Lynn Raye Harris - Sheikh's Desert Desire

Sheridan sat on cushions in the middle of the room, looking small and dejected. There were a couple of small red lines on her arms and his heart clenched tight. But the ice he lived with on a daily basis didn’t fail him. It rushed in, filled all the dark corners of his soul and hardened any sympathetic feelings he may have had for her.

Sheridan looked up then. “And the mighty king has come to call.”

“Out,” Rashid said to the room in general. The servants who were busy picking up the glass rose and hurried out the door. A woman appeared from the direction of the bath. She dropped a small bowl and cloth on the side table and then she left, as well.

The door behind him sealed shut. Rashid stalked toward the small woman on the cushions. Her golden-blond hair was down today. It hit him with a jolt that it was long and silky and perfectly straight. She was wearing flat white sandals with little jewels set on the bands and a light blue dress with tiny flowers on it. She did not look like a woman who might be carrying a royal baby. She looked like a misbehaving girl, fresh and pretty and filled with mischief.

And sporting small cuts to her flesh. Cuts she’d caused, he reminded himself. She picked up the cloth and dabbed at her hand. The white fabric came away pink.

“What did you do, Miss Sloane?”

As if he couldn’t tell. The window was open to the heat and a silver tray lay discarded to one side. Such violence in such a small package. It astonished him.

She wouldn’t look at him. “I admit it was childish of me, but I was angry.” Then her violet eyes lifted to his. “I don’t ordinarily act this way, I assure you. But you put me here with nothing to do and no one to talk to.”

“And this is how you behave when you don’t get your way?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. In fact, he thought it flickered with anger. Or maybe it was fear. That gave him pause. She had no reason to fear him. Daria would be ashamed of him for scaring this woman.

He tried to look unperturbed. He didn’t think it was working based on the way her throat moved as he stared back at her.

“In fact, I realize that we can’t always have our way,” she said primly. “But this is my first time as a prisoner, and I thought perhaps the rules were different. So I decided to do something about it.”

Rashid blinked. “Prisoner?” He spread his hands to encompass the room. It was plush and comfortable and feminine. He remembered it from when he was a child, but he’d not entered these quarters in many years. They hadn’t changed much, he decided. “I’ve been in exclusive hotels that lacked accommodations this fine. You think this is a prison?”

A small shard of guilt pricked him even as he spoke. His rooms with Kadir had been opulent, too, and he’d always thought of them as a cage from which he couldn’t wait to escape. Beautiful surroundings did not make a person happy. He knew that better than most.

And she looked decidedly unhappy. “Even the cheapest hotels tend to have televisions. And computers, radios, telephones. There are plenty of books here, I’ll grant you that—but I can’t read them because they aren’t in English.”

Rashid’s brows drew down. He turned and looked around the room. And realized that she was correct. There was no television, no computer, nothing but furniture and fabric and walls. When the women left, they’d taken their belongings with them. Clearly, they’d considered the electronics to be theirs, too.

“I will have that corrected.”

“Which part, Rashid?”

He nearly startled at the sound of his name on her lips. He hadn’t forgotten that he’d told her she could call him by name, but he somehow hadn’t expected it here and now. Her voice was soft, her accent buttery and sweet.

He suddenly wanted her to speak again, to say his name so he could marvel at how it sounded when she did. Deliciously foreign. Soft.

He shoved away such ridiculous thoughts. “I will have a television installed. And a computer. Whatever you need for your comfort.”

“But I am still a prisoner.”

He clenched his jaw. “You are not a prisoner. You are my guest. Your every comfort is assured.”

“And what if I want to talk to people? Have things to do besides watch television all day? I’m a businesswoman, Rashid. I don’t sit around my home and do nothing all day.”

“I will find a companion for you.”

She sighed heavily. And then she went back to dabbing the cuts on the back of her hand. His anger flared hot again.

“You could have hurt yourself far worse than you did,” he growled. “Did you even consider the baby when you behaved so foolishly?”

Her head snapped up, guilt flashing in her gaze. “I’ve already admitted it was a mistake. And yes, I considered what I was doing before I acted. But I didn’t expect the glass to shatter everywhere like that. I threw the tray from a distance, but I guess I threw it harder than I thought.”

She’d thrown the tray. At the window. She could have been seriously hurt, the foolish woman. But she sat there looking contrite and dejected—and yes, defiant, too—and he wanted to shake her. And tell her he was sorry.

Now where had that come from? He had nothing to apologize for.

Don’t I?

He had brought her to Kyr against her will, but what choice did he have? She could be pregnant with his child. Until he knew for certain, he was not about to let her stay in America, living alone and working. What if something happened? What if her store was robbed or someone broke into her apartment?

He’d seen how flimsy her door locks were. Oh, she thought they were state-of-the-art, no doubt, but he’d hired some of the best lock pickers in existence when he’d been building his business from scratch. He’d wanted to test his security, and he knew how easily locks could be breached.

If someone wanted to get to her, they could. And if it became known that she might carry an heir to the throne of Kyr? He shuddered to think of it.

“You will not do anything so foolish again, Miss Sloane.”

“I don’t intend to—but I also don’t want a companion. I want my freedom to come and go from this room, to talk to whomever I want to. And I want to talk to you from time to time. If there’s a baby, then I want to know its father as something more than an arrogant stranger. And if there isn’t, then I’ll go home and forget I ever met you.”

Rashid stood stiffly and stared down at her sitting there like some sort of tiny potentate. She had nerve, this woman. But it was absolutely out of the question. He wanted nothing to do with her. If she was pregnant, he’d deal with it when the time came—he could hardly think the word wife—but for now she was safely stowed away and he could go about business and forget she existed.

“You may come and go if that is what you wish. But you will have a servant to guide you, and you will do what you are told. You will not wear that clothing, Miss Sloane. You will dress as a Kyrian woman and you will be respectful.”

Her chin lifted again. “I am always respectful of those who are respectful of me. But I refuse to be swathed head to toe in black robes—”

His anger was swift as he cut her off. “Once more, you make dangerous assumptions about us. I will send a seamstress to you and you may choose your own colors. This is nonnegotiable.”

Her mouth flattened for the barest moment. And then her lips were lush and pink again as she nibbled the bottom one. “And am I to see you, too? Have conversations with you that aren’t about what I’m wearing or where I plan to live?”

He almost said yes. The word hovered on his tongue and he bit it back. Shock coursed through him at that near slip. Why would he want to spend any time with her? Why would he ever do such a thing? It was not in him. It was not what he did, regardless that he’d thought of that kiss for half the night during the flight home. He’d told himself it had simply been too long since he’d been with a woman and that was why he kept thinking about it.