Her Ardent Sheikh

Ire turned Alima’s eyes darker than moonless midnight. “Hasim! What have you been doing with this bint?”

“She is not a girl. She is a grown woman.” Even to his own ears, Ben sounded defensive, as if he had engaged in disreputable acts with Jamie Morris. Admittedly, he had imagined a few in the car.

With a sigh, he turned his attention to Alima. “It is not what you think. She’s been injured. Dr. Webb has examined her, and I am to make sure she is all right until she wakes. I believe she will be more comfortable if you undress her.”

“It appears, Hasim, that you have already done that.”

Ben clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth, his patience now a slender thread on the verge of severing. “I did not undress her. Dr. Webb saw to that for the examination. Find something for her to wear, then put it on her.” He pointed to the door. “ruuHi! Now.”

Alima left the room, muttering a litany of Arabic curses followed by a prayer for Hasim bin Abbas kadir Jamal Rassad’s wicked soul.

Jamie flailed about, twisting, turning, trying to escape the terrifying images.

The plane crash. The fire. Debris. Lady Helena’s cries.

No. Not the plane.

A car coming at her. Flying through the air. Falling. Falling.

A stranger’s arms around her.

She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Someone held her down.

Fighting for her life, she balled her fist and struck out at the unknown assailant. An iron grip caught her wrist.

“Shhh, little one. You are safe now.”

The voice wasn’t threatening. More like soothing. A lover’s voice.

Jamie blinked several times to focus and stared into a face that would make Adonis hang his head in shame. A white cloth of some sort, secured by a thin gold band circling his forehead, covered his hair but framed a strong jaw shadowed by whiskers. Mysterious eyes regarded her, the color somewhere between rich earth and molten steel. She saw concern and compassion there, and something familiar. But she’d never met him before. She’d definitely remember that, even though at the moment her memories were nothing more than fragments.

“Where am I?” she asked, her voice weak.

He loosened the grip on her wrist but didn’t completely let her go. “You are safe.”

Jamie tore her gaze away and did a frantic visual search of her surroundings. The room was a kaleidoscope of color and texture, from the rich aqua bedspread covering her to the ornate vases on the nearby black-lacquer end table. Tapestries hung from the bright yellow walls and pillows of every conceivable color rested on a white chair to her right. Sheer mosquito netting flowed beside her from the top of the bed. Practical, she thought, considering the size of the pests in Texas. Was she still in Texas?

No way. This was an exotic place. Beautiful. Foreign.

“Miss Morris, there is no need to be afraid.”

He knew her name.

She stared at the stranger once again. Was this Payune? Had he had a change of heart and decided to marry her after all?

Not likely, and she certainly hoped not.

Payune was reportedly nearing fifty. This man was in his mid thirties at best. And his clothes would indicate that he wasn’t from a small European country. They didn’t wear robes and cover their heads in Asterland, did they? Of course not.

This dark, handsome stranger was Aladdin in his prime. Valentino reincarnate. A desert knight.

Oh, Lordy. She’d been sold into slavery.

A ridiculous concept, Jamie realized. But not as ridiculous as being sold like prime livestock into a marriage to a man she’d never met, arranged by her father for the sake of his failing farm. Had she been kidnapped by this stranger? Did he expect her to do his bidding, too?

Why not? He was practically lying on top of her, all hard, muscled male. Every inch of him, from his solid chest pressing into her breasts to his muscular thigh braced between her legs. Not to mention all points in between, some that were way too obvious not to notice.

Whoever he was, she intended to let him know up front that she didn’t like being manhandled by strangers who had designs on her body.

Still pinned beneath his substantial frame, his face only inches from hers, Jamie struggled to squirm out from under him. The more she squirmed, the tighter his grasp on her wrists, the more aware she became of his strength…and his undeniable maleness.

“Be still, Miss Morris,” he said, his warm breath drifting across her face, his low voice strained. “You will hurt yourself.”

At the moment, she wanted to hurt him. Sort of.

Clenching her jaw tight, she spoke through her teeth. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, buddy, but if you expect me to be your love slave, then think again.”

