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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 (#ueec0312f-d437-581c-a9ee-84c6e712effb)
“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.
He picked up a pen on his desk and flipped it in his fingers as if he needed something to do. As if he was irritated. “You are carrying my child and we are going to marry. There’s nothing to say yes to.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “But if you could say no, would you? Knowing what’s at stake for everyone involved, would you say no and deny your child the opportunity to be my heir? Or your sister the chance to have her own child?”
Sheridan’s throat hurt. “I didn’t say that.”
He threw the pen down and sank into his chair again. “Then I fail to see the problem. You will be a princess consort, habibti. You will have a life of privilege. And you will be the mother of our child, which is what you’ve assured me you want. Or am I mistaken? Would you rather leave the child with me and return to America once he is born?”
Sheridan clenched her fists in her lap. Once more, it was a good thing there were no weapons handy. “This baby might be a girl, you know. And no, I don’t want to leave her with you.”
“Then we will marry immediately and be done with this matter.”
This matter. As if marriage and children were the equivalent of deciding where to go on vacation or which carpet to order for the new house.
“Thank you for settling that.” Sheridan got to her feet. She was shaking with rage and fear, and sick with the helplessness she felt. “I guess I’ll return to my rooms now and await your next command. How I got through life for twenty-six years without you to tell me what to do is quite the mystery. I’m pleased I don’t have to think for myself a moment longer.”
“Careful, Sheridan,” he growled.
A sensual shiver traveled down her spine at the sound. Oh, what was it about him growling at her that turned her on? She’d just told him off for being autocratic, so why did part of her thrill at the edge in his voice?
“Why? If I make a mistake, you’ll just tell me what to do to correct it.” She sank into the deepest curtsy she’d yet done and then turned and strode toward the door. He was there before her, his arm shooting out and wrapping around her before she could escape.
Her breath caught as he spun her around. “You dare to walk out on a king?”
“You aren’t my king,” she said hotly. But her body was melting where it touched his and that inconvenient fire was beginning to sizzle through her.
“Maybe I am,” he said, his voice heavy and angry at once. “Maybe I am utterly your king.”
Her reply was lost as he ripped the hijab from her hair. “You’re mine now, Sheridan,” he said hotly, backing her against the wall and pressing his body to hers. “And I keep what’s mine.”
And then he brought his mouth down on hers. Sheridan stiffened. She was determined to fight him, to keep her mouth closed to his invasion, to push him away.
But she did none of those things. Of course she didn’t. Rashid al-Hassan was an unstoppable sensual force and he had a power over her that she couldn’t deny. His tongue slid between her lips, demanding her response—and then they were kissing each other frantically, hotly, with all the pent-up passion of the past few days of deprivation. She’d never had such a physical connection to a man before. A connection that went against sense and reason and just was.
His hands spanned her rib cage, his thumbs grazing her nipples as he pinned her body to the wall with his own. Her pulse raced as her nipples tightened painfully. Her breasts were so sensitive now and they both knew why.
He found the closures to her dress and opened them deftly. Then he was pushing the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched into him until he growled again and stepped back to rip her panties down her legs. She stepped out of them as she fumbled with the soft trousers he wore beneath his dishdasha, trying to free him.
He helped her and soon she had her hands on his hot erection. But he didn’t give her a chance to play. His broad hands went to her bottom, lifted her high against the wall—and then he plunged into her as they both gasped.
“Sheridan.” His voice was a hot whisper in her ear and her heart twisted tight. “I need you.”
“Kiss me, Rashid,” she begged. Her skin was too tight, her belly too hollow, her body too hot. She needed the things he gave her, needed the connection and release. She didn’t understand it, but she craved it. Craved him.
He fused his mouth to hers—and then he began to drive up into her, harder and faster and deeper than before, until her body was alive with sensation, until she had to wrench her mouth from his and sob his name as she splintered apart in his arms.
He didn’t release her, though. He took her again and again, until she was a quivering mass of nerve endings, until her body couldn’t take another moment’s pleasure, until he finally let go of his rigid control and came, his seed filling her in warm jets.
He laid his forehead against the wall behind her, his breath coming in gusts. His skin was hot and moist and so was hers. She turned her head into him, tasted the salt on his skin on impulse.
And found herself released. He stepped away from her and fixed his trousers, then reached down and picked up her gown for her. She snatched it out of his hand and he met her gaze evenly.
They stared at each other for a long moment, her clutching the dress in front of her like a shield, him clenching his fingers into tight fists at his side. As if he wanted to touch her again but had to force himself not to.
