by Dana Marton
“Tests will be necessary,” he continued thoughtfully, “so my son’s legitimacy cannot be challenged when the time comes for him to take the throne. He’ll be the crown prince. My heir.”
“No.” Denial flew from her lips as she gripped the edge of the table, pushing her chair back. “Are you kidding me?”
She’d been thinking of her son as hers, singularly hers. She didn’t want anyone to have any claim on him, let alone someone as powerful as a sheik. Her son would have a future as a normal little boy, not crippled by expectations and responsibility in some strange, distant country. “That’s not necessary. As soon as you’re well, you can go back home. You don’t need to be involved in this.”
“As soon as I’m well, we’re getting married.” The somber look on his face said he wasn’t kidding. Nor was he happy.
Welcome to the club. Maybe they could have T-shirts made and have membership cards printed.
She’d spent the last nine months planning on how she was going to be the best single mom ever. Her plans did not, whatsoever, include being married to a sheik.
The sounds of a chopper came through the open windows, coming from the east.
Amir immediately tensed and set his spoon down. “We’ll pack and leave now. No hideout is secure if used too long. My enemies had a whole month to track me here.”
“This is Wyoming, not the Middle East.” Honestly, they were at her father’s cabin, in the middle of nowhere. Even some of the locals couldn’t find their way out here.
They had the Wind River Mountains to the west and nothing but the Rattlesnake Badlands on the other side as far as the eye could see. Beyond a couple of farmers way down the road, few people lived out this way.
She went to the window to look up at the sky. Amir limped over to pull her back, but she resisted until she got a good look. Did the chopper slow as it flew over them? She couldn’t tell for sure, but soon it moved on toward the badlands. “Probably one of the charter tours. They take tourists to see the antelope and the wild mustangs.”
He didn’t look convinced, didn’t relax until he tugged her back to the table. “It might be too late to leave. I shall summon my security here. When they arrive—”
“You’re welcome to go with them.”
“When you’re my wife—”
“Let’s make one thing clear,” she said as unequivocally as she could. “I’m not marrying you. And I’m not in any kind of danger. You can’t use that as an excuse to wrap me in cotton and lock me away. I’m not going to be any man’s emotional slave. And I’m not going to be any powerful guy’s power play. I’m not going to be your prisoner, with you holding this baby over me.”
She clamped her mouth shut, regretting most of that monologue as soon as the last word was out. A simple no would have sufficed. She was projecting and she knew it. But at least she didn’t leave any doubt about how she felt. Considering how used to getting his way he must be, that couldn’t be a bad thing.
His face hardened on cue, his eyes filling with determination as he took her hands and kept them. “My purpose is not capturing you for selfish reasons. I want only what is best for you and my son. I would give my life to keep you from danger.”
The I-control-you-for-your-own-good song and dance. She knew that one by heart, had watched her mother live it with various men after she’d abandoned the family.
“I’m not marrying you, and you can’t make me,” she told the sheik and she meant it.
He glared regally.
He was the only man she knew who could look magnificent in a hospital gown and make her head swim. Figured. Somehow he managed to radiate strength—along with massive disapproval—even in his current, weakened state.
She hadn’t forgotten him in the past nine months, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have forgotten him—even if he hadn’t returned—for as long as she lived. But he did return. She’d been moonstruck enough so that if he’d suggested a loose liaison after the baby was born, she might have gone for it. He was the perfect man to have an affair with.
But what he wanted was to control her completely.
“You carry my son,” he said with the arrogance of a man who knew he held the trump card.
“And this is not the Middle Ages,” she told him with the certainty of a woman who believed she had sanity and progress on her side. She pulled her hands out of his, at last, away from his tingling heat.
His voice dropped an octave as he said, “Do you hate me that much for not coming back sooner? I did not abandon you. You were gone when I woke. Matters of the state… I had to return home to take care of things.”
“I hate you?” She threw her hands up, her frustration escaping at last. She didn’t have as good a grip on her emotions these days as she would have liked. A flood of hormones ruled her mind and body.
“Right. I hate you. That’s why I put my entire career and everything I worked so hard for at risk by hiding a patient. If anyone found you, I could have lost my medical license. I could have gone to jail.”
She’d had plenty of time to worry about that while he’d been out cold. Giving birth in jail wasn’t on the list of things she wanted to try. She had risked everything, because she couldn’t do otherwise. Because she’d believed him when he’d said he was in danger.
His eyes never left her face. “I do thank you for keeping me here all this time. Ask for any reward and I will see that you shall receive it. But the matter of my heir is nonnegotiable.”
Of all the magnanimous… She walked away before she could have said something she would regret. “I think I preferred you in a coma. You’re much nicer when you’re not talking, you know that?”
The prince of Persia she remembered was passionate and…well, very passionate and intelligent and had a sense of humor. Also, um, passionate. She swallowed. Sheik Amir Khalid was arranging her life without any regard to her wishes. Nobody was the boss of her. She’d worked hard to make sure that her choices would be her own, that she wouldn’t owe anyone anything, that she wouldn’t depend on anyone for anything. Ever. She would never be like her mother.
