Carrying the Sheikh's Heir(75)

                She didn’t, but her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Daoud out there alone, too. Guilt filled her then. And fear. “Is he all right? The jackals didn’t get him, did they?”

                “He is fine. His horse went lame, which is why he didn’t catch you. I sent men after him once we found you. They returned a few moments ago, and Daoud is well. For the moment.”

                She heard the dangerous note in his voice. “Rashid, it’s not his fault. He trusted me and I gave him the slip.”

                “He should not have trusted you at all.”

                “Maybe not.” She bowed her head. “Probably not.”

                “Apparently I should not, either. Or at least not with any swords.”

                She glared at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

                “I’d rather do something else with you.”

                She sat there in shock for a moment. And then she shook her head violently. “No. I can’t. Not ever again, Rashid. Not if you’re going to marry another woman.”

                He reached for her, gripped her chin and forced her to look at him again. His eyes were bright. “Why not, habibti? Why would this bother you? Is it because you are American? Or is there another reason?”

                Her heart thrummed and her throat ached and she wanted to sink beneath the covers and hide. He was holding her, demanding an answer, and all she could think was that she wanted him to kiss her. And then she wanted to strangle him.

                “I’ve grown fond of you,” she said as primly as she could manage under the circumstances. It was such a bald-faced lie, but she’d die before she’d admit that she loved him now.

                She did not expect him to grin. “Fond? I like the sound of that.”

                She swatted at his hand. “I meant to say I was fond of you. I’ve changed my mind now. Who could be fond of a dictator?”

                He took her teacup and set it aside. Then he moved closer, threaded his hand through her still-damp hair. “Who indeed?”

                His head descended and she closed her eyes, aching for his kiss. But a hot feeling swelled inside her, bubbling up until she put her hand over his mouth and stopped him from kissing her. If he kissed her, she would sob her heart out and confess all her tragic feelings for him.

                And she couldn’t do that and keep her dignity.

                “No, Rashid. You kiss me and charm me and make me forget myself, but this is where it has to stop. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with a man who runs away from his feelings, a man who can’t even be with me without wanting to escape. I can’t give you everything I have and only get part of you in return. I’ve spent too much of my life making other people happy and I’m not going to keep doing it with you when you can’t even give me something so basic as a normal marriage between two people. I deserve better than that. I demand better than that.”

                She took her hand away slowly, expecting him to explode in arrogant pronouncements about being a king and her having a place, but he caught her hand and held it in his. His skin burned into her. She wanted to pull her hand away and she wanted to curl into his heat at once.

                Why did she have to love a man who was so wrong for her on so many levels?

                His brows drew together as he studied her. And then he lifted a finger and traced her mouth lightly, so lightly. She refused to whimper.