Daria would want him to be kind to this woman. So he would try, though it went against his nature to be kind to anyone. He was not cruel; he was indifferent. He’d learned to be so over the hellish years of his childhood. If you did not care, people couldn’t hurt you.
When you did... Well, he knew what happened when you cared. He had the scars on his soul to prove it. The only person he cared about these days was Kadir, and that was as much as he was capable of.
He inclined his head briefly. “You may call me Rashid.” And then he added, “I suggest, however, you do not do it in front of my staff. They will not understand the informality.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her upper arms almost absently. “You can call me Sheridan, then. And I don’t see why you need worry about your staff. We won’t know for another week if there’s a baby. I can call you with the information, if you’d like. Then we can decide what to do if it’s necessary.”
He blinked at her. She truly did not understand. Or she was being stubbornly obtuse on purpose. His temper rose anew.
“You will not call me.”
She frowned at his tone. “Fine. You can call me. Either way, we’ll work it out.”
He clenched his fingers into fists in his lap. Stubborn woman!
“There is nothing to work out. You have been artificially inseminated with my sperm. You might be carrying the next king of Kyr. There is no possible choice other than the one I offer you now.”
“I honestly don’t think—”
“Silence, Miss Sloane,” he snapped, coming to the end of his tether. “You are not here to think. You will accompany me to the airport, where you will board the royal jet. We will be in Kyr by morning, and you will be shown every courtesy while we await the results. Should you fail to conceive my child, you will be escorted home again.”
Her jaw had dropped as he talked. He tried not to focus on the pink curve of her lower lip. It glistened with moisture and he found himself wanting to lean forward and touch his tongue just there to see if she tasted as sweet and delicate as she looked.
The thought shocked him. And angered him. He did not want this woman.
She was shaking her head almost violently now. A lock of hair dropped from her twist and curved in front of her cheekbone. She impatiently tucked it behind an ear.
“I can’t drop everything and go away with you! I have a business to run. And my bank account, unlike yours, I’m sure, isn’t bursting with money. No way. No way in hell.”
Her response stunned him. He shot to his feet then, his temper beginning to boil. He had a country to run and one crisis after another to solve these days. He had a council waiting for him, a stack of dossiers on potential brides to scour through and an upcoming meeting with kings from surrounding nations to discuss oil production, mineral rights and reciprocity agreements.
And yet he was being thwarted by one small, irritating woman who refused to give an inch of ground in this battle. A people pleaser? She didn’t look as if she cared one bit about pleasing him at the moment.
Rashid gave her the look that made the palace staff tremble. “I wasn’t giving you a choice, Miss Sloane.”
She sucked in a breath, and he knew he had her.
But then her face reddened and her eyes flashed purple fire and Rashid stood there in shock.
“You think you have the right to make decisions for me? This is America and I don’t have to go anywhere with you. Not only that, but I won’t go. If I’m pregnant, we’ll figure it out. But as of this moment, we do not know that. I can’t just leave because you wish it. Nor do I intend to.”
His entire body vibrated with fury. He was not accustomed to being told no. Not by his employees at Hassan Oil—a company he’d built on his own and still owned to this day, even if he’d had to turn over the day-to-day operations to a CEO—not by his staff in the palace, not by anyone anywhere in the past several years. He was an al-Hassan, with money and influence, and people did not tell him no.
And now he was a king, and they really did not tell him no.
But Sheridan Sloane had. She sat there on her couch, looking pale and delicate and too small to safely carry a baby for nine months, and spoke to him like he was her gardener. It infuriated him. And stunned him, too, if he was willing to admit it.
No matter how much he admired her fighting spirit, he would not be merciful. He’d left mercy behind a long time ago.
“Miss Sloane,” he said, very coolly and clearly. “It would be unwise to anger me. This business you run?” He snapped his fingers. “I could destroy it in a moment. I could destroy you in a moment. Continue to defy me, and I shall.”
* * *
Sheridan’s pulse skipped and slid like it was tumbling down a hill and couldn’t find purchase. He’d just threatened her. Threatened Dixie Doin’s. At first she wanted to laugh him off. But then she looked at him standing there, at his tall, dark form and the dark glitter of his eyes, and knew he was not only perfectly serious, but that he was also probably capable of accomplishing it.
He was a king. A king!
Of an incredibly rich, oil-producing nation in the Arabian Desert. She knew where Kyr was. Hadn’t they just had a crisis that was plastered all over the news? The king had been very ill and no one had known who his successor was going to be.
She’d found it fascinating that a monarch could choose his successor from among his sons, and puzzling that he had not done so by that point. They were grown after all, and he must surely know which of them was best suited to the job.
The fact he had not done so surely spoke volumes about him—or about his children. She wasn’t sure which.
But the crisis had passed and Kyr had a king. This man. Rashid bin Zaid al-Hassan. Oh, yes, his name was imprinted on her memory now. She would never forget it again as long as she lived.
Still, she had not been raised to blindly follow orders and she would not start now. Even though he terrified her on some level. He was so cold and angry, and he was a king. But he was not her king. Hadn’t her ancestors fought to divest themselves of kings?
