Sheikh's Desert Desire

His mouth claimed hers again. It wasn’t a tender kiss, or even a teasing kiss. It was a full-out assault on her senses. He stepped in closer, pinning her body to the railing with his much bigger, much harder one.

And that was when she felt him. That insistently hard part of him that pressed into her, letting her know that he was every bit as affected by the tension and heat between them as she was.

Sheridan acted instinctively. She reached for him, cupped her hands over that hard part of him she shouldn’t crave but did. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone and she was suddenly ravenous. Rashid made a noise, a growl of satisfaction or encouragement in his throat. A thrill shot through her.

She’d thought he’d be disgusted by her, but that clearly wasn’t the case. He wanted her. And, right now, she wanted him. It was insane, but nothing about this situation was normal. If she slept with him, what would change? Not a damn thing.

She pushed her hands beneath his briefs, cupped him in her hands. He was big and full and so very ready that it almost scared her. She didn’t know this man at all, and what she did know hadn’t been very pleasant up until this point.

He’d threatened her, taken her against her will and brought her here and treated her as if she was someone he’d hired to do a job instead of a woman caught up in a mistake not of her own making. He’d been angry with her, and he’d started this to prove a point, to punish her.

Now he was in her hands, his body hard and taut and ready. He broke the kiss and stared down at her, his eyes dark and deep and so fathomless she was almost frightened. But he was just a man, she reminded herself, and he’d not harmed her. He’d never given a single indication that he would force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

“Sheridan,” he growled, his voice as tight as she’d yet heard it. “If you don’t mean to give yourself to me, you need to leave. Now. Because if you continue to touch me like that, I’m not stopping until I’ve tasted you as thoroughly as I desire.”

Sheridan bit her lip as her heart skittered recklessly in her chest. A sane woman would leave right this instant. A sane woman would not give her body to a man she barely knew simply because he made her feel more excited than she’d ever felt before.

She was not precisely sane at this moment. Maybe it was the heat of the desert, or the sand, or the opulent palace. She had no idea, but she wanted things she shouldn’t want.

“I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to stop touching you.”

With a groan, he swept her up into his arms and carried her through the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SOMEWHERE ON THE trip to his bed, panic began to flood her system. But before she could react, he set her on the bed and stripped her nightgown from her body. And then he was hovering over her, kissing her until her fear melted and her body caught on fire again.

Oh, this was so wrong—and so right. Sheridan put her arms around him, ran her hands over his broad back, the thick muscles and tendons, down his biceps and over his pecs. He was magnificent, and he no doubt knew it.

He left her mouth to lick his way to her breasts again. He took his time, sliding his tongue around and around before he sucked one aching nipple into his mouth. Sheridan cried out with the intensity of the pleasure spiking through her.

“You are sensitive,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin and yet cold where it drifted over her wet nipple. “So sensitive.”

Sheridan couldn’t speak. Her stomach churned with anticipation and, yes, even fear. Because what was she doing? Part of her brain kept wondering, but the rest refused to entertain any alternatives to what was currently happening.

And then Rashid moved down her body, his hands spanning her hips and peeling her panties down until he pulled them free and dropped them somewhere on the floor. She could see his beautiful face illuminated by moonlight, see the vaulted ceilings of the chamber, hear the exotic sounds of the Kyrian night drifting inside—and it made her feel as if she wasn’t herself. As if this was a fantasy. A thousand and one Arabian nights with her own desert king.

Sheridan bowed up off the bed as he touched his mouth to the wet seam of her body. The pleasure was so intense, so spellbinding, that she practically sobbed his name. He gave her no relief from the feelings rocketing through her. He held her legs open and licked her until she was a shuddering mass of nerve endings.

Sheridan’s world exploded in a white-hot blaze of light, her body tightening almost painfully before soaring over the edge. But before she could manage to come back to herself, Rashid was there, his mouth capturing hers, demanding her full attention. She melted into his kiss.

And then she felt him, big and hard and poised at her body’s entrance. He put a hand under her bottom, lifted her toward him. She wrapped her legs around him, her heart pounding as she waited for what happened next.

He seemed to hesitate for a long moment. And then he said something in Arabic, some muttered phrase, before he pushed into her body. He didn’t move fast, didn’t jam himself inside her. He took his time. And then he was deep within her, the two of them joined in the most intimate of ways, and fresh panic began to unwind inside her belly.

