Her Ardent Sheikh

by Kristi Gold

  “You never know,” Helena said with a smile. “And if I were you, I’d be prepared for anything.”

  Jamie wasn’t at all prepared the next morning when two floral delivery trucks pulled up at the curb while she was attempting to head to the hospital for work. The delivery-men opened their sliding van doors and carried in vases full of every flower imaginable, two at a time, while Jamie stood by speechless. By the time they were done, Jamie’s entire apartment was covered in blooms, from roses to carnations to daisies and some beautiful orange blossoms that Jamie had never seen before.

  They were all from Ben, or so the card on the largest vase full of pink roses declared. The message read, Marry me—Ben. Not Love, With love, I love you, or any endearment whatsoever. Jamie tried not to be too disappointed, but she couldn’t help it. Ben was trying to buy his way back into her life.

  Not a chance she would give in that quickly.

  Once she reached the hospital, she picked up the phone and dialed his number. Fortunately, Alima answered.

  “Is Ben in?” she asked the housekeeper.

  “Jamie, child, is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. I need to talk with your boss.”

  “I am afraid he is not present. He has left today for Canada, and I do not expect him until tomorrow morning.”

  That was probably best, Jamie decided. If she heard his deep magnetic voice, no telling what she might say or do. “Just leave him a message, please. Tell him I loved the flowers, but I’m not a blooming idiot.”

  A long silence filled the line. “I do not write English well.”

  “Then tell him thanks, but no thanks.”

  “He will be most disappointed he could not speak with you. Should I have him call you?”

  “No!” Jamie lowered her voice when she saw another transcriptionist peek from behind a nearby cubicle. “Just tell him what I said.”

  “As you wish, Jamie. I would like to say that I greatly miss your company. I have no one with whom to view my television programs.”

  “Maybe we can do that again some day.” A promise Jamie shouldn’t make. She had no intention of returning to the ranch. “You could come here to my place. I’m off on Thursdays. We could just hang around and watch the soaps all day. Veg out on the couch.”

  “I do not understand this ‘veg out.’ Do you mean cook the vegetables?”

  “No, act like one.” Jamie could picture Alima shaking her head. “Well, I need to go. And I miss you, too.”

  “I am glad,” Alima said, a smile in her voice. “The sheikh misses you terribly. I believe he suffers from a broken heart.”

  Jamie’s own heart dropped over the declaration. “I’m sure he’ll recover quickly once he goes home again.” Home to his mistresses with no commitment, no ties.

  “He will not leave, although his mother has called several times since your departure. He claims he still has unfinished business.”

  “I hope he finishes it soon,” Jamie said. “I’m sure his mother misses him, too.” As much as Jamie missed him.

  “I would assume that, but I believe his unfinished business involves you.”

  “There’s nothing unfinished between us, Alima. It’s over.”

  “Nothing is over until the large woman sings.”

  Jamie stifled a laugh. Alima had finally adopted some American sayings, even though they weren’t quite accurate. “I suppose, but don’t count on it.”

  “I only count on two things, dear Jamie. The sun rising in the east, and the power of love between a man and a woman. You would do well to remember that.”

  Alima said a brief goodbye and hung up, leaving Jamie to ponder her words. Yes, there was a lot of power in love, but Ben didn’t really love her. He wanted to own her, and Jamie refused to be owned by any man. Even a man she loved.

  Nine

  “Does Miss Morris know you’re comin’ here tonight?”

  Ben smiled at the elderly landlord and prepared to lie. “Yes, she knows. I am making her dinner.” He nodded toward the paper sacks in his arms.

  The man eyed him with suspicion, angering Ben. He had advanced the landlord six months’ rent on Jamie’s apartment after Klimt ravaged the place. He had spoken to him several times by phone to ascertain that Jamie’s apartment was still safe. He had arranged for him to let the delivery-man in to set up the new furniture. Surely by those gestures alone the proprietor realized that Ben’s intentions were honorable where Jamie was concerned.

  “Mr. Grable, I assure you that Miss Morris would not mind you opening the door for me.”

  A long moment of silence passed before the landlord spoke again. “Well, I s’pose it would be okay for me to let you in seeing as how you did help her out with her rent and all.”

  “Thank you for your consideration.”

  With agonizing slowness, the man slipped a key in the lock and pushed open the door. He turned back to Ben, still looking reluctant. “I sure hope she don’t get mad at me. You be sure to tell her this was all your idea.”

  “I will be certain to inform Miss Morris of your kindness.”

  The man left Ben standing on the threshold of Jamie’s apartment without further protest. Ben stepped inside, pleased to find that the flowers he’d sent were still intact, not torn to shreds. When he’d arrived home that morning, Alima had given him Jamie’s message. That would not stop him from his mission. Tonight was only the beginning of his “wooing.”

  Making his way into the small kitchen, he set the bags on the small counter and surveyed his surroundings, feeling as foreign as he had when he’d first come to America.

  How difficult could it be to prepare this simple meal? Economics had been his college major, and he’d mastered all the upper-level courses with ease. He had handled many of his own investments and had proven successful in all his financial endeavors. He could most certainly make hot dogs.

