heat he’d not felt in a long time. Her breath grew shallower and she made a sound in her throat.

  He broke the kiss then, uncertain if he was pushing her too far too fast. Alarmed at his body’s reaction to her, he tucked her head against his chest before she could speak.

  “Quiet, habibti. Let me get you home.” He smiled at the women in the shop who threw them astonished looks and then strode outside and down the front steps before Sheridan could regain her ability to think clearly.

  The car door swung smoothly open and Rashid bent to place Sheridan on the seat. She was so small and light that it was like handling a piece of china. He didn’t want to break her, but he also knew she was stronger than she looked.

  He got in beside her, the door sealed shut, and the car slid smoothly away from the curb and down the sun-dappled streets. The partition was up between them and the driver, and silence hung heavy in the car.

  “You kidnapped me.” Her voice was small and frightened and Rashid swung to look at her. Her golden hair gleamed in the sunlight that filtered into the car and her eyes were wide with fear. He did not enjoy that, but he told himself it was necessary. Whatever it took to force her to obey.

  Rashid sat back and tugged a sleeve into place. He was not precisely pleased with himself, and yet he’d done what had to be done. A man like him claimed his child. And the woman carrying it.

  “I did warn you.”

  “You said you weren’t a barbarian.” Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. She wore a pink dress and smelled like cotton candy and Rashid wanted to lean into her and press his nose to her hair.

  “Indeed.”

  “Then I must be confused, because I thought barbarians did precisely what you just did. Or did you perhaps say you weren’t a barber and I simply misunderstood?”

  And there was the attitude. Clearly, she was not damaged in any way. It gave his temper permission to emerge.

  “I am a desert king. Of course I’m a barbarian. Isn’t that what you believe? Because I speak Arabic and come from a nation where the men wear robes and the women are veiled, that I must surely be less civilized than you?”

  Her lips pressed into a tight, white line. “Even if I didn’t believe it, don’t you think you just proved it? What kind of man kidnaps a woman he’s never met just because there’s been a mix-up in the clinic?”

  Her eyes were flashing purple fire again. For some reason, that intrigued him almost as much as it angered him.

  “A man who has no time for arguments. A man who holds the lives of an entire nation in his hands and who needs to get back to his duties. A man who has no reason whatsoever to trust that the woman carrying his heir will turn over the child when it is time.”

  Her eyes darkened with anger. “I won’t give up my baby just because you wish it.”

  “You were willing to do so for your sister.”

  “That’s different and you know it. I would still be part of the child’s life. A beloved aunt.” She shook her head suddenly. “Why are we arguing about this? There’s no guarantee I’m pregnant. It doesn’t always work the first time.”

  “Perhaps not, but I will take no chances. My child will be a king one day, Sheridan Sloane. He will not be raised in an apartment in America by a woman who works sixteen-hour days and ignores him in favor of her own interests.”

  Her skin flushed bright red. “How dare you?” she growled. “How dare you act as if you know me when you don’t have the faintest clue? I would never ignore my child. Never!”

  He infuriated her. No, she’d not planned for a child in her life—the baby was supposed to be Annie’s—but the fact he would sit there and smugly inform her that he believed she would neglect her baby in favor of her business made her defensive and angry. Of course she would still have to work, but she would figure it out.

  Except there would be no figuring it out. This man was a king, and if she was pregnant, he wasn’t going to abandon her to raise the child alone. He would be a part of her life from now on.

  Sheridan shivered at the thought. How did one work out custody with a king?

  “This baby is supposed to be Annie’s,” she said, working hard to keep the panic from her voice. “I hadn’t planned on a baby of my own, but that doesn’t mean I would be a bad or neglectful mother. And I won’t let you steamroll right over me just because you’re a king. I have rights, too.”

  His eyes were hooded as he studied her. Did he have to be so damned beautiful? She’d never seen hair so black or eyes so fathomless. If he was an actor, she’d wonder if his cheekbones were the work of a plastic surgeon. His face was a study in perfection, angles and planes and smooth, bronzed skin. He was golden, as if he spent long hours under the sun, and there were fine lines at the corners of his eyes where they crinkled as he studied her.

  Her gaze focused on his mouth, those firm, beautiful lips that had pressed against hers. She felt a fresh wave of heat creeping up her throat. He’d only kissed her to shut her up, but she’d forgotten for long minutes why that was a bad thing. His mouth had ravaged hers and she’d only wanted more. Even now, her lips tingled with the memory of his assault on them. She was bruised and swollen, but in a good way. In the kind of way that said a woman had been well kissed and had enjoyed every moment of it.

  Sheridan dropped her gaze from his, suddenly self-conscious. It had been a long time since she’d kissed anyone. A long time since she’d lain in bed with a man and felt the heat and wonder of joining her body with another. She hadn’t thought she was deprived. Rather, she’d thought she was busy and that she just didn’t have time to invest in a relationship.