What was she doing? What was wrong with her? Sex with a stranger wasn’t like her at all!

Rashid’s head dropped slowly toward hers and she closed her eyes, tilting her mouth up until he captured it. She sighed—or maybe that was him. But then he started to move and she no longer cared about anything except what he was doing to her.

He was gentle at first. But as she arched her body into his, he took her harder and harder, until they were moving into each other in an almost punishing rhythm. She ran her hands over his skin until he gripped her wrists and shoved her hands over her head, binding her.

It was erotic, sensual and utterly exhilarating. Their skin grew hot and moist as they tangled together and the tension inside her coiled tighter than the lid on a pressure cooker.

And then she couldn’t hold on a moment longer. He was too good at this, too compelling, and she came in a rush of blinding intensity that left her gasping for air and crying his name at the same time.

She felt his body tighten inside hers, and then he flew over the edge with her, his breath a harsh groan in her ear. They lay together for a few moments, hearts pounding, skin slicked with perspiration, breaths razoring in and out. Sheridan’s legs trembled from gripping his hips so tightly with her thighs. She eased them down and lay still beneath him, her eyes closed and her brain finally began to whir into consciousness again.

What did one say after sex like that? Especially with a man you hardly knew and definitely didn’t like?

She didn’t get a chance to find out.

He pushed off her and stood, and cool air wafted over her skin, chilling her. She wanted to grab the covers and pull them up, and yet she couldn’t seem to move. Because he was staring down at her, his face stark in the darkness, his chest rising and falling with more than exertion.

He was angry. Or tormented. She wasn’t sure which, and it alarmed her. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to hide herself.

“Thank you, Sheridan,” he said, his voice so courteous and calm. And cold. Sheridan shivered at the frost in his tone. He bent down a moment and then straightened, laying her nightgown and underwear on the bed at her feet. “Get dressed and I will escort you back to your room.”

* * *

Rashid was up at dawn. He’d tossed and turned for the past couple of hours in a bed that still smelled like the woman he’d shared it with. The corners of his mouth turned down in a frown as his stomach twisted with guilt.

But why should that be? He enjoyed sex as well as the next man. He’d only ever loved one woman with his heart, but he’d loved many women in the physical way. He was not a monk and he hadn’t been celibate for the past five years. It had taken him over a year to take a woman to his bed again, but he’d done so.

Sex with Sheridan Sloane was nothing out of the ordinary for him. And yet it was. Because she might be carrying his child, and though he’d been so focused and intent on her body, on tasting her and enjoying her, he hadn’t expected the gravity of that fact to hit him with such a jolt after he’d found his pleasure in her body.

He’d bedded the woman who could be pregnant with his heir. A woman he didn’t love, but who he would have to take as his wife if she was.

Still, he should be happy he’d finally released some of this pent-up tension. He was not. He was strangely restless. Keyed up.

Ready to explore Sheridan’s creamy skin and secret recesses again and again.

That was the part that unnerved him. The sex had been pretty spectacular, hot and exciting and intense, and he’d been utterly focused on it, lost in it.

But then it was over and they’d lain there together, breathing hard, her heart throbbing against his own—and he’d wanted to escape. He didn’t understand how he could be so cold and unemotional one minute and so gutted the next.

She’d gutted him. Sex with her had gotten into his head in a way that sex with other women did not—and he didn’t like it one bit. So he’d risen and gone to get her robe from the terrace while she dressed. When he’d come back, he’d handed it to her silently. It had been cold from being outdoors, but she’d put it on anyway and belted it tight.

Then he’d escorted her back to her quarters because he hadn’t been certain she could find her way alone. She hadn’t spoken on the walk back down the corridors. He’d stopped in front of the door to the women’s quarters, vowing to himself to station a guard there at night in the future instead of outside the entrance to the private wing.

There was another way to her rooms, through his own, but he’d refused to use it. It would be too easy to go through that entry again if he started now, so he simply didn’t.

She’d hesitated at the door as if she wanted to say something to him, but he’d put his hands in her hair and held her face up for his kiss. To silence her. To end any awkwardness.

When she’d been rubbery and clinging to him, when his body was beginning to respond with fresh heat that he knew would ignite into a fire at any moment, he’d let her go, striding away without another word.

Her reaction had been a very resounding door slam. But it was for the best, really. He had too much to do, too many things to worry about, and no time to navigate the mire of repeatedly bedding a woman who might be carrying his heir. A woman who might soon be his wife.

