Her Ardent Sheikh

Her underwear?

She reached back and planted both hands on her butt. No lines. No underwear. She wore nothing more than a too-large sheer ecru gown. The armholes, big enough to drive a truck through, hung all the way down to her waist. No wonder she was shivering.

Who had relieved her of her white lace drawers? And why had she just now noticed?

She’d been barely coherent, that’s why. And obviously, the cad had undressed her. Bared her bod and taken liberties.

No way. He hadn’t done anything lewd to her person. No doubt about it. Like he’d said, she would know.

Recalling his suggestive words, the thought of him undressing her again caused shock to course through her already shocked body. And it annoyingly excited her.

Regardless, she planned to have a serious talk with the sheikh. Planned to inform him that, at the very least, undressing her without her permission was ungentlemanly. She valued her privacy, and although she wasn’t all that modest, she did have high standards and certain expectations. If someone was going to get her naked for the first time, then she darn sure better be conscious during the process.

A wave of nausea hit her like a raging bull. She slumped onto the step and considered the intercom.

No. She could do this.

With stilted motions, she managed to draw a bath and slip into the tub without passing out. The warm water soothed her sore limbs and made her feel a bit more human.

After luxuriating for a while, then attending to all her toiletries, Jamie felt halfway decent again. Now all she needed was some food, and to convince the sheikh that she needed to go home. But how could she do that in just a robe and underwear? Where had he hidden her jeans and shirt? Okay, so maybe he hadn’t hidden them, but she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he had. No clothes, no escape. Obviously he was determined to keep her here against her will.

Well, Prince Ben was wrong if he really believed he could do that.

She slipped on her underwear and the robe, then opened the door and tried to gauge where she should begin in order to find him. Starting down the hall, she peered into several rooms, all bedrooms decorated in more bright colors, but she didn’t come upon the man with many names, and probably many talents.

At the end of the corridor, wonderful smells drew her forward. The kitchen must be close, and maybe she would find him there. But before she reached her destination, she came to a den. It gave new meaning to the term great room.

The place was a combination of luxury and comfort. Old West meets Middle East. A set of horns hung near the vaulted ceiling over the massive white-rock fireplace, and, draped below, a purple tapestry with rainbow colors woven throughout traveled down the stone wall to the top of the hearth.

Jamie moved farther into the room and noted another opening and a hallway that seemed to go on for miles. In the immediate area, several chairs and rugs were set out in various locations across the gleaming hardwood floors, all in elegant dark colors. The whole place was velvet and marble, a sprawling ranch house most would only dream of, and something she’d not been exposed to in her twenty-two years. She had always appreciated simple. She liked simple. Not that she couldn’t get used to luxurious.

Scanning the area, she honed in on a huge suede caramel-colored sofa set to one side of the fireplace. And in the middle of that sofa sat a man, reclining against thick cushions, reading a newspaper, his long legs stretched out before him, booted heels propped on the heavy oak coffee table. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. Threadbare jeans. Tight T-shirt.

Considering his lazy posture, his common ranch-hand clothes, he could be just any sexy-as-sin cowboy. But when he looked up, nailing Jamie with those iron-gray eyes, there was no mistaking his identity.

Prince Ben as Bad-Boy Cowboy.

Ben stared up at Jamie now looming over him dressed in an oversized robe, her eyes flashing anger, her delicate jaw set tight. He suspected she would soon demand more answers from him. Answers he was not at liberty to give her.

Tossing the paper aside, he dropped his feet from the table and straightened. “You are looking much better. Refreshed.” With her damp hair falling just below her slender shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed, she was all softness and innocence. A celestial being.

“How dare you!”

She no longer looked angelic. She looked as angry as Alima when a tennis championship interrupted her American soap operas.

What had he done now? “I do not understand.”

She clenched her fists and Ben braced for another swing, but fortunately it did not come. “How dare you undress me and put me in that see-through gown. I have never in my life—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—met a man who thought—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—he could get away with taking off my clothes without me knowing it and—” She put a hand to head and looked as though she might faint.

He vaulted off the couch and circled his arms around her to prevent her from falling. “Miss Morris, you must calm down. You are still not well.”

She looked up at him but did not push him away, or try to punch him. Instead, she leaned into him. “I’m fine, thank you very much!”

She did not seem fine. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and she looked as though she might buckle. “I think not.” He tightened his hold on her.

“I want to go home,” she said willfully, belying her fragile state.

“I told you that is not possible.”

She locked into his gaze, her chin raised up in determination. “You can’t keep me here.”

“I am hoping you will see that it is necessary in order to ensure your safety.”

“I’ll tell you what’s necessary. I need to find a job.” She grasped the front of his shirt. “I’m running out of money. My rent’s due right now. Then the car payment.” She sounded desperate, her voice pleading.

He rubbed her back to comfort her, all too aware of her breasts pressed against him. The way she smelled, fresh and clean. Womanly. He held her closer to anchor himself. “I will provide for you until the time you can return to your apartment. I will arrange to pay your debts and see to it that you are comfortable in my home for now.”