She needed to get out of the cabin and away from him for a while. She had the perfect excuse. “Why don’t you lie down and get some rest, give your mind a little time to settle? I need to leave for an hour or two. I have a doctor’s appointment today.”
“Is something wrong?”
“A regular, scheduled checkup.”
Relief crossed his face as he returned to his food. She could see that swallowing was difficult for him, but he was determined to finish. He understood that eating was necessary to regain his strength. Good. At least they wouldn’t have to fight about that, because she was about out of the patience she kept in reserve for stubborn sheiks.
“You will not go,” he decreed between two spoonfuls. “I will have the royal physician flown in by tomorrow. He shall take over your care.”
She could feel her blood pressure inch up. “I will go to the doctor of my choice. Because I’m a free woman in a free country, and not one of your subjects.” She folded her arms over her chest, working hard not to say anything she might regret later. He was the father of her child, and he would be that forever. She needed to keep that in mind. Establishing an acrimonious relationship wouldn’t serve anyone’s interest.
“I am your future husband. You should not think angry thoughts about me,” he said with disapproval.
He didn’t know half of her angry thoughts. She was happy to fill him in. “I’m thinking whether I’d lose my medical license if I strangled you with the IV line, Your Highness.”
She expected him to issue some further royal command, or even a threat, and was ready with a retort. She wasn’t scared of him—he’d be lucky if he made it back to the sofa on his own. But instead of berating her for her latest insolence, he laughed. The same laugh that she remembered, the one that had a way of sneaking inside her chest. It completely disarmed her.
The warm, rich sound brought back memories of a
luxurious suite with an equally luxurious bed, a thorough seduction, the most amazing two days of her life. The images flitting through her head stole her breath. She turned and busied herself with tidying up his hospital bed while she regained her equilibrium, resenting that he could make her lose it so easily.
He finished his meal and did stagger back to the sofa unaided, abandoning his empty bowl on the table. Of course, His Highness would. She shot him a glare and went to take care of that. She always did all the dishes immediately and kept all food sealed away. Otherwise, she’d have a battle with ants on her hands. Not something on the sheik of Jamala’s radar, obviously. He had a palace full of staff to worry about that sort of thing.
“I do need my cell phone now.” Sitting with his back supported, he lifted his left leg and tried to hold it steady before lowering it again, then did the same with the right leg.
“You don’t have a cell phone. You didn’t have much on you when you climbed from the wreckage.”
His face turned somber at the mention of the explosion. “Then I’ll need yours, if I may.”
She pulled it from her pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it. At least his reflexes were okay. He was doing amazingly well, considering that he’d been in a coma for nearly four weeks. His bearing was still regal, his head held high and proud. He could be just as well sitting on a throne than on her worn-out couch. Okay, minus the leg lifts.
“If you don’t know who blew up that limo… How do you know whom to trust?” She’d kept him alive this long, and he’d made it. Calling the wrong person could end all that. Just because she didn’t want to marry him didn’t mean she wanted to see him hurt.
He kept up with the leg exercise. “I must call the palace.”
The palace. Right.
Because he was a sheik. And she was a Wyoming doctor who was still paying off her student loans. A giant gap stretched between them, a gorge that could not be bridged: different countries, different cultures, different social status.
And all that distance didn’t have to be bridged, really. Because they were not going to be part of each other’s lives in any meaningful way. There was no way in hell that she was marrying him. No way was she going to be Mrs. Sheik.
He could make his calls, have his people come and pick him up, the sooner the better. Then she was out of here. She had a baby to bring into this world, and a carefully planned life to live.
She hesitated for a moment, a small part of her wishing for the impossible.
Then he said, “I’ll assign you a secretary who will tie up all loose ends for you here. You won’t be coming back to the U.S. for a while. I’ll hire a manager to take care of this cabin and any other property you own if you wish to keep them.”
On second thought, the smartest thing might be to leave before his people got here. She didn’t think he would take her against her will, but then again, she wouldn’t stake her life on it.
“How nice of you,” she said, while at the same time she thought, Time to ditch the sheik.
THE MAN GIVING the orders rattled off a residential address for one of the quiet suburbs of Dumont, the perfect hiding place to move his plans to the next stage. “Use GPS. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Make sure you’re not followed.”
“Yes, sir.” The man taking the orders hesitated. “At the pickup site… It looks like we’re going to have some collateral damage.”
“Potential for witnesses?”
“Slim to none. We’re talking about a pretty remote area here.”
“Good. I’ll send a cleanup crew. You keep your focus on the sheik. Bring him to me. Alive if you can.” He hesitated. Yes, Amir Khalid would make the perfect bait for his royal friends, but if the men were too careful around him and let him slip through their fingers once again… “Of course, if he dies, he dies. As long as he doesn’t escape again, I’ll be pleased.”
“Yes, sir. There’ll be no mistakes.”
