Her eyes darkened with anger. “I won’t give up my baby just because you wish it.”
“You were willing to do so for your sister.”
“That’s different and you know it. I would still be part of the child’s life. A beloved aunt.” She shook her head suddenly. “Why are we arguing about this? There’s no guarantee I’m pregnant. It doesn’t always work the first time.”
“Perhaps not, but I will take no chances. My child will be a king one day, Sheridan Sloane. He will not be raised in an apartment in America by a woman who works sixteen-hour days and ignores him in favor of her own interests.”
Her skin flushed bright red. “How dare you?” she growled. “How dare you act as if you know me when you don’t have the faintest clue? I would never ignore my child. Never!”
He infuriated her. No, she’d not planned for a child in her life—the baby was supposed to be Annie’s—but the fact he would sit there and smugly inform her that he believed she would neglect her baby in favor of her business made her defensive and angry. Of course she would still have to work, but she would figure it out.
Except there would be no figuring it out. This man was a king, and if she was pregnant, he wasn’t going to abandon her to raise the child alone. He would be a part of her life from now on.
Sheridan shivered at the thought. How did one work out custody with a king?
“This baby is supposed to be Annie’s,” she said, working hard to keep the panic from her voice. “I hadn’t planned on a baby of my own, but that doesn’t mean I would be a bad or neglectful mother. And I won’t let you steamroll right over me just because you’re a king. I have rights, too.”
His eyes were hooded as he studied her. Did he have to be so damned beautiful? She’d never seen hair so black or eyes so fathomless. If he was an actor, she’d wonder if his cheekbones were the work of a plastic surgeon. His face was a study in perfection, angles and planes and smooth, bronzed skin. He was golden, as if he spent long hours under the sun, and there were fine lines at the corners of his eyes where they crinkled as he studied her.
Her gaze focused on his mouth, those firm, beautiful lips that had pressed against hers. She felt a fresh wave of heat creeping up her throat. He’d only kissed her to shut her up, but she’d forgotten for long minutes why that was a bad thing. His mouth had ravaged hers and she’d only wanted more. Even now, her lips tingled with the memory of his assault on them. She was bruised and swollen, but in a good way. In the kind of way that said a woman had been well kissed and had enjoyed every moment of it.
Sheridan dropped her gaze from his, suddenly self-conscious. It had been a long time since she’d kissed anyone. A long time since she’d lain in bed with a man and felt the heat and wonder of joining her body with another. She hadn’t thought she was deprived. Rather, she’d thought she was busy and that she just didn’t have time to invest in a relationship.
But now that he’d kissed her, she felt as if she’d been starving for affection. As if the drought in her sex life was suddenly much larger than she’d thought it was. How could he make her feel this way when he was not a nice man?
After her last relationship, a short-lived romance with a womanizing accountant who’d made her feel like the only woman in his life until the moment she’d caught him with his tongue down someone else’s throat, she’d vowed to only date nice, trustworthy men.
Rashid al-Hassan was definitely not a nice man. Or trustworthy. But he made things hum and spark inside her, damn him. She’d only kissed him once, but already she wanted to lean forward, tunnel her fingers through that thick mane of hair and claim his lips for another round.