Lynn Raye Harris - Sheikh's Desert Desire

“How do I know I’ll be safe?” Sheridan asked, her voice smaller than she would have liked.

His brows drew down swiftly as his anger flared. “Safe? Do you think me a barbarian, Miss Sloane? A terrorist? I am a king and you are my honored guest. You will have every luxury for the duration of your stay in Kyr.”

She swallowed at the vehemence in his tone. “And what if I’m pregnant? What then?”

Because she had to know. For herself, for the child. She had to know what this man would do, what he would expect.

His icy gaze sharpened in a way that sent a shiver rippling through her. “You were planning to give the child away. Why would this change?”

An unexpected arrow of pain dived into her belly, hollowing out a space there. Yes, she’d been planning to give the baby up. But to her sister. Carrying a child for Annie and Chris was one thing. She would not be the baby’s mother, even if she was the biological mother, but she would still be part of his or her life. An aunt who would spoil the child of her body rotten, kiss and hug him, buy him presents, shower him with love.

But to give her baby to a stranger, even if the stranger was the other half of the child’s DNA?

It went against everything she felt inside.

“I won’t give up my baby.” Her voice was hoarse. But what choice did she have? He would destroy everyone she loved.

His eyes glittered like ice and she trembled inside. “Yes, I see,” he murmured after a long moment. “I am a king, and my son will be a king. Why would you willingly relinquish a child so valuable?”

Sheridan had never wanted to harm another human being in her life, but if she could slap this one and get away with it, she would. He was evil, hateful. Her face flooded with heat and her stomach flipped, but this time it wasn’t a sickening flip so much as an angry one.

“You’re disgusting,” she spat. “I don’t care how amazing and fabulous you think you are, but until today I’d never heard of you.” A small lie. “My feelings about this baby have nothing to do with who you are and everything to do with the fact he or she is half mine.”

She lifted a shaking finger and pointed at the door. He didn’t own her, and until they knew whether or not she was pregnant, she wasn’t going anywhere with him. It was a risk, but she needed time to figure out what to do, time to consult an attorney and talk to her family. If she left the country with him, it was over. He would own her and any baby within her.

“You should leave.”

He stared at her for a long moment, that handsome countenance wreathed in dark anger. And then he burst out laughing. It shocked her. The sound was so rich, so beautiful. And chilling in a way.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she said, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. “I am perfectly serious. I’ll see you in court, Your Majesty.”

The door opened behind her. She turned, hoping it was Kelly or even Tiffany coming to save her, but it was merely one of the bodyguards.

“The car is ready, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent.”

Sheridan turned toward the king, but he’d moved when she’d been looking at his bodyguard. Before she knew what he was about, he swept an arm behind her knees and jerked her into his arms. Once more, she was pressed against his hard, taut body, his scent in her nostrils, conjuring images of heat and sand and cool water. A hot, tight feeling flared beneath her skin, burning through her and stopping the breath in her chest until he was halfway across the storefront.

There were customers, she noted vaguely. And Tiffany, who looked up as Rashid al-Hassan walked by with Sheridan in his arms. Tiffany didn’t even look surprised, the silly girl. She just looked bored, like always.

Sheridan knew she needed to scream. She needed to get these people’s attention and get this man to put her down immediately. She felt her lungs working again—of course they’d never stopped, but she hadn’t felt them, hadn’t felt anything but heat and unbearable want when he’d picked her up—and she sucked in air, preparing to release it in the most eardrum-shattering cry she could manage.

But she never got the chance because Rashid al-Hassan—the Great Protector of his people, the Lion of Kyr and Defender of the Throne—dropped his mouth over hers and silenced her.

CHAPTER THREE

RASHID HADN’T MEANT to kiss her. But the damned woman was going to scream and he could not allow it. So he’d silenced her in the only way he could.

Her mouth was soft and pliant and sweet. He took advantage of the fact her lips were open to slip his tongue inside and stroke across the velvety softness of her mouth. She didn’t move for a long moment and he began to wonder if she would bite him.

She was certainly capable of it. He’d not encountered a woman such as this one in...well, ever. Usually, women softened around him. Their eyes got big and wide and their mouths fell open invitingly. They sighed. They purred. They pouted.

They did not act as if he were poison. They did not glare daggers at him and spit fire and tell him to get out in prim little voices that belonged to the starchy librarians he’d encountered when he’d gone to university.

Sheridan’s breath hitched in and he knew he had her. Knew she was his, for the moment.

He deepened the kiss, demanding more of a response from her. He had to keep her mouth busy and her thoughts focused on him until he could get her out of the store and into the car. It was a mercenary act on his part and he had no trouble pushing it as far as he needed in order to keep the fool woman silenced.

Her mouth opened a little wider, her tongue stroking tentatively against his.

Rashid’s body turned to stone in a heartbeat. He had not expected that. But then he reminded himself there was a reason for his reaction. It had been a while since he’d had a woman. Being king had taken all his time these past couple of months. He was no longer a private citizen. No longer a man who could walk into a club, spot a gorgeous woman and take her home for a night of hot sex and no recriminations.

He was a king, and kings did not go anywhere without an entourage. They also did not pick up women and take them back to the palace for sex.

Certainly, he could have sent for a woman. But what kind of man would he be if he sent others to pick out women for him for the express purpose of having sex?

He was no prude, and he figured what people did with their bodies was their own business, but he’d never paid for sex in his life and he wasn’t going to start now. Because that was what it would be if he ordered a woman for the evening as if she were an item on a room service menu.

Oh, she would not be a common prostitute. She wouldn’t be a prostitute at all. But that didn’t make it any better in his mind.

Another reason why he was going to have to choose a wife soon from the handful of princesses and heiresses his council had recommended. And yet he couldn’t imagine having sex with any of the women whose dossiers he’d been sent thus far, much less facing one of them across a breakfast table for the rest of his life.

Damn Kadir for forcing him to take the throne. Yes, Rashid had always wanted to be king, but he hadn’t quite realized how very confined he would feel. He was a ruler, a man with the power of life and death over his subjects, a man with absolute authority—and he had no private life to speak of. No one with whom he could share the simple pleasures.

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.