“There better not be.” This was just the beginning.
“We’re heading out right now, sir.”
“I expect a call within the hour about whether you made a capture or made a kill.”
AMIR DIALED HIS secretary at the palace, lifting his right leg and rolling his ankle at the same time. He didn’t want to limp in front of his security. Or in front of Isabelle. Her resistance baffled him. In his experience, people challenged authority when they perceived it as weak. The sooner he regained his full strength, the better.
He knew what was best and he was going to take care of her and his son. As soon as she was over her feminine hysteria, she would come to see that his was the best way, the only way, really. Protocol and tradition demanded they be together. And so did he.
“I’ll be outside, watering.” She headed for the door.
“If you see that chopper again, come back in.”
The line was picked up at the other end. “Sahed Habib, royal secretariat. How can I be of service?”
“It’s Amir.”
Stunned silence came first, then the sound of rapid breathing. “Are you all right, Sheik?” The always stoic voice thrilled for the first time that Amir could remember. “What happened? Everybody is looking for you.”
He explained as much as he knew, then had the man fill him in on all that he’d missed. Fahad had betrayed the alliance and was dead. Amir sat stunned, the news hitting him hard. Fahad had been his best friend’s cousin and head of security.
He and Efraim were going to have a long talk about this, which he didn’t look forward to. But first, he had other matters to arrange.
“I need the royal physician here at the Wind River Ranch and Resort. Put him on the next plane,” he ordered, without going into detail about Isabelle.
He was careful about what he said over the phone, careful not to mention his location. If Fahad had been involved, then so could others from the palace. He sent short messages of reassurance to his sister and key people in the government about being in touch very soon, then ended that call and dialed Efraim.
“Where have you been? Do you have any idea… Never mind. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even call the police. There’s danger—” The line went dead. No battery power left on the phone. He grunted with frustration as he slapped the phone onto the counter and headed for the door. He needed the charger from Isabelle.
He caught a glimpse of her through the window. She was walking from the back of her SUV to the front and…getting in? The nervous glance she cast toward the cabin confirmed his sudden suspicions. She was sneaking out on him once again.
“Isabelle!” He lunged for the door, a feat his legs weren’t quite ready for, tripped and grabbed on to the shelf by the coat hanger, pulled the stack of blankets off it by accident. The hunting rifle that had been hidden under them crashed to the floor with a clatter.
So it was nothing but sheer luck that when the beaten-up black van tore up the road, leaving a dust cloud in its wake, he had a gun in hand. An exceedingly good thing, since the second the van stopped, the men jumping from it opened fire.
They weren’t playing around. Judging from their weapons, they were stone-cold professionals, here to do business.
Isabelle dove inside the SUV as best as she could, considering her round belly. He provided her with cover and prayed that she got out of there before she got hurt. Instead, she drove to pick him up, tires squealing.
“Go! I’ll hold them off.” He took aim and squeezed off another shot.
“I swear if you don’t get in…” She looked scared to death but determined, steel glinting in her blue eyes.
And he didn’t have any choice but to jump into the car. Hesitating would have put their lives in even more danger.
Then Isabelle was peeling out of there, driving like mad down some trail that went behind the cabin.
“Duck!” he yelled just in time, as a hail of bullets hit the back window and it exploded.
Chapter Three
“Are you hit?” Isabelle s
werved to avoid a pothole the size of a meteor crater, her voice an octave higher than usual. She was used to hospital emergencies, but a shoot-out at her father’s old cabin was a whole different category. Normally, she had to deal only with the aftermath of violence, sewing up cuts after a fight or removing bullets. Being in the middle of a battle was a whole other kettle of fish.
“No. You?” Amir pulled himself back into the car at last. He’d been hanging half out the window, firing at the men behind them like some Old West gunslinger, keeping them pinned to their positions, doing interesting things to the hospital gown he was wearing.
Good thing she wasn’t watching.
He was not a sheltered palace royal, obviously. “I’m fine. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
He gave her a hard look. “You know, all Arabs are not terrorists. My father was an excellent hunter. He used to take me with him.”
She glanced into the rearview mirror. “I wasn’t implying anything.”
The van gave pursuit, but they didn’t know every dip in the old country road as she did, and the “dirt-bike obstacle course” nature of it slowed them down. “I’m guessing those are the men who want you dead,” she said as calmly as she was capable. “Who are they?”
“I don’t recognize a single face.” He scowled. “Are you sure you are all right? You didn’t hit your belly?”
“I’m a doctor. I can monitor my own condition.” She didn’t need him to take care of her. She needed to be far away from him.
She glanced in the rearview mirror again. “They’re getting closer.” As they neared the main highway, the old road got better and better, proving less of an impediment.
He rifled through the glove compartment. “I’m out of bullets. Do you have any more?”
“Sure, and check for that grenade launcher under your seat.” She rolled her eyes. Just because she lived in the country, it didn’t mean she was some militia chick. Although, at the moment, maybe just one extra cartridge would have been nice.