Sheikh's Desert Desire: Carrying the Sheikh's Heir. Maisey Yates
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They pouted.
They did not act as if he were poison. They did not glare daggers at him and spit fire and tell him to get out in prim little voices that belonged to the starchy librarians he’d encountered when he’d gone to university.
Sheridan’s breath hitched in and he knew he had her. Knew she was his, for the moment.
He deepened the kiss, demanding more of a response from her. He had to keep her mouth busy and her thoughts focused on him until he could get her out of the store and into the car. It was a mercenary act on his part and he had no trouble pushing it as far as he needed in order to keep the fool woman silenced.
Her mouth opened a little wider, her tongue stroking tentatively against his.
Rashid’s body turned to stone in a heartbeat. He had not expected that. But then he reminded himself there was a reason for his reaction. It had been a while since he’d had a woman. Being king had taken all his time these past couple of months. He was no longer a private citizen. No longer a man who could walk into a club, spot a gorgeous woman and take her home for a night of hot sex and no recriminations.
He was a king, and kings did not go anywhere without an entourage. They also did not pick up women and take them back to the palace for sex.
Certainly, he could have sent for a woman. But what kind of man would he be if he sent others to pick out women for him for the express purpose of having sex?
He was no prude, and he figured what people did with their bodies was their own business, but he’d never paid for sex in his life and he wasn’t going to start now. Because that was what it would be if he ordered a woman for the evening as if she were an item on a room service menu.
Oh, she would not be a common prostitute. She wouldn’t be a prostitute at all. But that didn’t make it any better in his mind.
Another reason why he was going to have to choose a wife soon from the handful of princesses and heiresses his council had recommended. And yet he couldn’t imagine having sex with any of the women whose dossiers he’d been sent thus far, much less facing one of them across a breakfast table for the rest of his life.
Damn Kadir for forcing him to take the throne. Yes, Rashid had always wanted to be king, but he hadn’t quite realized how very confined he would feel. He was a ruler, a man with the power of life and death over his subjects, a man with absolute authority—and he had no private life to speak of. No one with whom he could share the simple pleasures.
He had not thought that would bother him so much, but it did. He missed Daria. Missed having someone in his life who loved him because of his flaws, not in spite of them. But Daria was gone, and there was no one.
Sheridan shifted in his arms and he felt her confusion, her hesitation. She was fighting herself, fighting her nature, and if he’d learned anything about her in these last few minutes, he knew she would conquer her baser instincts and fight against him soon enough.
A people pleaser? Perhaps she was, but she was not a Rashid pleaser. He knew that well enough now.
Because he was angry, because he was frustrated, he took the kiss to another level, ravaged her mouth like a man starved. He wanted to confuse her, wanted to keep her quiet and, hell, yes, he wanted to disconcert her. How dare she disobey him?
She gripped his lapels, twisted her fists in them. And then she met him as savagely as he met her. His body responded with a surge of heat he’d not felt in a long time. Her breath grew shallower and she made a sound in her throat.
He broke the kiss then, uncertain if he was pushing her too far too fast. Alarmed at his body’s reaction to her, he tucked her head against his chest before she could speak.
“Quiet, habibti. Let me get you home.” He smiled at the women in the shop who threw them astonished looks and then strode outside and down the front steps before Sheridan could regain her ability to think clearly.
The car door swung smoothly open and Rashid bent to place Sheridan on the seat. She was so small and light that it was like handling a piece of china. He didn’t want to break her, but he also knew she was stronger than she looked.
He got in beside her, the door sealed shut, and the car slid smoothly away from the curb and down the sun-dappled streets. The partition was up between them and the driver, and silence hung heavy in the car.
“You kidnapped me.” Her voice was small and frightened and Rashid swung to look at her. Her golden hair gleamed in the sunlight that filtered into the car and her eyes were wide with fear. He did not enjoy that, but he told himself it was necessary. Whatever it took to force her to obey.
Rashid sat back and tugged a sleeve into place. He was not precisely pleased with himself, and yet he’d done what had to be done. A man like him claimed his child. And the woman carrying it.
“I did warn you.”
“You said you weren’t a barbarian.” Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. She wore a pink dress and smelled like cotton candy and Rashid wanted to lean into her and press his nose to her hair.
“Indeed.”
“Then I must be confused, because I thought barbarians did precisely what you just did. Or did you perhaps say you weren’t a barber and I simply misunderstood?”
And there was the attitude. Clearly, she was not damaged in any way. It gave his temper permission to emerge.
“I am a desert king. Of course I’m a barbarian. Isn’t that what you believe? Because I speak Arabic and come from a nation where the men wear robes and the women are veiled, that I must surely be less civilized than you?”
Her lips pressed into a tight, white line. “Even if I didn’t believe it, don’t you think you just proved it? What kind of man kidnaps a woman he’s never met just because there’s been a mix-up in the clinic?”
Her eyes were flashing purple fire again. For some reason, that intrigued him almost as much as it angered him.
“A man who has no time for arguments. A man who holds the lives of an entire nation in his hands and who needs to get back to his duties. A man who has no reason whatsoever to trust that the woman carrying his heir will turn over the child when it is time.”
Her eyes darkened with anger. “I won’t give up my baby just because you wish it.”
“You were willing to do so for your sister.”
“That’s different and you know it. I would still be part of the child’s life. A beloved aunt.” She shook her head suddenly. “Why are we arguing about this? There’s no guarantee I’m pregnant. It doesn’t always work the first time.”
“Perhaps not, but I will take no chances. My child will be a king one day, Sheridan Sloane. He will not be raised in an apartment in America by a woman who works sixteen-hour days and ignores him in favor of her own interests.”
Her skin flushed bright red. “How dare you?” she growled. “How dare you act as if you know me when you don’t have the faintest clue? I would never ignore my child. Never!”
He infuriated her. No, she’d not planned for a child in her life—the baby was supposed to be Annie’s—but the fact he would sit there and smugly inform her that he believed she would neglect her baby in favor of her business made her defensive and angry. Of course she would still have to work, but she would figure it out.
Except there would be no figuring it out. This man was a king, and if she was pregnant, he wasn’t going to abandon her to raise the child alone. He would be a part of her life from now on.
Sheridan shivered at the thought. How did one work out custody with a king?
“This baby is supposed to be Annie’s,” she said, working hard to keep the panic from her voice. “I hadn’t planned on a baby of my own, but that doesn’t mean I would be a bad or neglectful mother. And I won’t let you steamroll right over me just because you’re a king. I have rights, too.”
His