Her legs were weak and anger bubbled hot in her veins, but if he reached for her, if he kissed her again, she’d open to him like a flower.
And she really despised that about herself. There was such a thing as being delightfully impulsive, as being friendly and open, but this was too much.
“I don’t understand you,” she said. “If you don’t like being with me, why do you touch me in the first place?”
She thought they had a chemistry that was unusual, but maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe he just saw her as an option for quick sex. He found his pleasure in her body and he was done. And she was just stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “I like being with you. But it’s over and I have work to do.”
She shook out her dress angrily and slipped into it. Then she turned her back on him. “I can’t do this without your help.”
He came over and stood behind her, his fingers brushing her skin as he zipped her up and fastened the hooks. When he finished, she turned around and glared at him.
“This can’t happen again,” she told him tightly. “I have feelings, Rashid, and I won’t let you stomp all over them just to get your way. And another thing,” she added, pointing at him. “There are women in this palace in dresses and business suits and slacks. I’ve seen them, and while I played along with your commands to dress as a Kyrian woman, I won’t blindly do it anymore. Kyrian women seem to represent a range of styles, which you purposely did not tell me. If I want to wear my jeans, I’m wearing them.”
His expression was tightly controlled. “When you appear before the council, you will wear traditional clothing. Aside from that, I don’t care.”
She lifted her chin as she met his dark stare. “Oh, I already gathered that, Rashid. You don’t care at all.”
* * *
Rashid met with the council and informed them he would be marrying, and why. The council wasn’t pleased that Sheridan wasn’t Kyrian, but they could hardly argue with the fact she was carrying his child.
“And would you consider a Kyrian woman for a second wife, Your Majesty?” one of the men asked.
Rashid let his hard stare glide over the gathering. They were good men, wise men, men whose families had spent generations on the council. And while they had gotten far more progressive over the years, they still clung to some traditions. A pure Kyrian dynasty was one of those, though they all knew that past sheikhs had sometimes married foreigners and had children with them. Still, it cost him nothing to appease them. They would not accept Sheridan as queen, but as a princess consort. And with a future queen of Kyrian descent to be named, they would be happy.
“I will,” he said coolly. “But not immediately.”
That seemed to satisfy them and the council was dismissed. Rashid returned to his office to work, but he couldn’t seem to stop picturing Sheridan up against the wall, her lovely legs wrapped around him, her sweet voice panting in his ear as he took her over the edge.
He pushed back from his desk and sat there staring at the place where they’d been. He’d taken her like a savage. Like a man for whom control was impossible to attain, when nothing could be further from the truth.
She wound him into knots and he didn’t like it. She’d said he didn’t care, but he very much feared he might. Not a lot, certainly, but more than he was comfortable with. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about her, or about how it felt to lose himself in her body.
He was not the sort of man to become obsessed with a woman, yet she intrigued him. Had from the first moment he’d seen her standing in her shop, all small and blond and seemingly sweet.
But then he’d kissed her and his world had gone sideways. He’d wanted her every moment since.
And he hated that he did.
She was pregnant. Thinking the words sent that same cold chill through him, as always—but there was something else, too. Pride, possession, ownership. She was carrying his child and he was going to marry her. For Kyr.
Rashid got to his feet and left the office, striding through the palace until he came to his rooms. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but the hour was growing late. He changed into jeans—not without thinking of her informing him that she would be wearing her jeans whenever she wanted, that defiant tilt to her chin—and a button-down shirt, and then went through his suite of rooms to the hidden door that connected to the women’s quarters.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the lock. And then he released it and stepped inside. She wasn’t in bed so he moved through the rooms until he saw her at the computer. She was hunched over it, her head in her hands, and his heart squeezed.
Then she reached for a tissue and he knew she was crying. Damn it. His fault, no doubt. Because he’d pushed her away. But how could he explain to her that being in her arms after they had sex felt like a betrayal? Not because of the sex, but because of the way he wanted to linger, the way he wanted to know everything about her.
“Sheridan.”
She startled, shooting up out of her chair and whirling to face him. Her nose was red. “My God, you scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry.”
She was wearing her jeans and a silky shirt and she looked so small and alone as she stood there with her shoulders bent. “How did you get in here?”
“There’s a hidden door in the bedroom. It leads to my rooms.”
“Oh,” she said softly, and he knew she must be wondering why he hadn’t used it to bring her back the other night. But there were more immediate things to think about.
“What is wrong?”
She gave a half shrug. “I was just reading email from my business partner. I think we’re both realizing our dream is over now.”
“I know you blame me for these things, but I am not the one who caused this.” And yet he did feel guilty for his part in changing her life.
