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He let her go and stepped back. His mouth was a white line now. “It costs nine months of your life, it places a burden on your body and then there is the emotional impact of giving up the child at the end. That is not nothing.”
He was confusing her. Just a couple of days ago he’d suggested she turn over any child to him and now he was talking about the emotional impact of that kind of decision. Who was this man?
“I knew that when I offered.”
His expression was black. “Yes, but did you also know that you were offering to risk your life? Did you consider that? Did she?”
Sheridan’s heart pounded. “Childbirth is safe. This isn’t the eighteenth century.”
He stood stone-still but she sensed his muscles had coiled tight. As if he was a nuclear reaction waiting to happen. But then he pulled in a deep breath and huffed it out again and she knew he’d found the switch to turn it off.
“Of course it’s not. You are correct.”
Sheridan had a strong urge to reach for him, but she didn’t. Something was bothering him. Some dark emotion reflected in his gaze, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“What’s this about, Rashid?”
“It’s not about anything,” he finally said.
Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I don’t believe you.”
He stood there for a long moment, as if he was fighting an internal battle. And then he turned and strode away without another word, disappearing into the long gallery running along the back of the palace.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ueec0312f-d437-581c-a9ee-84c6e712effb)
THE DAYS PASSED too slowly. Sheridan kept hoping to see Rashid, but he seemed to be avoiding her. She emailed with Kelly, planned the menus for two upcoming parties and felt guilty for not being there to help with the physical preparations. But there was really no need. Dixie Doin’s operated like the efficient party machine it was meant to be.
Sheridan had spent a lot of time making sure that was so when she’d decided to have a baby for her sister. Though she’d intended to work until the birth, there were never any guarantees and she’d wanted to be prepared for anything.
Kelly hardly missed her, though she assured Sheridan that she missed her personally. Emails from Annie were another story. Sheridan dreaded to open them. She knew Annie was upset, but the lack of understanding about the situation made her stomach hurt. Her sister actively hoped that the IUI had failed. Sheridan understood that wish, understood it would be the easiest thing for them all. She’d thought the same thing when she’d first been told, but now that she was here with Rashid and he was real to her, not just a random sperm donor, the situation was much more complicated.
She thought of the man who had touched her so sensually, the man who heated her blood and chilled her bones and confused her to no end. No, this situation was no longer random and impersonal. It had ceased to be so the instant he’d walked into her life.
If Rashid hadn’t come looking for her in Savannah, what would Annie have wanted her to do? Sheridan didn’t want to know, and yet she couldn’t help thinking about it. Would Annie have wanted this baby, too? Or would she have wanted Sheridan to terminate the pregnancy so she could start fresh with Chris’s sperm?
She didn’t even know if she was pregnant yet, but already she was emotional over the idea of losing this baby. Would it have been simpler if she’d never met Rashid, never slept with him?
Probably, but it was too late for that.
Sheridan took her usual route through the palace, stopping in the kitchen to see the staff and find out what they were preparing. She was fascinated with the food here, the fresh olive oil and breads, the fruits and nuts, and the flavorful dishes made with chicken and goat. The staff seemed wary at first, but as her visits increased—and Daoud, her formerly silent guard, or Fatima translated for her—they began to look forward to her arrival.
She tasted food, oohed and aahed appropriately and discussed ingredients. She even made note of some things to try for Dixie Doin’s. Not everything was Kyrian, however. There was plenty of French cuisine as well, which surprised her at first but not when she considered that the French had once sent colonists to Kyr.
If anyone found it odd that an American woman roamed the palace, they did not say so. In spite of the women she saw in business attire, she kept to the rules Rashid had set and wore Kyrian clothing. She even wore the hijab, because when her blond hair was hidden people seemed less likely to see her as an outsider.
Not that all Kyrians had black hair—there were some brown and tawny gold heads she’d seen—but her hair was so pale as to be noticeable when uncovered.
She’d gone to see the puppies again. When there was no sign of the mother dog, she asked Daoud why. That was when she learned that the puppies were orphans. They were being bottle-fed and taken care of by the grooms. She’d had Daoud ask if she could feed them, though he’d seemed reluctant to let her.
