It hit her then that not only was he not attracted to her, but she also revolted him. He was tall and handsome and kingly, and she was a short blond woman who organized parties for people. She was pale and slight compared to him. He was the Lion of Kyr, or some such thing like that, and she was an ordinary house cat.
Who might just be pregnant with the next king of the jungle.
She would have laughed if it wasn’t so serious. Sheridan went over to where Fatima had set a fresh pot of tea and some pastries and poured a cup. Despite the nausea, which came and went, she decided to try a pastry and see if it stayed down. After she’d made an impulsive decision to throw the tray at the window, she’d not eaten any of the food that she’d carefully set aside to get to the tray. Things had happened so quickly after that and she hadn’t had time.
Sheridan frowned as she nibbled on a pastry. Rashid was repulsed by her. It made sense, in a way, and it certainly explained the way he acted.
But then she thought of their kiss again, of the way it had slid down into her skin and made her want things she’d almost forgotten existed. Even now, the memory of it made her tremble. He’d slid his tongue into her mouth and she’d practically devoured him.
How embarrassing.
But she’d thought, dammit, at least for a minute anyway, that he’d been equally affected. He’d kissed her with such hunger, such passion, that she’d been swept up in the moment.
Yes, swept up enough so that he could carry her to the car before she managed to make a peep. Sheridan set the pastry down with disgust. He’d certainly known what he was doing. And she’d been just sensation deprived enough to let him.
“Miss?”
Sheridan looked up to find Fatima standing over her. The two men were leaving, carting the remnants of television and computer boxes with them.
“Yes?”
“Do you require anything else?”
That was a loaded question if ever she heard one. “Your English is good, Fatima.”
“Thank you, miss. I studied in school.”
“Have you worked in the palace long?”
“A few months.”
“Do you know the king well?”
She shook her head. “No, miss. King Rashid, may Allah bless him, has come home again after many years away. We will prosper under his benevolent reign.”
Sheridan wasn’t going to laugh over that benevolent reign remark, though she wanted to. But she also felt a spark of curiosity. “Many years away?”
Fatima looked a little worried then. “I have heard this in the palace. I do not know for certain. If you will excuse me, miss. Unless you need something?” she added, her eyes wide and almost pleading with Sheridan not to ask anything more about Rashid.
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” she replied, offering the woman a smile to reassure her.
Fatima curtsied and then hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her with one last fearful glance at Sheridan.
* * *
After a long day sorting through national problems, including one between two desert tribes arguing over who owned a water well, Rashid was glad to retire to his quarters. These rooms had once been his father’s, but he’d gotten the decorators to work immediately so that they no longer bore any resemblance to the man who’d lived in them for thirty-seven years.