Sheridan cleared her throat. “It’s only seven more days until the test. You could stay in Savannah. Or maybe you could come back when the results are due. It seems far simpler than what you’re proposing.”
He did not look in the least bit appeased. “Does it, now? Because your business, which has another owner and employees to help, needs your presence far more than a nation needs her king, yes? How extraordinary, Miss Sloane.”
Sheridan pushed the stray lock of hair behind her ear again. How did he manage to make her feel petty when all she wanted was to continue to live her life as normally as possible until the moment when she found out if everything was going to change or not? She didn’t even want to contemplate what it would mean if she were carrying this man’s child.
A royal baby. Madness.
She twisted the cloth that she’d earlier pressed to her forehead. “I didn’t mean to suggest any such thing. But yes, my business is important to me, and I can’t leave Kelly to do everything by herself. I have menus to plan, and supplies to buy—”
“And I have a peace agreement to broker and a nation to run.” He’d already dismissed her, she realized. He slipped a phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. And then he was speaking in mellifluous Arabic to someone on the other end. When he finished, cool dark eyes raked over her again. “You will come, Miss Sloane, and you will do it now. My lawyer has instructions to purchase your loan from the bank. I assure you he will accomplish this, as I am willing to offer far more than this business is worth.”
Sheridan’s jaw dropped even as a fine sheen of sweat broke out between her breasts. He was quite easily the most obnoxious man she’d ever met. And the most attractive.
No. The most evil man. Yes, definitely that. Evil.
Because she knew he was not bluffing. A man who had the power to obtain her information from the fertility clinic—information protected by law—as if it was freely available to anyone who asked, was not a man to make bluffs.
He had the power to buy Dixie Doin’s and do whatever he wanted with it. Close the doors. Put people out of work. Ruin hers and Kelly’s dream. She didn’t care so much for herself right now, but Kelly? Kelly had been so kind when Sheridan told her she wanted to have a baby for Chris and Annie, even though it would impact the business for her to be pregnant.
Not to mention the impact while Sheridan went through the insemination process. You just didn’t show up at the clinic one day and ask for sperm after all, and Kelly had stoically accepted it all without even a hint of disapproval or fear.
So how could she allow this overbearing, rude tyrant of a man to ruin Kelly’s dream just because Sheridan wanted so very desperately to defy him?
She couldn’t.
She rose on shaky feet and faced him. He was so very tall, so overwhelming, but she faced him head on with her chin up and her back straight. She pulled in a breath that shook with anger.
“Am I to be allowed to collect any clothing? Surely I need my passport.”
She thought he would look satisfied or triumphant at her capitulation, but he in fact looked bored. As if he’d never doubted she would agree. She hated him in that moment, and Sheridan had never hated anyone in her life.
“You do not need a passport if you are traveling with me. But we will make a brief stop at your home. You will get what you need for the next week.”
Fear skirted the edges of her anger. Was she truly proposing to board a plane to a far-off nation where she didn’t speak the language and didn’t understand the customs? But how could she refuse? If she did, he would ruin Dixie Doin’s and put them out of business. All the money she and Kelly had invested would be gone.
But what happened in a week? Would he force her to stay in Kyr forever if she were carrying his child?
Sheridan put a hand to her mouth to press back the sudden cry welling up in her throat. In reality, she was being kidnapped by a desert king, forced into a harem for all she knew, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Not if she wanted to protect her friend and her employees. Not to mention Annie and Chris. What would this man do to them if she didn’t comply? Could he get Chris fired? He could certainly buy the loan on their house—they’d mortgaged it to the hilt to pay for one failed fertility treatment after another—and then what?
Ice formed in her veins. He would throw them out of their home with no sympathy or shame. She could see it in his eyes, in the hard set to his jaw. This man was ruthless and incapable of empathy.
“How do I know I’ll be safe?” Sheridan asked, her voice smaller than she would have liked.
His brows drew down swiftly as his anger flared. “Safe? Do you think me a barbarian, Miss Sloane? A terrorist? I am a king and you are my honored guest. You will have every luxury for the duration of your stay in Kyr.”
She swallowed at the vehemence in his tone. “And what if I’m pregnant? What then?”
Because she had to know. For herself, for the child. She had to know what this man would do, what he would expect.
His icy gaze sharpened in a way that sent a shiver rippling through her. “You were planning to give the child away. Why would this change?”
An unexpected arrow of pain dived into her belly, hollowing out a space there. Yes, she’d been planning to give the baby up. But to her sister. Carrying a child for Annie and Chris was one thing. She would not be the baby’s mother, even if she was the biological mother, but she would still be part of his or her life. An aunt who would spoil the child of her body rotten, kiss and hug him, buy him presents, shower him with love.
But to give her baby to a stranger, even if the stranger was the other half of the child’s DNA?
It went against everything she felt inside.
“I won’t give up my baby.” Her voice was hoarse. But what choice did she have? He would destroy everyone she loved.