But she’d done it, and then she’d found herself surrounded by yipping dogs while she giggled and petted them and watched them suck down the milk. They were so sweet and she loved spending time with them. It was the highlight of each day, especially as she never saw Rashid.
She thought about him. She lay in her bed at night with her hand over her belly and thought about the man she’d made love to only once. The man whose baby might be in her womb right now.
She wondered where he was, if he was in his own bed and thinking of her, or if that single night had been an aberration and he now gave her no more consideration than what he’d had for breakfast. Probably the latter, considering she hadn’t seen him since that night when he’d left her standing in the darkened courtyard.
She’d considered walking down the corridor in the middle of the night again, opening his door and making him talk to her. But when she’d gotten brave enough to act on it, a guard had been stationed outside her own door. He’d looked up from his tablet computer, his eyes meeting hers steadily until she’d shut the door.
Clearly, Rashid had thought she might come looking for him and had taken steps to prevent it. She was somehow both embarrassed and furious at once at the notion.
Still, Sheridan went through the days and did not ask where Rashid was. If he thought she was pining for him, then she was going to prove she wasn’t. How could she when he was still such a stranger?
An enigmatic, compelling stranger that she wanted to know better.
Soon it was the night before her pregnancy test and Sheridan couldn’t seem to settle down. Her stomach was twisted in knots and nothing Fatima brought seemed appealing. She finally tried a little bread and some sparkling water and settled onto the couch to read for a bit when the door to her suite opened and Rashid walked in without preamble.
Emotion flooded her in an instant: happiness, anger, fear, sorrow. So many things it was hard to sort them all out, and all caused by this dark man who stood there in a smartly tailored gray suit and Kyrian headdress. Not for the first time, he made her heart skip a beat.
“Fatima says you aren’t eating,” he said, his voice tight and diamond edged. Just the way she expected it.
Of course he was getting reports about her. “I’m not hungry.”
He came over and glared down at her. If he would put his hands on his hips, it would be the perfect admonishing parent pose.
“You have to eat. It’s not good for you or the baby not to eat.”
She put her hand over her belly automatically. “We don’t know if there is a baby.”
“We will know soon enough. Besides, it’s better to assume there is a baby and do everything to take care of it properly.”
She wanted to yell at him. “I didn’t refuse, Rashid. I can’t keep anything down right now. My stomach is upset.” She set the book aside and matched his glare. “You promised we would spend some time together so we could know each other better, and yet I’ve not seen you in five days now.”
His expression didn’t ease. “I’ve been busy. This is what happens when one is a king.”
“Yet you found time to come here tonight and chastise me for not eating.”
He stripped off the kaffiyeh and tossed it aside. Then he raked a hand through his hair. “I came straight here from a meeting.” He walked over to the table where Fatima had left food in chafing dishes and examined the contents. Then he picked up a plate and dished some things onto it.
Sheridan bristled. “If you think you’re going to force me to eat—”
“Not at all,” he said, picking up a fork and heading over to sit in a nearby chair. “I haven’t eaten yet and I’m starving.”
Sheridan blinked. After days of silence, he was planning to eat with her? He’d taken her to bed, made her feel things that excited and confused her and then when she’d been certain he was planning to do it again, he’d left her standing alone in the courtyard.
To say she didn’t understand him was an understatement.
“Wow, I’m being graced with your majestic presence for dinner? I’m honored.”
He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming. But not with anger. “You said you wanted to talk to me. Here I am. Talk. Bore me silly if you must.”
She folded her arms. “Perhaps I’m a sparkling conversationalist. Did you ever consider that?”
“It has not been my experience with most women, but perhaps you will be different.”
She told herself it would be unwise to throw a pillow at him. She chose instead to focus on one aspect of what he’d said. “Most women? Who has managed to please you conversationally?”
He took a bite of food, chewed and swallowed. She didn’t think he would answer her, but then he looked up again and speared her with his hot gaze. “My wife did,” he said. “Not always, it’s true. But often enough. She died five years ago, in case you were wondering.”
Her belly had tightened into a hot ball of nerves. Of all the things he could have said, she hadn’t seen that one coming. Her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry, Rashid.”