He looked altogether confused. “I am here to protect you. I need your promise you will not attempt to run away. Only then will I let you go and explain.”

Whether or not she tried to run away would depend on his explanation. Still, she thought it best to agree. Considering how her luck had gone lately, she was prepared for anything. “Okay. You can get up now. I’ll stay put like a good girl.”

With a guarded expression, he unclasped her wrists and sat up but remained seated on the edge of the bed, leaving little distance between them. “I am Sheikh Hasim bin Abbas kadir Jamal Rassad, Prince of Amythra, currently residing in the city of Royal, in the state of Texas. You may call me Ben.”

Thank heavens. No way could she remember all those names in her current state of mind. But now she remembered him. Or at least remembered hearing about him. The gossip mill claimed he was filthy rich. A mystery man relatively new to Royal, who kept to himself. A member of the exclusive Texas Cattleman’s Club. But no one had bothered to mention his good looks. If you went for the tall, dark, exotic type.

“So tell me, Prince Ben, where am I?” she asked.

“You are in my house.”

“And how, pray tell, did I get here?”

He rubbed his chin. “You do not remember the car?”

She searched her brain, an effort in pain thanks to her throbbing head. “I remember I’d just picked up the dress.” Her mother’s dress. She tried not to panic. “Where is the dress now? I have to know.”

He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s hanging in the closet over there.” He indicated two double doors across the room. “It is safe.”

She felt somewhat better. At least the dress had survived. And so had she, for now. “I remember someone pushing me. Then falling.”

“I’m afraid I was the one who pushed you to the ground. That is how you struck your head.”

That explained her mother of all headaches. “Why?”

“To avoid the car coming at you.” His face turned suddenly serious. “You are in grave danger, Miss Morris.”

As if she couldn’t figure that one out herself. “And what, exactly, does this have to do with you?”

“It was decided by the Cattleman’s Club members that I should protect you. Your connection with Albert Payune has put you in a precarious position.”

How much more bizarre could her life get? “Connection? We didn’t have a connection! I’ve never even met the man.”

“Once you are feeling better, I will explain further.”

“I feel fine!” Jamie sat up in a rush only to encounter a pounding pain in her skull and a wave of dizziness. She lowered her head back onto the pillow. “Okay, maybe not that fine.”

Concern was reflected in his dark eyes. “Dr. Webb has examined you. He believes you suffer from a slight concussion. He ordered me to make sure you rest.”

So she hadn’t dreamed Dr. Webb’s appearance after all. “He was here?”

“Yes. He checked you thoroughly and said you need to ‘sleep it off.”’

Her eyes felt as heavy as two-by-fours. The same two-by-fours pounding her temples. “That’s a good idea. Think I’ll take another little nap.”

The sheikh stood in one graceful move and hovered above Jamie, straight and strong and gorgeous beyond the legal limit. “I will be nearby. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call for me.”

Jamie felt a little woozy, but she didn’t know if it was from the bump on her head, or the man standing above her. “Sure.”

He studied her for another moment, sucking her in with those dark eyes, as if he were a human vacuum and she a tiny speck of dust. “I will make sure you are safe. As long as you are with me, no harm will come to you.”

With that, he left the room.

Jamie stared at the door long after it closed, wondering how the heck she’d gotten into this predicament. Her father, of course. If he hadn’t agreed to the blasted marriage arrangement, complete with a hefty reward, she would have lived the rest of her life never knowing anything about Albert Payune or Asterland. Or Sheikh Ben Rassad.

Okay, so maybe meeting the prince was a high point in all this mess. She had to admit he was definitely easy on the eye. A little too macho, maybe. But he had seemed genuinely concerned for her safety. Regardless, he still had lots of questions to answer, and soon.

Jamie yawned again. Too tired to think about anything but sleep at the moment, she closed her eyes and snuggled down into the soft bed, Prince Ben’s words echoing in her ears.

As long as you are with me, no harm will come to you.

Amazingly, she did feel safe. Secure. Protected.

After sleep again overtook her, Jamie dreamed pleasant dreams, not nightmarish images of doom. She had visions of desert sand, starlit nights…and her role as the love slave of a sexy sheikh named Ben.

