Lynn Raye Harris - Sheikh's Desert Desire

But this woman was not the one he was going to break his fast with. That road was fraught with too many dangers. Too many complications.

“I think that is unnecessary,” he said curtly. “I have a kingdom to run and very little time.”

“I think it is necessary.” Her voice was soft and filled with a hurt he didn’t understand.

He refused to let her get to him. She was a stranger, a vessel who might be carrying his child. He did not care for her. He would not care for her.

“Yet this, too, is nonnegotiable,” he told her before turning and striding from the room.

CHAPTER FIVE

SHERIDAN DIDN’T KNOW why it hurt so much to watch him walk out, but it did. She didn’t care about him at all—she actively disliked him, in fact—but his rejection stung. She might be carrying his child and he didn’t even care about who she was as a person. He didn’t want to know her, and he didn’t seem to want her to know him.

She didn’t move when the workmen came back inside to continue cleaning the glass, or when Fatima—the woman who’d brought her food and had returned after Sheridan broke the window—came over and took the cloth from her to wipe the remaining cuts. They were small, but they stung.

Oh, she’d been so stupid. So emotional. She’d behaved crazily—but it had worked because he’d come. And he’d promised her a small measure of freedom. That had to be a triumph. Fatima dabbed some ointment on her cuts, and then disappeared into the bathroom to put everything away.

How had it come to this? Sheridan was a nice person. She was friendly to everyone, she loved talking to people and she’d never met anyone she didn’t like. Until yesterday when Rashid al-Hassan had shown up, she hadn’t even thought it was possible to dislike someone.

There were people she got mad at, certainly. She got mad at Annie for not being stronger, but that only made her feel guilty. Annie hadn’t had all the advantages that Sheridan had—she wasn’t as outgoing, she hadn’t been popular, she didn’t know how to talk to people and make friends and now she couldn’t even have a baby—so it was wrong of Sheridan to get angry with her. Sheridan could hear her mother’s answer when she’d been a teen complaining that it wasn’t fair she had to stay home from the party because her friends hadn’t invited Annie, too.

Annie’s not like you, Sheri. We have to be gentle with her. We have to watch out for her.

Not for the first time, Sheridan wondered if maybe Annie would be tougher if everyone in her life hadn’t coddled her. If she’d had to stand up for herself, make her own friends, fight her own battles.

Sheridan clenched her hand into a fist and sat there as still as a statue for what seemed the longest time. Even now, she felt like she should be calling Annie to ask how she was instead of worrying about her own situation.

She looked up to see yet more men arriving in her room. They chattered in fast, musical Arabic, dragging out measuring tapes and writing things down on paper. Then they disappeared.

Everything transpired quickly and efficiently over the next couple of hours. Sheridan didn’t see the new glass going in because by that time she was in her bedchamber—seriously, it was a chamber, not a bedroom—with three seamstresses, several bolts of fabric and ready-made samples hanging from a portable rack. A young woman who spoke English had come along to translate.

“This one, miss?”

Sheridan looked at the satiny peach fabric and felt a rush of pleasure. “Definitely.”

The clothing the women wore was beautiful. Sheridan felt another wash of heat roll through her as she thought about her preconceived notions. She’d expected they would wear black burkas covering them from head to foot, but that was not at all the case.

The garments these women wore were colorful, lightweight and beautiful. They were long, modestly fitted dresses with embroidery and beading on the necks and bodices. The hijab, or head covering, was optional. Two of the women wore them and two did not.

But the possibilities there were beautiful, as well. The fabric was gossamer, colorful and draped in such a way that it created a sense of mystery and beauty.

The women worked quickly, draping bolts of fabric over her body, slipping pins inside and pulling the fabric away only to replace it with a new bolt. Sheridan tried on two dresses they had on the rack—one a gorgeous coral and the other a pretty shade of lavender that brought out the color of her eyes. The seamstress in charge promised they could have those two ready in a matter of hours once they returned to their shop and got to work. The others would take a full day.

Sheridan didn’t want to imagine that she needed many dresses for her stay, but how could she know for certain?

The women packed everything up and left just as two men came in with Fatima. They were carrying a box with a flat-screen television in it and they proceeded to set it up on one of the credenzas nearest the bed.

Sheridan wandered into the living area of the suite and found a new television there, too, as well as a state-of-the-art computer and a newly installed telephone. The new glass was set into the casement and the men were sweeping up.

Her throat grew tight. Rashid had done what he’d promised. Thus far. He’d seemed surprised she’d had no television or computer, and he’d worked fast to correct it. But, as nice as this was, she’d wanted more from him. She’d wanted his time, wanted to understand more about this man who might just be the father of her baby. He could not be wholly unlikable, could he?

But he seemed determined not to give it to her.

She picked up the remote and flipped on the television. The one in the living area was mounted to the wall, and it was huge—it was almost like having a movie screen when all the colors suddenly came to life and filled the surface. It didn’t take too long to figure out how the satellite worked—and her throat tightened again as she landed on CNN International and English conversation filled her ears.

It was nice to hear, but it only brought home how alone she was here. How would she get through a week of this? Nine months of this?

Rashid had said she could come and go, but only with an escort and only when she had the proper clothing. Since she still didn’t, she wouldn’t attempt to leave her quarters yet. She’d already behaved abominably.

She could still see him standing there, looking at her with the most furious expression on his face. He’d also, for a moment, seemed not fearful...but, well, something besides angry. Maybe wary was the word. Like he didn’t want to be in the same room with her, but knew he had to be.

It hit her then that not only was he not attracted to her, but she also revolted him. He was tall and handsome and kingly, and she was a short blond woman who organized parties for people. She was pale and slight compared to him. He was the Lion of Kyr, or some such thing like that, and she was an ordinary house cat.

Who might just be pregnant with the next king of the jungle.

She would have laughed if it wasn’t so serious. Sheridan went over to where Fatima had set a fresh pot of tea and some pastries and poured a cup. Despite the nausea, which came and went, she decided to try a pastry and see if it stayed down. After she’d made an impulsive decision to throw the tray at the window, she’d not eaten any of the food that she’d carefully set aside to get to the tray. Things had happened so quickly after that and she hadn’t had time.

Sheridan frowned as she nibbled on a pastry. Rashid was repulsed by her. It made sense, in a way, and it certainly explained the way he acted.

But then she thought of their kiss again, of the way it had slid down into her skin and made her want things she’d almost forgotten existed. Even now, the memory of it made her tremble. He’d slid his tongue into her mouth and she’d practically devoured him.