  Ben rifled through the bag and withdrew the frankfurters, a can of Texas chili, a package of buns, and a small plastic bottle of mustard. The other bag held two bottles of champagne he’d had the Cattleman’s Club’s new bartender order. The best that money could buy, fitting for a grand celebration. Ben hoped that by the time this plan was complete, both he and Jamie would have something to celebrate.

  Ben read the directions on the package of franks. They were vague at best. With little time before Jamie returned home from her job, he opted to use the microwave, although he had never operated one before. Surely this would also be an elementary task. Opening a cabinet, he took out two gold-rimmed dishes. Fine china. He was pleasantly surprised that Jamie would own such nice things after claiming she had simple tastes.

  Standing in front of the microwave, Ben stared at the buttons in hopes they would soon make sense. The directions on the hot dogs stated to heat each one for 30 seconds. Since he was warming three, Ben set the timer for five minutes to assure they were completely done. He had never cared for the fare, and he certainly did not enjoy the thought of eating cold wieners.

  He wrestled with the electric can-opener for a time. The can of chili slipped from the magnet, landing on the counter with a thud. He poured the contents into a pan and set it on the stove with the temperature turned to High. Feeling proud that he had managed thus far, Ben smiled with satisfaction as he tore open the package of buns. Simple. Why had he believed this would be so difficult?

  A loud pop startled Ben, and his gaze shot to the microwave that seemed to be shooting sparks. Opening the door, he found the plate shattered, and the inside of the tomb covered in pink fleshy remains. What had he done wrong?

  No matter. He would simply follow the directions to boil the wieners. At least he had plenty left.

  A foul smell, followed by a gurgling noise, drew his attention. The chili erupted from the pan like a volcano, splattering the white countertops and floor with brown-orange blobs. Ben immediately grabbed for the pan without thinking. The handle seared his hand and he dropped the offending pot back onto the stove, sending the chili do
wn the front of his neatly starched white shirt.

  Now he was a mess. The kitchen was a mess. And much to his dismay, Jamie was standing at the door, glaring at him.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was low and surprisingly controlled.

  “I am preparing dinner.” Ben grabbed for a nearby dish towel and began rubbing at the spots on his shirt, avoiding her steely glare.

  “It looks like you’ve had a food fight.”

  Yes, he had definitely been fighting with the food, and he was losing the battle. But he vowed not to give up. “I will clean the mess.”

  Jamie walked to the stove, grabbed a spoon from a white vase holding several utensils and began stirring the chili. “It’s just a tad burned, Ben. I don’t think it’s edible in this state.”

  “Do you wish your hot dogs without the chili? Or I can return to the market and buy another can.”

  Jamie shook her head. “No. I’m not hungry.”

  Ben was. Hungry for the taste of her, the feel of her. She was dressed in snug black slacks and a red silk blouse. The pants adhered to her small bottom, defining her curves.

  She turned to him and leaned back against the counter as if she had sensed his gaze. “What’s this all about?”

  Ben streaked a hand through his hair. “I wanted to surprise you. Prove to you that I would make a good husband.”

  She searched the kitchen war zone before returning her gaze to him. “I don’t think you have a calling for the culinary arts.”

  “True, but if we are married, Alima would do the cooking for us.”

  She pinned him with her crystal-green eyes. “I like to cook, actually. And I really like living alone.” Her gaze faltered, leading Ben to believe that like him, she had not enjoyed being alone at all.

  Cautiously he moved toward her and brushed a long lock of golden hair from her shoulders. “I have missed you in my bed. I have missed your singing and your smile. Have you missed me?”

  “I’m doing…just fine.” She looked anywhere but directly at him.

  “I believe you are lying.”

  She met his gaze, the familiar anger in her eyes. “I believe you’ve got an ego the size of Texas.”

  “Believe what you will,” he said, bracing his hands on either side of the counter, “but I know that what we shared still haunts your dreams, as it does mine. I do not believe you can forget how well our bodies fit together, how much enjoyment we have taken from one another. How much remains to be shared between us.”

  With that, he took a chance and brought his lips to hers, leaning into her so that she would know how much he desired her. At first she tried to resist, but soon she opened to him and allowed him entry to the sweet recesses of her mouth. His whole being was consumed in fire generated by the kiss. The play of her tongue against his, the feel of her delicate body molded to his, drove him to near insanity. He wanted to take her right there, shove their clothing down and drive into her with the force of his need.

  “No!” She pushed him back and ducked under his arm. He turned to find her backed up to the opposing wall, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not going to do this again. I’m not going to let you.”

  His gaze lingered over her body then came back to her flushed face. “It seems you already have.”

  She paced the kitchen and stopped at the open microwave. “What have you done to my grandmother’s china?” She spun around to face him and pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

  “Why? Do you not wish to acknowledge what is between us? Would you continue to deny it?”

  “What’s between us is chemistry. I want more.”

  “I will give you everything.”

  “You can’t.”

  He took a step forward. “Tell me what you need, and I will search to the ends of the earth to find it for you.”