Two

The soft moans thrust Ben to his feet. He had dozed on and off while keeping vigil at Jamie’s bedside but now found himself wide-awake, worried over her distressed state.

Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, he stroked her silky hair. “You are safe,” he said softly. “I am here. No one will do you harm.”

She continued to thrash and muttered, “Please.”

A fierce surge of protectiveness streaked through Ben. Without thought, he slipped into the bed beside her and cradled her in his arms. She curled into him, her back to his front, fitting perfectly against his body. Although the room was dim, washed only in moonlight, he could see that the sheer muslin gown Alima had dressed her in rode high up her thighs. With one hand he drew it down, contacting smooth warm flesh. He quickly covered her with the satin sheet.

Torture, Ben thought. Or perhaps a test of his strength. Yet he was only a man, not superhuman, and his body reacted as any man’s would. But he would not let her go until she had calmed. He’d simply think of other things aside from her petite body, her round breasts, her bottom only inches from treacherous territory.

He tried to recall his impending appointments. His investments. His upcoming summer trip to Amythra to visit his mother.

His mother.

She would most surely be shamed by his reaction to the helpless woman in his arms. She would expect him to be strong. Maintain a steel reserve. She was stronger than any woman he had known, except, perhaps, Jamie Morris.

Yet at the moment, Jamie seemed vulnerable. Quite different from the hellion who had tried to deliver a blow to his face earlier. The woman who had serenaded the population of downtown Royal without caring who might hear.

She was most definitely strong. Determined. And she would never fit into his culture for that reason. He had witnessed his European mother’s struggles with his native customs on many occasions. But she had loved her husband dearly, and had adjusted as best she could. Now she was left alone in a place that still remained foreign to her, even after forty years. For that reason, Ben must visit her soon. After he was assured that Jamie Morris was safe.

Jamie stirred again, interrupting Ben’s thoughts and driving him to the brink of insanity. Her firm buttocks wiggled against his very overheated manhood. As soon as she settled, he would leave her and return to the cold, empty chair, although that thought held no appeal.

Holding Jamie Morris did, and he cursed the fact that he had not been with a woman in quite some time. Surely this was the reason for his reaction. Weeks had passed since he had returned home. In his country, there were women readily available to care for his needs. Experienced women who considered taking him to their bed an honor because of his station. The couplings were without emotion and left him with a sated body and an emptiness deep in his soul. An emptiness he did not care to acknowledge.

Jamie Morris was different from those women. She aroused feelings in him that he had rarely experienced in his thirty-six years. Aroused his need to protect. To keep her safe. That desire lived so strong within him that he knew he would die before he let any harm come to her, if he could prevent it.

He had covertly watched her for several weeks, had memorized her habits. He knew she woke every morning at 6:00 a.m. and took her coffee and the newspaper onto her apartment’s small verandah. She returned to the same spot every evening and stayed with a book late into the night. She was still very young, and he was very jaded. She was an innocent; he was world-weary. Yet at times he had glimpsed loneliness in her expression, as if she craved companionship. He could relate.

But he could not consider his loneliness tonight. He must remember his duty. He was here to protect her, not to sample her luscious body.

Ben sent up a silent prayer of gratitude when Jamie stopped moving, her breathing now deep and steady. At least she slept.

Ben, however, would not for quite some time.

The dream was so nice, Jamie didn’t want it to end. The visions were so very real she could still feel her imaginary lover’s arms wrapped around her.

Unwelcome light penetrated her closed lids and the fragrant smell of coffee teased her senses. Resisting the distractions, she snuggled further into the heavenly bed.

Her mind still caught in a pleasant haze, she reached for a blanket to cover her head. She contacted something that didn’t feel the least bit like her grandmother’s handmade quilt.

Her eyes snapped open. What the heck was that? She didn’t own any pets. Her gaze traveled downward to discover exactly what she was clutching.

A hairy arm. A large hairy arm that certainly didn’t belong to her—unless she’d grown a spare during the night. Definitely male, she decided, after surveying the golden skin laced with prominent veins, the large square fingers attached to the end of a hand. A nice hand. Very nice.