  But now that he’d kissed her, she felt as if she’d been starving for affection. As if the drought in her sex life was suddenly much larger than she’d thought it was. How could he make her feel this way when he was not a nice man?

  After her last relationship, a short-lived romance with a womanizing accountant who’d made her feel like the only woman in his life until the moment she’d caught him with his tongue down someone else’s throat, she’d vowed to only date nice, trustworthy men.

  Rashid al-Hassan was definitely not a nice man. Or trustworthy. But he made things hum and spark inside her, damn him. She’d only kissed him once, but already she wanted to lean forward, tunnel her fingers through that thick mane of hair and claim his lips for another round.

  Insanity, Sheridan.

  “Surely there is something you want more than this child,” he said smoothly, cutting into her thoughts, and her heart began to beat a crazy rhythm.

  “No.”

  He lifted an eyebrow in that superior arch she despised. “Money? I can give you quite a lot of it, you know. Once our divorce is final, you could be a wealthy woman.”

  Divorce? Her stomach fell to the floor at the thought of being married to this man for even an hour.

  “I don’t want your money. And I’m definitely not going to ma
rry you.” There was only one thing she wanted. It also wasn’t something he could give. Unless he had the power of miracles.

  She was certain he did not. If a dozen doctors couldn’t fix Annie’s fertility issues, then neither could a king, no matter how arrogant and entitled.

  “Everyone has a price, Sheridan. And if you are pregnant, you most certainly will be my wife. In name only, of course. My child will not be born illegitimate.”

  Her name on his lips was too exotic, too sensual. It stroked over her senses, set up a drumbeat in her veins. And embarrassed her because he clearly wasn’t suffering from an unwanted attraction, too. In name only.

  “All I want is a baby for my sister. And I intend to give her one.”

  “After you give me my heir, of course.”

  Her lips tightened. “You make it sound so cold and clinical. As if you’re selecting a prized broodmare to give you a champion foal.”

  The car glided through the streets. Outside the windows, people behaved as usual. Tourists chattered excitedly and pointed from their seats in the horse-drawn carriages that traveled through Savannah’s historic district. Part of Sheridan wanted to open the door and run when the car came to a standstill in traffic.

  But there was no escape. Not like this anyway. The only way to fight a man like him was with lawyers, and even that was no guarantee because he could afford far better representation than she could.

  “It is a clinical thing, is it not?” His voice was rich and smooth and crusted in ice. “We have never been intimate, and yet you may be pregnant with my child. Put there with a syringe in a doctor’s office. How is this not clinical?”

  Sheridan swallowed the lump in her throat. “I was supposed to be having a baby for my sister. With my brother-in-law’s sperm. What would you propose we do differently?”

  Of course, it would have been cheaper and easier for her and Chris to just sleep together until she was pregnant, but what a horrifying thought that was. He was her sister’s husband and her friend, and there was no way in hell. Lying on a table with her feet in stirrups might be clinical, but it was the only solution.

  He ignored the question. “Nevertheless, it is my sperm you received. How do you think this makes me feel?”

  She swung around to look at him. Up to this point, she hadn’t thought of how it must have affected him. She was almost ashamed of herself for the lapse. Almost.

  That ended when she met his gaze. He was looking at her as coldly as ever. King Rashid al-Hassan was a block of ice. A block of ice that had burned strangely hot when he’d pressed his mouth to hers.

  Sheridan nervously smoothed the fabric of her dress. “I admit I hadn’t thought of it. I imagine you’re angry.”

  “That is one way of putting it.” His dark eyes flashed. “I am a king and my country has laws I must obey. You may think us barbarians, but there is a certain logic to the king depositing sperm in a bank outside his nation. It was never meant to be used. Or not under normal circumstances.”

  She didn’t want to think about what kind of circumstances would precipitate using the sperm, but she imagined it would involve his untimely death and no heir to follow him to the throne. She might not like him, but she wouldn’t wish him dead.

  Yet.

  “No, I can see how it might be useful. It’s forward thinking to do such a thing.”

  “Apparently not, when mistakes such as this are allowed to occur.”

  Sheridan put her hand over her middle instinctively. Fresh anger swirled in her belly. “Calling this baby a mistake is unlikely to inspire my confidence, don’t you think? You want me to give him or her up, but you speak as if you don’t care about him other than as your heir.”

  “He will be my heir. Until there is another child, at least.”

  Her heart thumped. “Because you can choose your successor in Kyr. Of course.” Her fingers tightened over her flat belly. She didn’t even know if there was a baby in there yet, but already she felt protective and angry.

  “It is the way of our people.”

  Maybe so, but it seemed a horrible way for children to grow up. Talk about an unhealthy sense of competition. “You weren’t chosen until right before your father died. How did that make you feel?”

