Lynn Raye Harris - Sheikh's Desert Desire

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.”

She pushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear. Her fingers were trembling. “Yes, I probably should. I am quite tired.”

She was sagging against the counter and he reached over and swept her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

She was so light, so small. She weighed nothing and it made something move deep in his chest as he thought of her huge with child. “Taking you to bed.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t feel up to, to...”

He carried her into the bedroom and set her on the bed. “And that is not what I’m suggesting.”

He picked up her gown from where it lay neatly folded on her pillow and handed it to her. She clutched it to her chest. On impulse, he ran his fingers over her cheek.

“Change. I’m going to finish eating. Then I will come back. If you still wish to talk, we will talk.”

Her eyes were red rimmed. “All right.”

He turned away and went back into the living area to finish eating while she changed. He didn’t like the way she’d seemed so shattered just now. So stunned and confused. He preferred the Sheridan who stood up to him. The Sheridan who got spitting mad and told him there was no way she would give up her baby.

That Sheridan was strong and would survive anything he threw at her. Anything the world threw at her. But would she survive a baby? She was so small, so delicate.

Rashid couldn’t help the memories crowding his head. They made him shiver, made him ache. He would not go through that again. His heart had to remain hard, no matter that Sheridan threatened to soften it.

When he figured she’d had enough time to change, he strode back toward her room, expecting her to pelt him with questions or rebuke him for making decisions for her. Perhaps he’d let her say whatever she wished, since her fire aroused him, and then maybe he’d undress and climb in bed with her. If one thing led to another, who was he to complain?

But when he got there, she was sound asleep in the middle of the bed.

CHAPTER NINE

“THE TEST IS POSITIVE.”

The doctor, a lean, short man with glasses, was looking at the results on a printout. No peeing on a stick for Sheridan. It had been far more involved, with urine and blood samples and an excruciating wait while the lab processed the results. “Your hCG levels are doubling nicely and all looks normal at this stage.”

Sheridan sat in her chair in Rashid’s office and felt as if her heart had stopped. Across from her, Rashid sat at his desk, his lips compressed into a tight line. The doctor seemed oblivious to the undercurrents in the room as he stood and bowed low.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

Rashid waved the man out and then they were alone. But Rashid didn’t speak. He simply sat there with that bloodless look on his face until her belly was a tight ball of nerves.

“I’m not sure I really believed it would happen the first time.” Her voice shook but Rashid didn’t seem to notice.

He looked up at her as if just realizing she was there. “What?”

But he didn’t wait for an answer. He sprang to his feet and began pacing like a caged beast. He was wearing his desert robes today, complete with the headdress held in place by a golden igal. He was regal and magnificent and breathtaking. She watched him pacing, her hand over her stomach, and tried to come to grips with the fact she was having his baby.

“We’ll marry immediately. The council will have to be informed and then we can sign the documents. We can have a wedding ceremony for the public, but that can be done in a few weeks. You won’t be showing by then and—”

“Stop.” Sheridan was on her feet, her blood pounding in her throat and temples. She didn’t know why she’d spoken, but she felt as if her entire life was altering right before her eyes and there was nothing she could do to stop the tidal wave of change.

Rashid was looking at her now, his dark gaze dangerous and compelling. She reminded herself that he was capable of tenderness. He had touched her tenderly only last night when holding her hair and rubbing her back. And then there was the night he’d made love to her, so hot and intense and, yes, tender in his own way.

“You’re making all these plans without asking me how I feel about any of them.”

His brows drew down. “This is the way things are done in Kyr. How would you know what the arrangements should be?”

She dug her fingernails into her palms. She was sweating, but not from illness. From shock. And fear.

“I wasn’t talking about how things are done in Kyr. I’m talking about this marriage.”

As if she could refuse it. She was here, in his palace, and he was a king. This child had to be born legitimate. And he’d said he would pay for Annie’s treatment. What more could she want?

Love. Yes, she could want love. She could want to marry a man because she loved him, not because she had to.

His gaze narrowed. “You are pregnant—this marriage will take place.”

She held her arms stiffly at her sides. “Maybe I want to be asked. Did you ever consider that? Maybe I wanted to get married in an old church somewhere, with my family surrounding me, and maybe I wanted to be in love with the man I marry.”

Oh, why say that out loud? Why let him know what a hopeless romantic you are?

His expression grew hard. “Life does not always give us what we want. We have to take what’s offered and do the best we can with it.”

Her heart fell. He was infuriating. Cold and calculating and arrogant. She wanted him to care, at least a little bit, about what this meant for her. To him, she was a woman who carried a potential king. He wanted to order her about the way he ordered Daoud or Fatima or Mostafa.

And she knew, if she knew nothing else, that she couldn’t allow him to do that without protest.

“I didn’t say yes yet. You’re making plans and I didn’t say yes.”

There was a huge lump in her throat now. Huge. It was like she’d swallowed all the pain she’d ever felt and was about to choke on it.