Carrying the Sheikh's Heir(42)
An enigmatic, compelling stranger that she wanted to know better.
Soon it was the night before her pregnancy test and Sheridan couldn’t seem to settle down. Her stomach was twisted in knots and nothing Fatima brought seemed appealing. She finally tried a little bread and some sparkling water and settled onto the couch to read for a bit when the door to her suite opened and Rashid walked in without preamble.
Emotion flooded her in an instant: happiness, anger, fear, sorrow. So many things it was hard to sort them all out, and all caused by this dark man who stood there in a smartly tailored gray suit and Kyrian headdress. Not for the first time, he made her heart skip a beat.
“Fatima says you aren’t eating,” he said, his voice tight and diamond edged. Just the way she expected it.
Of course he was getting reports about her. “I’m not hungry.”
He came over and glared down at her. If he would put his hands on his hips, it would be the perfect admonishing parent pose.
“You have to eat. It’s not good for you or the baby not to eat.”
She put her hand over her belly automatically. “We don’t know if there is a baby.”
“We will know soon enough. Besides, it’s better to assume there is a baby and do everything to take care of it properly.”
She wanted to yell at him. “I didn’t refuse, Rashid. I can’t keep anything down right now. My stomach is upset.” She set the book aside and matched his glare. “You promised we would spend some time together so we could know each other better, and yet I’ve not seen you in five days now.”
His expression didn’t ease. “I’ve been busy. This is what happens when one is a king.”
“Yet you found time to come here tonight and chastise me for not eating.”
He stripped off the kaffiyeh and tossed it aside. Then he raked a hand through his hair. “I came straight here from a meeting.” He walked over to the table where Fatima had left food in chafing dishes and examined the contents. Then he picked up a plate and dished some things onto it.
Sheridan bristled. “If you think you’re going to force me to eat—”
“Not at all,” he said, picking up a fork and heading over to sit in a nearby chair. “I haven’t eaten yet and I’m starving.”
Sheridan blinked. After days of silence, he was planning to eat with her? He’d taken her to bed, made her feel things that excited and confused her and then when she’d been certain he was planning to do it again, he’d left her standing alone in the courtyard.
To say she didn’t understand him was an understatement.
“Wow, I’m being graced with your majestic presence for dinner? I’m honored.”
He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming. But not with anger. “You said you wanted to talk to me. Here I am. Talk. Bore me silly if you must.”
She folded her arms. “Perhaps I’m a sparkling conversationalist. Did you ever consider that?”
“It has not been my experience with most women, but perhaps you will be different.”
She told herself it would be unwise to throw a pillow at him. She chose instead to focus on one aspect of what he’d said. “Most women? Who has managed to please you conversationally?”