Nope, she knew where her arms were. Connected to her shoulders, not to her hip.

Coming fully awake, she sat up with a jolt and yanked the sheets to her chin. It was all coming back now, one frame at a time, like a slide show. She wasn’t in her own bed, and she wasn’t alone.

Who had relieved her of her senses? How could someone have crawled into her bed without her knowledge?

“What is going on?” she hissed, then cried “Ouch!” when she pushed farther back and her sore skull bumped the headboard behind her.

Only then did she realize that the arm was an extension of a real live half-naked man whom she didn’t recognize, until she met his dark gray eyes now staring up at her through a fringe of sinfully long lashes. The man who had occupied her dreams.

Prince Ben, savior sheikh.

He slowly ran a hand through his thick mussed hair—hair as dark as the Texas crude that had made Royal so prosperous. “Did you sleep well?”

Now suffering from sexy sheikh shock, Jamie couldn’t force herself to utter one word.

When she continued to stare at him, his mouth curled up in a smile that revealed deep grooves framing his mouth and enhanced fine lines around his eyes. A smile that would melt an iron washtub. Dark whiskers scattered above his well-defined lips and granite jaw made him look a bit on the sinister side. Sensually sinister. She figured he probably had to shave twice a day. A beard like that would definitely promote whisker burn during long kisses. She’d just bet he could kiss the bloomers off Betty Mays, Royal’s spinster county clerk.

And he was in bed with her. Jamie Morris, who didn’t even kiss on the first date.

“Well?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy.

“Well what?”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” She had found her voice, but where was her brain? This was no time for pleasantries. “No! I mean…why are you in bed with me?”

He rolled onto his back and stacked his hands behind his head, giving her an intimate view of the tuft of hair under his arm. Jamie looked away and contacted his bare chest. Her gaze followed the path of dark hair that began as a silken mat between his pecs then thinned to a stream over his abdomen before disappearing into the waistband of a pair of striped pajamas. And just below that…

Oh, my.

Like someone viewing a horror film, Jamie didn’t exactly want to look, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the hypnotic sight, even if her life depended on it.

Suddenly realizing he was speaking, she pulled her gaze back to his face. His grin deepened, causing her cheeks to fire up like Manny’s grill at the Royal Diner.

“You were having bad dreams. I worried you might hurt yourself if you thrashed about too much.”

She didn’t remember a single bad dream. A very good dream, yes. “Oh.”

“So I took the liberty of holding you until you calmed. I apologize if my presence in your bed has alarmed you.”

“I wasn’t alarmed exactly. Just a bit unnerved.” Jamie was still unnerved, but she wasn’t suffering from fear, as he’d assumed. She was more afraid that her dreams had been real, and he wasn’t telling the absolute truth.

She chewed her lip for a moment, trying to decide how to broach the subject. Asking point-blank seemed like the sensible solution. “Did we…” How could she ask him that?

He impaled her with his night-sky eyes. “Did we what?”

Do the wild thing. Make whoopee. Shuffle the sheets.

She couldn’t force herself to say any of those things.

He had the nerve to smile again. “I am waiting.”

Jamie got the distinct feeling he enjoyed watching her squirm like a night crawler on the end of a hook. “You know…you and me…together. In the bed.”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a dark, sensual expression even more disarming. “Did we make love?”

“Yeah. Did we do that?”

“Why would you assume this?”

She didn’t mind mentioning the dream, but she refused to reveal that he was the prime subject. “Well, because I was out of my head. And you are in bed with me. And then I had these images of hands…and things.” Lots of things.

“Someone hurting you?”

“No. Just the opposite.”

He rolled to his side and faced her again with his elbow bent, one palm bracing his cheek, his eyes darkened by something Jamie couldn’t quite name. “Do you mean hands touching you? Perhaps a mouth on you, kissing every inch of your body until you writhed with pleasure? Someone making love to you until you could not breathe, yet you wanted more, until you found yourself begging for the very thing you feared, giving everything over to sensation until you were lost, body and soul?”

He spoke in a low steady tone that made Jamie shiver and sweat, all at the same time.