She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t need your charity. I can take care of myself.”

Her attitude was the very reason he had never been involved with an American woman. Although he admired her independence, he did not always understand it, just as he did not understand his mother at times. Pride would not keep her safe, but he could. He would. “We will consider it a gift.”

“A loan,” she corrected, seeming to give in.

A strong sense of satisfaction settled over Ben at the prospect she would agree to stay with him, at least for now. “We shall discuss your financial situation later.”

She relaxed somewhat. “Can I at least go home and get some clothes?”

“I will find you appropriate clothing.”

“I have to feed…uh…my fish.”

He took her arm and led her to the sofa, then brought her down next to him. It seemed best to put some distance between them. Simply holding her again resurrected more unwanted feelings within Ben. Feelings he did not welcome but could not seem to stop. Yet he must halt them. Remember his duty to her.

He sighed. “I will take you to your apartment where you can feed your pets and gather some clothes. But you must agree to come back with me.”

Her smile traveled all the way to her jewel-like eyes, causing Ben’s pulse to race out of control. “Okay. Then it’s a deal?”

“Yes, but first you must eat.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m all that hungry.”

He was, but not necessarily for food. He stood before he lost his head, his control. “You can eat something. I shall summon Alima.”

She slumped back onto the sofa. “Alima?”

“My housekeeper.” And oftentimes thorn in his side.

Jamie shrugged again. “Okay. Does she do hot dogs? I’m really craving a hot dog.”

Ben smiled in response. “I will see what I can do.”

He then departed for the nearby kitchen to seek out Alima, glancing toward the sofa in the event Miss Morris should change her mind and try to escape. He hated holding her captive, and had he been less honorable, he might have led her to believe he was her captor, and she his slave. But honor was something his parents had instilled in him from birth, therefore he had no choice but to tell her the truth. As much of the truth as he could allow.

Alima was opening the oven door, removing fresh-baked bread. She turned around and tossed the pan onto the stove, then slipped the headphones away from her ears. “Is our guest awake now?”

“Yes. And she needs nourishment.”

She lifted the lid from a heavy black pot on the stove. “I have prepared simich in a very hearty stew.”

The wonderful bouquet made Ben’s mouth water. “She does not want fish stew. She has requested a hot dog.”

Alima narrowed her dark eyes. “I do not prepare hot dogs.”

“You will prepare something like it. She is our guest.”

She slapped the lid back on the boiling pot. “I will prepare something American, but I do no hot dogs.”

There was no sense in arguing with her. With Alima, he chose his battles carefully. He would need her assistance with Jamie in the future. No matter how stubborn Alima could be at times, she was a kind woman. She had a way with people, able to soothe them during dire moments. Jamie would need Alima’s kindness, for if she caused more trouble, put herself in more danger, then he would not be able to be kind.

“Bring the food into the living room on a tray,” he said. “We will dine there.”

“Do you wish the stew, Prince Hasim, or do you prefer the Texas food?” Her tone implied once again that she didn’t approve of his burgeoning American tastes even though she was guilty of the same.

“I will have what Miss Morris is having.”

Alima strolled to the refrigerator, muttering in Arabic under her breath as she yanked open the door and peered inside.

Ben returned to the living room to find Jamie curled up on the sofa, her eyes closed. But when he approached her, she quickly came awake and sat up. “I’m sorry. I just can’t shake this sleepiness.”

He still worried over her condition even though he had spoken with Justin several times by phone since the day before. The doctor had assured him that Jamie would be weak for a few days, but not to worry. Ben did worry, although perhaps he should be thankful she wasn’t quite recovered. The potential for her to fight him would increase with her strength.

He joined her on the sofa. “Alima will bring you something satisfactory. I am afraid we have no hot dogs.”

Jamie yawned. “That’s okay. Right now I think I could eat just about anything if it stood still long enough.”

“Then your appetite is returning. This is good.”

She smiled. A pretty smile that withered Ben’s insides like blades of grass in the sweltering Texas heat. “Yep. I’m feeling better,” she said. “And right after lunch, you can take me to my place.”

He should expect her persistence in this matter. She was not one to give up easily. “All right.”

She smiled. “You promise?”

At the moment, he would promise her anything. “You have my word.”

With her head lowered, Alima scurried into the room carrying a tray full of meats, cheeses and breads. She slipped it onto the table before them but did not raise her eyes to Jamie until Ben said, “Alima, this is Miss Morris.”

Jamie held out her small hand to Alima. “You can call me Jamie.”

Alima did not take the hand Jamie offered, as that would be disrespectful, but she did afford Jamie a smile. “I am pleased to have you in Prince Hasim’s home, Miss Morris. If you wish anything, please let me know.” She turned to address Ben. “Would Miss Morris be more comfortable dining at the table instead of here in the mayaalis, with the dead animals?” She gestured toward the cowhide rug draped on the floor in front of the hearth.