His eyes glittered like ice and she trembled inside. “Yes, I see,” he murmured after a long moment. “I am a king, and my son will be a king. Why would you willingly relinquish a child so valuable?”
Sheridan had never wanted to harm another human being in her life, but if she could slap this one and get away with it, she would. He was evil, hateful. Her face flooded with heat and her stomach flipped, but this time it wasn’t a sickening flip so much as an angry one.
“You’re disgusting,” she spat. “I don’t care how amazing and fabulous you think you are, but until today I’d never heard of you.” A small lie. “My feelings about this baby have nothing to do with who you are and everything to do with the fact he or she is half mine.”
She lifted a shaking finger and pointed at the door. He didn’t own her, and until they knew whether or not she was pregnant, she wasn’t going anywhere with him. It was a risk, but she needed time to figure out what to do, time to consult an attorney and talk to her family. If she left the country with him, it was over. He would own her and any baby within her.
“You should leave.”
He stared at her for a long moment, that handsome countenance wreathed in dark anger. And then he burst out laughing. It shocked her. The sound was so rich, so beautiful. And chilling in a way.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she said, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. “I am perfectly serious. I’ll see you in court, Your Majesty.”
The door opened behind her. She turned, hoping it was Kelly or even Tiffany coming to save her, but it was merely one of the bodyguards.
“The car is ready, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent.”
Sheridan turned toward the king, but he’d moved when she’d been looking at his bodyguard. Before she knew what he was about, he swept an arm behind her knees and jerked her into his arms. Once more, she was pressed against his hard, taut body, his scent in her nostrils, conjuring images of heat and sand and cool water. A hot, tight feeling flared beneath her skin, burning through her and stopping the breath in her chest until he was halfway across the storefront.
There were customers, she noted vaguely. And Tiffany, who looked up as Rashid al-Hassan walked by with Sheridan in his arms. Tiffany didn’t even look surprised, the silly girl. She just looked bored, like always.
Sheridan knew she needed to scream. She needed to get these people’s attention and get this man to put her down immediately. She felt her lungs working again—of course they’d never stopped, but she hadn’t felt them, hadn’t felt anything but heat and unbearable want when he’d picked her up—and she sucked in air, preparing to release it in the most eardrum-shattering cry she could manage.
But she never got the chance because Rashid al-Hassan—the Great Protector of his people, the Lion of Kyr and Defender of the Throne—dropped his mouth over hers and silenced her.
CHAPTER THREE
RASHID HADN’T MEANT to kiss her. But the damned woman was going to scream and he could not allow it. So he’d silenced her in the only way he could.
Her mouth was soft and pliant and sweet. He took advantage of the fact her lips were open to slip his tongue inside and stroke across the velvety softness of her mouth. She didn’t move for a long moment and he began to wonder if she would bite him.
She was certainly capable of it. He’d not encountered a woman such as this one in...well, ever. Usually, women softened around him. Their eyes got big and wide and their mouths fell open invitingly. They sighed. They purred. They pouted.
They did not act as if he were poison. They did not glare daggers at him and spit fire and tell him to get out in prim little voices that belonged to the starchy librarians he’d encountered when he’d g
one to university.
Sheridan’s breath hitched in and he knew he had her. Knew she was his, for the moment.
He deepened the kiss, demanding more of a response from her. He had to keep her mouth busy and her thoughts focused on him until he could get her out of the store and into the car. It was a mercenary act on his part and he had no trouble pushing it as far as he needed in order to keep the fool woman silenced.
Her mouth opened a little wider, her tongue stroking tentatively against his.
Rashid’s body turned to stone in a heartbeat. He had not expected that. But then he reminded himself there was a reason for his reaction. It had been a while since he’d had a woman. Being king had taken all his time these past couple of months. He was no longer a private citizen. No longer a man who could walk into a club, spot a gorgeous woman and take her home for a night of hot sex and no recriminations.
He was a king, and kings did not go anywhere without an entourage. They also did not pick up women and take them back to the palace for sex.
Certainly, he could have sent for a woman. But what kind of man would he be if he sent others to pick out women for him for the express purpose of having sex?
He was no prude, and he figured what people did with their bodies was their own business, but he’d never paid for sex in his life and he wasn’t going to start now. Because that was what it would be if he ordered a woman for the evening as if she were an item on a room service menu.
Oh, she would not be a common prostitute. She wouldn’t be a prostitute at all. But that didn’t make it any better in his mind.
Another reason why he was going to have to choose a wife soon from the handful of princesses and heiresses his council had recommended. And yet he couldn’t imagine having sex with any of the women whose dossiers he’d been sent thus far, much less facing one of them across a breakfast table for the rest of his life.
Damn Kadir for forcing him to take the throne. Yes, Rashid had always wanted to be king, but he hadn’t quite realized how very confined he would feel. He was a ruler, a man with the power of life and death over his subjects, a man with absolute authority—and he had no private life to speak of. No one with whom he could share the simple pleasures.
Carrying the Sheikh's Heir Page 3