If she was angry with him, so much the better. He’d intended to be nice to her, but he’d gone way overboard. And now he would have to stay away from her, as he’d intended in the first place.

* * *

Sheridan didn’t believe that Rashid would come to see her that day. After the confusing—and paradigm changing—previous night, she didn’t really think his decision to talk to her would stand.

And of course she was right. As the day wore into night, there was no sign of Rashid. She was allowed to wander the palace, as he’d promised, but she did not bump into him anywhere. She wore one of the dresses from the dressmaker, along with a hijab that covered her hair, and then she spent fascinating hours walking through the palace and studying the architecture.

But in spite of her enjoyment of everything the palace had to offer, she remained preoccupied with Rashid. With last night. She couldn’t think of it without blushing. She’d had sex with him—hot, wild, crazy, passionate sex—after knowing him for two days.

Worse, she wanted more. She knew it wasn’t going to happen—that it shouldn’t happen—but she couldn’t help but imagine Rashid coming to her room in the night. He would peel her clothing away, and then use that magical mouth of his to drive her insane with wild need.

Sheridan fanned herself absently with her hand. The guard who strode silently along wherever she went didn’t bat an eyelash. She’d tried to talk to him about mundane things, but he remained silent.

When she ventured out to the stables after dinner, he followed. But when she tried to touch one of the horses, just to pet its velvety nose, he stopped her.

“His Majesty would not want you to get bitten, miss.”

“I’ve been around horses before,” she said, more than a little surprised that he spoke English. She’d started to think he was ignoring her because he didn’t speak her language. “I think I can tell when they’re going to bite.”

Still, she strolled along until they came to a room at the end of the stable. She looked over the top of the door and practically melted.

“Puppies!” She turned to her guard. “What kind of dogs are they?”

He seemed to hesitate, as if he didn’t want to engage in conversation, but then he relented. “They are Canaan dogs, miss. A hardy and ancient breed.”

The puppies were small and squat, and had curled tails. They almost looked like huskies, except they weren’t gray and didn’t have thick fur. The mother dog was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

“They’re precious.”

Sheridan stood and watched the puppies wiggling happily, playing and yipping, and wished she could go in and sit down and let them climb all over her. But she knew her guard wouldn’t approve of that. Eventually, the sound of approaching hoofbeats made her turn her head. A man in desert robes sat astride a beautiful bay horse as it trotted toward the stable. When they reached the building, he swung down and handed the reins to a groom, who had appeared out of nowhere.

And then the man turned his head until dark glittering eyes met hers, boring into her with that combination of heat and anger that seemed unique to Rashid. Her belly clenched at the primal recognition that stirred to life inside her.

Beside her, her guard had dropped into a low bow. Sheridan, not quite knowing what to do, decided to curtsy. Oh, she was plenty angry with Rashid, but she would not create trouble by refusing to acknowledge his power over his subjects. She wasn’t stupid and she knew it was important to have her guard’s respect.

Rashid’s eyes narrowed—and then he came toward her. His gaze raked over her, taking in the hijab and dress—which she’d realized weren’t strictly necessary since she’d seen women in his palace dressed in Western business attire—before landing on her face again.

“Miss Sloane, isn’t it a bit late to be touring the stables?”

Miss Sloane. As if he hadn’t been inside her just a few hours ago. She lifted her chin. “I believe I already established that I’m still on a different sleep schedule than Kyr. Though it isn’t quite eight o’clock here yet, which I would consider early even were I acclimated to your time zone.”

Her heart thundered relentlessly in her breast as she stared at him. He was no longer quite the stranger he’d been before last night’s passionate encounter, and it disconcerted her.

He turned his attention to the guard. “Leave us.”

The guard rose and melted into the night. Sheridan felt a hot wash of anger move through her.

“I realize you’re a king, but do you have to talk to people like that?”

His brows drew down. “Like what? I told him what he needed to know. Do you prefer I ask him politely to go?”

“It might be nice, but no, I don’t really expect that out of you.”

“You sound like my brother.”

She blinked. “Do I? Is he a nice, sensible man?”

“Nicer than I am.”

“So you admit you aren’t very nice.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He shrugged. “I am who I am. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.”

She dropped her gaze. It was an odd conversation in some respects. Odd because of what they’d done the night before, and odd because she could feel that fire beneath the surface. It was only waiting for ignition.

“After last night, I really didn’t expect an explanation.”