Ben repressed a chuckle. Jamie did not.

“I believe Miss Morris and I are quite comfortable here.” He regarded Jamie. “I am afraid Alima has never approved of informality. She believes that my mother spoiled me by letting me run the palace, doing as I pleased.”

Alima departed, muttering in her native tongue all the way to the kitchen.

“What did she just say?” Jamie asked.

“The monkey is a gazelle in the eyes of his mother. An Arabic proverb.”

Jamie laughed, a rich vibrant sound that made Ben want to laugh with her. “I have to remember that. Maybe while we’re stuck here together, you can teach me some Arabic.”

There were many things he would like to teach her, the least of which involved his native tongue. Or perhaps it would involve his tongue. And his hands, his body…

Thrusting the thoughts away, he said, “Arabic is best learned in an atmosphere where it is readily spoken. I only speak it with Alima on occasion and when I return home.”

She took some meat from the tray and shredded it, then nibbled a few bits. “Where is home?”

“Amythra. A small country near Oman.”

She took another bite and spoke around it. “Well, I’m not good at geography, so I’ll take your word for it.”

Ben placed some of the fare on his plate and opted to use a fork, unlike Jamie who used her fingers, licking them on occasion, causing a rising heat to stir low in Ben’s belly.

He ate in silence while watching Jamie put her all into the meal. She ate as if ravenous. As if it were her last bite.

He suspected she approached most everything with heart and soul and unyielding determination. He imagined she would approach lovemaking the same way.

Again his body stirred, and he cursed the fact he had not dressed in his djellaba. American jeans could not hide his sins should he lose control over baser urges.

Crossing one leg over the other, he pushed his plate aside and leaned back against the sofa. Jamie did the same.

“That was wonderful,” she said, rubbing her belly.

Ben visually followed the movement of her hand, imagining his own hand there.

He looked away, questioning his wisdom. How could he not touch her if she lived under his roof? How could he continue to ignore his desires if she was with him every waking moment?

He must. He would call on all his strength and avoid situations that might threaten his control. At one time he had not been in control, and his own father had paid the price. He had vowed then that never would he let anyone harm a defenseless human being, especially one he cared about. And he was beginning to see Jamie in that category, no matter how inadvisable that might be.

Needing to get away, he rose from the sofa. “Are you finished, Miss Morris?”

She stood. “Yes. And if you’ll point me in the direction of my clothes, I’ll change and we can head to my apartment.”

“You will find your clothes in the top drawer of the bureau in your room. Alima has laundered them for you.”

Again she smiled. “How nice. Remind me to thank her.”

“Yes, and I will change, too.”

When she stood, the robe gaped open, revealing the valley between her breasts. “Change into what?” she asked.

Into a madman if she did not close the robe. “My traditional dress.” He reached for the robe and she stepped back. “I am trying to cover you.”

She looked down. “Oh. This thing is too big.”

He suddenly realized that not only would she be more comfortable in her own clothes, he would be more comfortable if she was wearing them. At least somewhat.

She crossed her arms over her breasts, much to Ben’s relief—and disappointment. “Don’t get me wrong, Ben, but wouldn’t you be a little less obvious if you stayed in what you’re wearing now? I mean, you’re trying to protect me. When in Rome and all that jazz.”

He bristled at the jab, although he believed she meant nothing by it. “It is expected of me,” he explained. “Both in the business world and in my country. I have promised my mother that I will keep this connection to my birthright.”

She looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No offense taken. There are many things about my culture that most Americans do not comprehend.”

She locked into his gaze and he saw true sincerity in the green depths of her eyes. “I’d like to understand.”

In that moment, he had no doubt she would.

All their differences seemed to melt away, and Ben wondered if she would be the kind of woman who would understand him. Understand his ways. Understand the man beneath the prince.

Impossible dreams.

Three

Jamie relished the feel of the warm April sun filtering through the car’s tinted window, the lush leather seat beneath her. The black sedan was the ultimate in luxury. Masculine, sleek, like its owner.

She regarded Ben with a sideways glance. “I like your wheels. But wouldn’t a truck be more practical on a ranch?”

“I own two trucks. I travel in this because it’s safer.”

“Safer?”

“Bulletproof.”

Bulletproof? Did he have a price on his head, too?

Jamie took in a deep breath and pulled a leg underneath her. She turned toward him as much as the seat belt allowed. “Why on earth do you need a bulletproof car?”

“Because of my family’s influence, there are people who exist for the sole purpose of doing us harm. But since I’ve been in America, I have encountered no trouble. I have sent most of my bodyguards back to Amythra for that reason.”

Bodyguards and bulletproof cars. Obviously Prince Ben was important. A somebody. Royal, Texas, was full of somebodys. As a fourth-generation Royal native, Jamie’s father had once been a respected farmer. But Caleb Morris had squandered that respect with frequent gambling and drinking binges since his wife’s death. Jamie missed her mother, too, but her father still hadn’t come to terms with his loss.

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