She somehow managed to speak, with effort. “Yes, something like that.”

His smile crept in once again, slowly, and only halfway. “No, Miss Morris. That did not happen between us. If it had, you would know. And you would not so easily forget.”

Without further comment, he pushed himself up and left the bed with graceful movements, like a panther progressively stalking its prey. And Jamie sat with her mouth gaping like a sprung screen door, feeling as boneless as putty, her body immersed in heat and her head reeling from his words.

As he walked to the chair across the room, Jamie couldn’t help but notice the way his pajamas tightened with each stride, revealing a bottom that would best be described as a true work of art. He picked up a heavy blue robe and slipped it on, covering his artful bottom, much to Jamie’s disappointment.

He faced her again, this time his expression all-business, unreadable. “You must be hungry. I will have my housekeeper bring you a tray so that you may regain your strength.”

She would need all the strength she could get to fight his control over her. Her desire to know him. All of him.

Shaking off the covers and the stupid thoughts, Jamie scooted to the end of the bed and touched her toes to the luxuriously carpeted floor. She needed to get out of here. Away from him. The danger she might face outside was nothing compared to the danger this man posed to her sanity and her sudden urges. “Yes, I’m starved. But I can eat after you take me back to my apartment.”

“I am afraid that is not possible.”

“Why not?”

“You must remain with me until we find the man who is attempting to do you harm.”

Jamie stiffened her frame and tried to stand. She felt weak as a newborn, every inch of her crying out in protest. One giant total body ache. Bracing her hand on the bedpost, she steadied herself to keep from falling in front of the man. She refused to let him believe that she couldn’t take care of herself.

“Look, Prince Ben, I’ll be fine. If anything happens, I’ll call the police.” Her spongy knees didn’t want to support her.

He stepped toward the bed and caught her elbow when she leaned a bit. “You cannot do that. We cannot involve the police at this time.”

This guy had too many rules, none of which she understood. He also radiated a sensuality that wasn’t easy to ignore.

She stared up at him, only then realizing he was tall. Very tall. Intimidating-to-the-max tall. “Care to explain why I can’t call the cops?”

“Trust me, Miss Morris, this is for your sake. The less you know, the better that will be.”

Jamie decided he was sorely mistaken, and his determination to keep her in the dark grated on her already raw nerves.

Oh, well. She’d play along for now. She was too tired to argue. “Since I can’t go home just yet, mind if I use your facilities?”

His dark brows drew down with confusion. “Facilities?”

“Bathroom? I’d like to freshen up.”

“Of course. I thought you might want to bathe, so I had my housekeeper set out some things for you. This way.”

He held on to her arm as he guided her to the room across the hall. Once they reached the door, she expected him to leave. He didn’t.

With her hand on the knob, she gave him her best sugar-sweet smile. “Am I allowed to have some privacy?”

“I thought you might wish me to draw your bath.”

“So you can watch?” Jamie cringed. She sounded like she wanted him to watch.

He smiled and Jamie felt it down to her size-five feet. “However tempting that might be, I will allow you your privacy after I help you prepare.”

“I’ll manage. I’m feeling much stronger.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“As you wish. If you find you do need help, there is an intercom near the tub—”

“I can handle this. I promise.”

She backed into the room and slammed the door in his face. Slammed the door on those mysterious eyes and all that out-there sexuality. Turning, she leaned back against the wooden surface for support. But it wasn’t the lump on her head making her feel like an overcooked noodle. He made her weak knees weaker and her shaky body shakier.

Determined to drive him out of her mind, Jamie concentrated on the huge room. A room big enough to house Sadie, her trusty blue sedan. An opulent bath straight out of her fantasies of what a bath should be.

Several black marble steps led to a mammoth whirlpool tub, a huge arched window its backdrop. The matching marble vanity top was graced with gold fixtures and two basins complimented by jeweled soap dispensers and toothbrush holders. And laid out near one sink—for her benefit, she presumed—was a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste and two velvety black towels with a matching washcloth. On a freestanding gold rack near the toilet hung a lush red velvet robe and underwear. Her underwear.