  His eyes glittered hot and she had the feeling she’d tweaked the lion’s tail. He looked at her as if he would snap her in two with one fierce bite. Yet his voice was still as icy as ever.

  “You push me too far, Sheridan Sloane. You should be more cautious.”

  Maybe she should, but she couldn’t seem to do so. “Why? Because you might kidnap me or something?”

  His dark eyes raked over her. “Or something.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KYR WAS HOT. Savannah was hot, too, but it was also muggy because they were so near the ocean. Kyr was not muggy, though the Persian Gulf was nearby. It was just hot, with the kind of heat that sucked all the moisture right out of you and left you gasping for breath. It was also beautiful, which Sheridan had not expected.

  The desert sands were almost red and the dunes rose high in the distance, undulating like waves on the ocean. As they’d approached the city from the airport, she’d viewed tall date palms that grew in ordered rows. Sheridan had been in the same car with Rashid, but once they’d arrived at the palace she’d been taken to what appeared to be a lonely wing with no one else in it. If he had a harem, this was not it.

  She still couldn’t believe she was here. She paced around the cavernous room of the suite she’d been shown to and marveled at the architecture. There were soaring arches, mosaics of delicate and colorful tile and painted walls and ceilings. There was a sunken area in the middle of the room, lined with colorful cushions, and above her the ceiling soared into a dome shape that was punctuated with small windows, which let light filter down to the floor and spread in warm puddles across its gleaming tiles.

  It was a beautiful and lonely space. Sheridan sank onto the cushions and sat by herself in that big room, listening to nothing. There was no television, no radio, no telephone that she could find. She had her cell phone, but no signal.

  She leaned back against the cushions and swore she wouldn’t cry. For someone like her, a person who craved light and sound and activity, this silent cavern was torture. Just yesterday—had it really been only yesterday?—she’d been surrounded by people at Mrs. Lands’s party. And then she’d been in her office, with her beautiful store outside her door, listening to the sounds of people on the street and the low hum of her radio as it played the latest top-forty hits.

  She hadn’t exactly been happy, not after the news from the clinic and Annie’s reaction, but she’d been far more content than she’d given herself credit for. Tears pushed against her eyes at the thought of all she’d left behind, but she didn’t let them fall.

  Rashid al-Hassan was a tyrant. He’d swept into her life, swept her up against her will and deposited her here alone. And all because the stupid sperm bank had used the wrong sperm. She’d wanted to give her sister a precious gift, but she was here, a veritable prisoner to a rude, arrogant, sinfully attractive man who had all the warmth and friendliness of an iceberg.

  He hadn’t let her call anyone until they were on his plane. She was still astounded at the opulence of the royal jet. It was one of the most amazing things she’d ever seen, with leather and gold and fine carpets. The bath had even been made of marble. Marble on a jet!

  It had also been bigger than her bathroom in her apartment. There were uniformed flight attendants who performed their duties with bright smiles and soft words—and deep bows to their king. She could hardly forget that sight. Any time anyone on that plane had come close to Rashid al-Hassan, they’d dipped almost to the floor. He hadn’t even deigned to notice half the time.

  It stunned her and unnerved her. She kept telling herself he was just a man, bu
t there hadn’t been a single person on that plane who’d acted like he was. When she’d finally been allowed to phone Kelly and Chris—not Annie, goodness, no—she’d held the phone tightly in her hand and explained as best she could that she would be gone for the next week.

  They’d taken the news of Rashid much better than she had. Kelly, always a hopeless romantic, had wanted to know if he was handsome and if she would have to marry him. Sheridan had clutched the phone tight and hadn’t told her friend that even though Rashid expected her to marry him, she’d rather marry a shark. She’d just said they were taking this one day at a time and would deal with a pregnancy when and if it happened. As if Rashid was reasonable and kind instead of an unfeeling block of stone.

  Chris had told her to be strong, and not to worry about Annie. It would all be fine, he’d said. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from crying at the thought of Chris telling her sister the news, but she’d thanked him and told him she’d be in touch.

  She spread her fingers over her abdomen. What would become of her if there were a baby inside here?

  She stared up at the beam of sunlight filtering into her prison and pressed her fist to her mouth to contain her sob. Nine months as his wife in name only, his prisoner, shut away from the world—and then he would coldly divorce her and send her on her way with empty arms.

  Despair filled her until she thought she would choke with it. Soon there was a noise at the entrance to her prison. A woman in a dress and wearing a scarf over her head came in and sat a tray down on a table nearby. Sheridan shot to her feet and went over to where the woman was removing covers from dishes.

  “That smells lovely.” She was surprised when her stomach growled, especially considering how queasy she’d been feeling since Rashid had come to the store yesterday.

  The woman gave her a polite smile. “His Majesty says you must eat, miss.”