Carrying the Sheikh's Heir(43)

                He took a bite of food, chewed and swallowed. She didn’t think he would answer her, but then he looked up again and speared her with his hot gaze. “My wife did,” he said. “Not always, it’s true. But often enough. She died five years ago, in case you were wondering.”

                Her belly had tightened into a hot ball of nerves. Of all the things he could have said, she hadn’t seen that one coming. Her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry, Rashid.”

                She didn’t know what else to say. To lose someone you loved had to be such a tragedy. And someone so young, too. No wonder he sometimes seemed cold and lonely. It made sense now.

                He set the plate aside. “This is not something I speak of, but if we are to marry, I thought you should know it.”

                Her throat was tight and her heart hammered in her stomach, her chest, her ears. “I appreciate you telling me. But I’m not certain marriage is the answer to our dilemma. Assuming there is one.”

                He frowned. “This child has to be born legitimate, Sheridan. It is the only way.”

                Panic bloomed inside her. She didn’t want to take away a child’s heritage, but she also didn’t want to have to marry a man she hardly knew. They had sexual chemistry, but what if that was all they had? How could she live a lifetime with a man who’d only married her to claim a child?

                “I assume I have no say in this?”

                “You would prefer options? Marry me and be this child’s mother, or go home after you give birth. Those are your options.”

                She figured it was a good thing there were no weapons nearby. “Those aren’t options.”

                His eyes flashed. “They are the ones you have.”

                “I won’t leave my child.”

                “No, I didn’t think you would. I might have thought so once, but no longer.”

                Her head was beginning to ache. “And what brought about this blinding revelation?”

                “Daoud tells me you’ve been playing with the puppies. Feeding them, taking care of them. And then there is my kitchen staff, Fatima and even the stable hands. They like you, and you like them. They all say how kind you are, how caring. Yet even without these things, there is this deed you set out to do for your sister. You are a giving person, Sheridan, but I don’t believe you are so giving as to leave your child in Kyr. You will stay.”

                His words wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She liked Daoud, Fatima and the kitchen staff. To know they liked her, too, was touching. “There is every possibility I will go home tomorrow.”

                “Yes, there is.”

                Pain sliced into her at the thought. It confused her. She wanted to go home, wanted to go back to her life in Savannah, her business, her friends. She wanted her life the way it was before Rashid al-Hassan had walked into it.

                And yet that thought filled her with despair. Never to see him again? Never to make love to him? He didn’t seem much bothered either way, and that hurt, too.

                “All this talk of marriage is premature,” she said tightly.

                “Is it? We will know tomorrow. If you are pregnant, things must be done quickly.”

                “And you’ve already decided everything. Without asking me what I might want.”