Oh, wow, had she really said that? She wanted to bite her tongue.

He searched her features. “You are upset because I did not allow you to stay in my bed.”

“Allow?” She resisted the urge to poke him in the chest, but only barely. “What makes you think I wanted to stay? We were finished and it would have been awkward to stay. You don’t strike me as the type for small talk, and I’d rather not have to attempt it. It was better that I left.”

His dark eyes flashed with some unidentifiable emotion. “You continually surprise me. I thought you would be upset. Regretful. Wringing your hands and wishing you could undo the things we did together.”

She shrugged as if casual sex was her thing when it really wasn’t. “Why would I want to undo it? It was nice.”

“Nice?” His voice was a growl and she suddenly wanted to laugh. Even superior kings had fragile egos when it came to their performance in bed. Hint that you were less than satisfied and you found yourself faced with a dangerously tense male animal with a point to prove.

“Unlike you, yes, it was nice. Very nice, if you insist.”

He stiffened. And then he laughed softly. Once more, the sound of his laughter had a way of surprising her. It was as if he didn’t laugh often enough and wasn’t quite sure how. “You are baiting me. I see it now. If I said the moon was golden tonight, you’d say it was yellow.”

That pesky warmth was flowing in her limbs again. Her body ached with his nearness, and though she had another, more immediate ache between her thighs to remind her of his possession, that didn’t stop her from wanting it again.

“And what am I supposed to be baiting you into?” Her voice was huskier than she would have liked it. But he already knew how he affected her. One corner of his mouth lifted in a superior grin.

“Perhaps you want another demonstration of my niceness.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “Hardly. Once was enough, thank you.”

Once was not enough. And that really worried her. Why did she want him? It wasn’t like her to crave a man the way she craved him after only one night. Plus, this was too complicated. They weren’t dating. This wasn’t a man she’d met in Savannah, a man with the freedom and ability to pursue a relationship with her.

This was a king. A man who ruled a desert nation. A man who was so unlike any man she’d ever known that he confused her. He was arrogant, bossy and he already acted as if he owned her.

And she let him. She’d always thought she was a feminist, but the way he made her behave was decidedly not liberated. It was needy, physical and completely focused on sexual pleasure. If he threw her into a stall right now and had his way with her on the hay, she’d only urge him on.

He moved away from her and she tried not to let her disappointment show.

“Come, I will take you back to your quarters.”

She threw another glance at the puppies before joining him. They walked side by side, but not touching, toward the palace.

“You like puppies?” he said.

“I love puppies. I’ve never had a dog, but I plan to get one some day.”

“You’ve never had a dog?”

She shook her head as they walked across the courtyard. “My sister was bitten by a neighbor’s dog when she was four. So we never got one because she was too scared.”

“That hardly seems fair,” he said.

Sheridan felt that old familiar prick of resentment flaring deep inside. It was followed, as always, by guilt. It wasn’t Annie’s fault.

“Maybe not, but she cried whenever my parents talked about getting a dog for the family, so they gave up. We didn’t even have a cat.”

“Did a cat bite her, too?”

Sheridan stopped abruptly. Rashid was a few steps ahead when he turned toward her, waiting. “She had allergies,” Sheridan said. “And it’s not her fault.”

He moved toward her again. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him. He bristled with a coiled energy that she was certain contained a hint of anger. At her? At Annie?

“Perhaps not, but it seems to me as if your sister’s problems have done nothing but impact your life. Did you always give up everything you wanted for her sake?”

Sheridan’s chest grew tight. The lump in her throat was huge. “Don’t talk to me that way. You don’t know my sister and you have no right to judge her. Annie’s fragile. She needs me.”

His gaze raked her face. “Yes, she needs you. She needs you to acquiesce to her demands, to give her what she wants, to provide the thing she believes she’s been cheated out of.”

Sheridan gasped. And then she reacted. She moved to slap him, but he caught her wrist and held it tight. His dark eyes were hard. And filled with a sympathy she’d not seen there before.

She was shaking deep inside. “How dare you? Annie didn’t ask me to have this baby for her. I offered! And I’m going to do it, even if it takes another year to start again.”

He ran his fingers down her cheek tenderly, and she trembled. “Of course you offered, habibti. Because you love her and because you were afraid for her. I don’t fault you for this. I fault her for refusing to see what it might cost you.”

She shook her head softly. “They are paying for the procedure and the birth. It’s not costing me anything.”

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

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.