She didn’t know what else to say. To lose someone you loved had to be such a tragedy. And someone so young, too. No wonder he sometimes seemed cold and lonely. It made sense now.
He set the plate aside. “This is not something I speak of, but if we are to marry, I thought you should know it.”
Her throat was tight and her heart hammered in her stomach, her chest, her ears. “I appreciate you telling me. But I’m not certain marriage is the answer to our dilemma. Assuming there is one.”
He frowned. “This child has to be born legitimate, Sheridan. It is the only way.”
Panic bloomed inside her. She didn’t want to take away a child’s heritage, but she also didn’t want to have to marry a man she hardly knew. They had sexual chemistry, but what if that was all they had? How could she live a lifetime with a man who’d only married her to claim a child?
“I assume I have no say in this?”
“You would prefer options? Marry me and be this child’s mother, or go home after you give birth. Those are your options.”
She figured it was a good thing there were no weapons nearby. “Those aren’t options.”
His eyes flashed. “They are the ones you have.”
“I won’t leave my child.”
“No, I didn’t think you would. I might have thought so once, but no longer.”
Her head was beginning to ache. “And what brought about this blinding revelation?”
“Daoud tells me you’ve been playing with the puppies. Feeding them, taking care of them. And then there is my kitchen staff, Fatima and even the stable hands. They like you, and you like them. They all say how kind you are, how caring. Yet even without these things, there is this deed you set out to do for your sister. You are a giving person, Sheridan, but I don’t believe you are so giving as to leave your child in Kyr. You will stay.”
His words wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She liked Daoud, Fatima and the kitchen staff. To know they liked her, too, was touching. “There is every possibility I will go home tomorrow.”
“Yes, there is.”
Pain sliced into her at the thought. It confused her. She wanted to go home, wanted to go back to her life in Savannah, her business, her friends. She wanted her life the way it was before Rashid al-Hassan had walked into it.
And yet that thought filled her with despair. Never to see him again? Never to make love to him? He didn’t seem much bothered either way, and that hurt, too.
“All this talk of marriage is premature,” she said tightly.
“Is it? We will know tomorrow. If you are pregnant, things must be done quickly.”
“And you’ve already decided everything. Without asking me what I might want.”
It was just like him, of course. King Rashid acted. He did not consult a soul. He simply did what he deemed best. Just like when he’d scooped her up and brought her to Kyr against her will.
“I have told you your options.” His voice was smooth and even, as if he was explaining things to a child.
Anger wrapped long fingers around her throat and squeezed. “I still have Annie to consider. What about her?”
His expression grew hard. Hard and cold and unapproachable. “What about her?”
That was the moment when the bile in Sheridan’s stomach started swirling hard, pushing upward, demanding release. She got to her feet and staggered toward the bathroom. She barely made it in time, and then she was bending over the sink, retching.
There was a hand in her hair, holding it back. He put another hand on her back and rubbed gently while tears sprang to her eyes and she felt utterly miserable. She wanted to tell him to stop touching her, but in fact it felt nice to have him soothe her. She was a traitor even to herself.
“I’m not trying to be harsh,” he said, his voice gentle for once. “But your sister cannot figure into my dynastic responsibilities. There are other solutions to her problem. You told me yourself about an experimental treatment.”
Sheridan put her hands on the counter, bracing herself, her eyes squeezed shut as she prayed there was nothing else left to come up.
“They can’t afford it,” she said miserably when she could speak.
“I can.”
Sheridan turned on the water and gulped some down before she straightened shakily and turned to face him. His beauty always hit her with a punch and now was no exception. A king had just held her hair while she’d thrown up the little bit of food she’d managed to eat.
If anyone had ever told her such a thing could happen, she’d have never believed them.
“You would do that for them?” Her heart was still pounding, but for a different reason now. It was everything she could have wanted for Annie. There were no guarantees the treatment would work, but it was a chance.
“I would not do it for them,” Rashid said very softly. “I would do it for you.”
* * *
Rashid watched her mouth fall open on a soft “oh” and was seized with a desire to claim her lips and take everything he desired. But she wasn’t feeling well, and he hadn’t come here for that anyway.
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.”
