Carrying the Sheikh's Heir(30)

                “What are you doing here, Miss Sloane?” he demanded, his voice hard and cold and so very dangerous.

                The warmth that had been undulating through her like a gentle wave abruptly shut off.

                Run! That was the single word that echoed in her brain.

                But she couldn’t move. Her limbs were frozen. Not only that, but Rashid al-Hassan also stood between her and escape....





                                      CHAPTER SIX

                SHERIDAN SUCKED IN a deep breath and pulled her robe tighter, even though it couldn’t protect her from the fury in his dark eyes. She thought of Fatima’s fearful look earlier today and wondered if perhaps this man was more frightening than she’d thought. Her blood ran cold.

                “The door was open. I—I wanted to see outside.”

                “You are in my quarters, Miss Sloane.”

                Oh, dear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

                He still hadn’t moved. He stood in the door, his broad frame imposing. She told herself not to look below the level of his chin. She failed.

                “So you decided to wander in the middle of the night and open random doors?”

                She twisted the tie of her robe. “Something like that. I’m on a different schedule than you, I’m afraid. Wide-awake and nothing to do.”

                “Nothing to do.” His voice was somehow full of meaning. Or perhaps she imagined it.

                “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

                He still looked imposing and impossible. And then he shoved his hand through his hair and moved out of the doorway and onto the terrace. Sheridan stood frozen.

                “You didn’t disturb me. I was awake.”

                “You should try hot milk. It helps with insomnia.” Oh, no, she was babbling. Sheridan bit her lip and told herself to shut up. This man was dangerous, for heaven’s sake. Not at all the sort to put up with babbling in the middle of the night.

                “I don’t need much sleep,” he said. “And I don’t like hot milk.”

                “I don’t either, actually. But I understand it works for some.”

                He went and leaned on the railing, near her. She thought she should take this opportunity to escape, and yet she was curious enough to want to stay. He made her nerves pop and sing. It was an interesting sensation.

                “When it’s light, you can see all the way to the gulf from here,” he said. He lifted his hand. “In that direction, you can see the dunes of the Kyrian Desert. The Waste is out there, too.”

                “The Waste?” She moved closer, reached for the railing and wound her fingers around the iron.

                He turned his head toward her. “A very harsh, very hot part of the desert. There is no water for one hundred miles. The sands are baked during the day, and at night they give up their heat and turn cool. You can freeze out there, if you don’t die of heatstroke during the day.”

                It was hard to imagine such a place in this day and age. “Surely there are ways to bring water into it.”