Carrying the Sheikh's Heir(17)

                Insanity, Sheridan.

                “Surely there is something you want more than this child,” he said smoothly, cutting into her thoughts, and her heart began to beat a crazy rhythm.

                “No.”

                He lifted an eyebrow in that superior arch she despised. “Money? I can give you quite a lot of it, you know. Once our divorce is final, you could be a wealthy woman.”

                Divorce? Her stomach fell to the floor at the thought of being married to this man for even an hour.

                “I don’t want your money. And I’m definitely not going to marry you.” There was only one thing she wanted. It also wasn’t something he could give. Unless he had the power of miracles.

                She was certain he did not. If a dozen doctors couldn’t fix Annie’s fertility issues, then neither could a king, no matter how arrogant and entitled.

                “Everyone has a price, Sheridan. And if you are pregnant, you most certainly will be my wife. In name only, of course. My child will not be born illegitimate.”

                Her name on his lips was too exotic, too sensual. It stroked over her senses, set up a drumbeat in her veins. And embarrassed her because he clearly wasn’t suffering from an unwanted attraction, too. In name only.

                “All I want is a baby for my sister. And I intend to give her one.”

                “After you give me my heir, of course.”

                Her lips tightened. “You make it sound so cold and clinical. As if you’re selecting a prized broodmare to give you a champion foal.”

                The car glided through the streets. Outside the windows, people behaved as usual. Tourists chattered excitedly and pointed from their seats in the horse-drawn carriages that traveled through Savannah’s historic district. Part of Sheridan wanted to open the door and run when the car came to a standstill in traffic.

                But there was no escape. Not like this anyway. The only way to fight a man like him was with lawyers, and even that was no guarantee because he could afford far better representation than she could.

                “It is a clinical thing, is it not?” His voice was rich and smooth and crusted in ice. “We have never been intimate, and yet you may be pregnant with my child. Put there with a syringe in a doctor’s office. How is this not clinical?”

                Sheridan swallowed the lump in her throat. “I was supposed to be having a baby for my sister. With my brother-in-law’s sperm. What would you propose we do differently?”

                Of course, it would have been cheaper and easier for her and Chris to just sleep together until she was pregnant, but what a horrifying thought that was. He was her sister’s husband and her friend, and there was no way in hell. Lying on a table with her feet in stirrups might be clinical, but it was the only solution.

                He ignored the question. “Nevertheless, it is my sperm you received. How do you think this makes me feel?”

                She swung around to look at him. Up to this point, she hadn’t thought of how it must have affected him. She was almost ashamed of herself for the lapse. Almost.

                That ended when she met his gaze. He was looking at her as coldly as ever. King Rashid al-Hassan was a block of ice. A block of ice that had burned strangely hot when he’d pressed his mouth to hers.

                Sheridan nervously smoothed the fabric of her dress. “I admit I hadn’t thought of it. I imagine you’re angry.”