  “If you are too dumb to realize what I need from you, then you might as well give up.”

  Ben truly did not know what she needed from him that he had not already offered. How could he make her understand that he would do anything for her? How could he convince her that his life meant nothing without her in it?

  He struggled to find the words to express himself, but they caught in his throat.

  She sighed. “Ben, I’m tired. Please leave now.”

  He saw no point in continuing to beg her. He had another plan to develop, one that most surely would impress her. “I will clean up, then I will go.”

  “No, I’ll do it. Go home. Let Alima fix you something decent to eat.”

  He no longer had an appetite for anything but Jamie’s presence. “You are certain you wish me to leave?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  The familiar ache again settled on his heart. He was failing miserably at being a worthy man in her eyes. Yet he could not stand the thought of leaving her for good.

  “All right, I will go tonight. But I will return.”

  She stomped her foot. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here. Would you stop being so damned stubborn?”

  “I will not stop until I have convinced you that we belong together.”

  Her eyes grew hazy with unclaimed tears, turning them a deeper emerald. Right then the urge to hold her again lived strong in Ben. But he refrained from giving in. Perhaps he would leave her be for a few days. His absence might convince her that she did miss him.

  He turned and headed toward the door. With one hand braced on the knob, he said, “Pleasant dreams, my Jamie. I will be having them about you.”

  Jamie spent the next few days in a mental fog. Ben didn’t call. Neither did her father. Never had she felt so alone. So confused. At least she had her work at the hospital and a few new friends she’d made in recent days. She’d even stopped by the local pet store and bought two goldfish to keep her company. Not that they provided all that much companionship.

  After working her shift, including a few hours’ overtime, she came home exhausted one evening to find two boxes on her dinette table—one large, one small—and a note from her landlord stating he’d personally delivered them to make sure they arrived safely, as ordered by the “Arabian man.”

  Prince Ben strikes again. What was he up to now?

  After making some hot chamomile tea, Jamie sat at the table and stared at the boxes for a while, the pocketknife her father had given her on her twelfth birthday clutched in one hand, the teacup in the other. After a few moments, her curiosity got the best of her. She set the cup aside and picked up the smaller package. Slitting it open with the knife, she found beneath the packing a gold box from the Royal Confection Shoppe. She loved that place and often stopped by the window to admire the display, but she couldn’t afford to buy any of their expensive candies.

  Opening the lid, she found an array of dark chocolates—her favorite—and in the middle, surrounded by the candies, a small blue velvet box.

  Jamie held her breath as she opened the hinged lid. A ring, a brilliant oval diamond, surrounded by emeralds, twinkled in the glow of the overhead light fixture. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. It had to be at least two carats and no telling how expensive.

  Slipping the ring on her finger, she found it to be a perfect fit. She wasn’t the least bit surprised, knowing it had come from Ben. He would know her ring size. How, she couldn’t say. But he would, as surely as he knew her weakness for rich chocolates, something she had never told him.

  Jamie turned her attention back to the candy and found a slip of paper wedged between the edge of the box and the paper shells. She unfolded the note and read.

  I chose the emeralds to match the color of your eyes, yet this ring does not compare to your beauty. I hope that you will accept it as a token of my feelings for you—Ben.

  Feelings? What feelings? Okay, so maybe he did have feelings for her. Maybe he did care for her. So why couldn’t he just say it?

  She glanced at the other box and wondered how on earth he could top the ring. The side was stamped F
ragile, leading Jamie to believe it was something that could break as easily as her heart had over the past few days.

  Standing over the box, she again took the knife and carefully opened it. The inside was full of green squiggly foam packing. She dug through the curly worms in a rush, sending them flying like jumping beans all over the table and floor. Just beneath were several tissue-wrapped items. She tore into one and again couldn’t believe her eyes.

  A porcelain angel, and below that, more angels. All in varying shapes and sizes, many exact replicas of those belonging to her grandmother—the ones Klimt had destroyed with his careless disregard.

  With each one she opened, another tear escaped down Jamie’s cheek. How did Ben know how much these meant to her? How could he so easily bend her heart to his will?

  Slumping into the chair, she clasped one delicate figurine in her hand and cried. Cried because she was so touched by the gesture. Cried because so many emotions crowded in on her.

  She wanted to damn his persistence. She wanted to curse him for making her love him more. She wanted to call him and tell him to get his cute princely butt over here so she could show him her gratitude in wicked ways that would leave them both breathless. But she wouldn’t. Not until she’d had more time to think.

  With a sigh, she picked up the stack of envelopes that had come in the mail. Most were bills that needed to be paid. A lot of junk mail and credit-card solicitations. Some kind of notice from the bank. She opened that first, praying she wasn’t overdrawn. Inside she found a letter, and her blood pressure rose with each word she read.

  After she was finished, she slapped the letter on the table, yanked off the ring, and cursed the sheikh.

  Ben Rassad had more nerve than a skydiver, and she was darn sure going to tell him he had gone too far this time.

  Jamie stood on Ben’s doorstep muttering a litany of curses that would have caused her mother to go for the lye soap. If only her mother were here now, telling her what to do next.