Carrying the Sheikh's Heir(32)

                The lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. She hugged her arms around herself to keep from shivering. The air seemed colder now. “I didn’t say it would be easy, but it’s what you do when you love someone. You make sacrifices.”

                He seemed very quiet and still as he watched her. She’d expected him to make some sort of remark, but he said nothing at all. It began to worry her, though she didn’t quite know why. She cleared her throat softly and told him the truth.

                “I don’t quite know what to say to you,” she admitted. “I never know if you’re angry or if you’re just the kind of man who doesn’t speak much.”

                He was looking at her with renewed interest. “I’m not angry. I’m frustrated.”

                “We’re both frustrated.”

                “Are we?”

                “I...” She sensed that this conversation had moved out of her control somehow. His eyes glittered in the night. He seemed suddenly very intense. And very—dear heaven—naked. “Yes, uh, of course. Why wouldn’t we be? This is a frustrating circumstance.”

                “I find it very interesting that you could be carrying my child, and yet we’ve never been intimate. I’ve never undressed you, never tasted your skin.”

                She was growing hot now. So very hot. “Well, er...”

                “Have you thought of it, Sheridan? After that kiss, have you wondered?”

                Her heart hammered hard. Another moment and she would be dizzy. Yes she’d thought of that kiss. And she’d thought of her flesh pressed against his, nothing between them but skin and heat. She’d wondered what it would be like to be this man’s lover. This dynamic, incredible man.

                “Of course I have,” she said, shocking herself with the admission. And him, too, if the way his muscles seemed to coil tight beneath his skin was any indication. He was like a great cat ready to pounce. The Lion of Kyr, indeed. “But that doesn’t mean I want to do anything about it.”

                Liar.

                “Then I think perhaps you should be more careful which rooms you wander into in the middle of the night.”

                His voice was icy again, yet it was somehow hot, too. Not menacing, but promising in a way that had her limbs quivering.

                “I didn’t know this was your room. And I didn’t come here for...for...”

                She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her ears were hot, which was ridiculous because she wasn’t a naive virgin. She hadn’t had many lovers—well, only two, in fact—but that didn’t mean she didn’t know what happened when a man and a woman got naked together.

                But it was the imagining that was killing her here. Rashid was beautiful, dark and dangerous and mysterious, and the idea of him completely focused on her body was more arousing than she could have imagined possible. She reminded herself that she didn’t like him, but her body didn’t seem to care. So what? That was the message throbbing in her sex, her veins, her belly. A relentless throb of tension and yearning that would only be broken if this man took her to his bed.

                “Perhaps you did not,” he said smoothly, “but you want it nevertheless. I can see it in your eyes, Sheridan.”

                She tried to stiffen in outrage. She was fully aware her nipples had beaded tight against the silk of the robe. Instead of trying to hide them, she wrapped her arms beneath her breasts and hugged herself against the chill air. Not that she was all that cold with Rashid al-Hassan looking at her like he might devour her. Which was a bit of a shock since she’d convinced herself that he wasn’t really attracted to her.