Her Ardent Sheikh. KRISTI GOLD
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She sounded desperate, her voice pleading.
He rubbed her back to comfort her, all too aware of her breasts pressed against him. The way she smelled, fresh and clean. Womanly. He held her closer to anchor himself. “I will provide for you until the time you can return to your apartment. I will arrange to pay your debts and see to it that you are comfortable in my home for now.”
She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t need your charity. I can take care of myself.”
Her attitude was the very reason he had never been involved with an American woman. Although he admired her independence, he did not always understand it, just as he did not understand his mother at times. Pride would not keep her safe, but he could. He would. “We will consider it a gift.”
“A loan,” she corrected, seeming to give in.
A strong sense of satisfaction settled over Ben at the prospect she would agree to stay with him, at least for now. “We shall discuss your financial situation later.”
She relaxed somewhat. “Can I at least go home and get some clothes?”
“I will find you appropriate clothing.”
“I have to feed…uh…my fish.”
He took her arm and led her to the sofa, then brought her down next to him. It seemed best to put some distance between them. Simply holding her again resurrected more unwanted feelings within Ben. Feelings he did not welcome but could not seem to stop. Yet he must halt them. Remember his duty to her.
He sighed. “I will take you to your apartment where you can feed your pets and gather some clothes. But you must agree to come back with me.”
Her smile traveled all the way to her jewel-like eyes, causing Ben’s pulse to race out of control. “Okay. Then it’s a deal?”
“Yes, but first you must eat.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m all that hungry.”
He was, but not necessarily for food. He stood before he lost his head, his control. “You can eat something. I shall summon Alima.”
She slumped back onto the sofa. “Alima?”
“My housekeeper.” And oftentimes thorn in his side.
Jamie shrugged again. “Okay. Does she do hot dogs? I’m really craving a hot dog.”
Ben smiled in response. “I will see what I can do.”
He then departed for the nearby kitchen to seek out Alima, glancing toward the sofa in the event Miss Morris should change her mind and try to escape. He hated holding her captive, and had he been less honorable, he might have led her to believe he was her captor, and she his slave. But honor was something his parents had instilled in him from birth, therefore he had no choice but to tell her the truth. As much of the truth as he could allow.
Alima was opening the oven door, removing fresh-baked bread. She turned around and tossed the pan onto the stove, then slipped the headphones away from her ears. “Is our guest awake now?”
“Yes. And she needs nourishment.”
She lifted the lid from a heavy black pot on the stove. “I have prepared simich in a very hearty stew.”
The wonderful bouquet made Ben’s mouth water. “She does not want fish stew. She has requested a hot dog.”
Alima narrowed her dark eyes. “I do not prepare hot dogs.”
“You will prepare something like it. She is our guest.”
She slapped the lid back on the boiling pot. “I will prepare something American, but I do no hot dogs.”
There was no sense in arguing with her. With Alima, he chose his battles carefully. He would need her assistance with Jamie in the future. No matter how stubborn Alima could be at times, she was a kind woman. She had a way with people, able to soothe them during dire moments. Jamie would need Alima’s kindness, for if she caused more trouble, put herself in more danger, then he would not be able to be kind.
“Bring the food into the living room on a tray,” he said. “We will dine there.”
“Do you wish the stew, Prince Hasim, or do you prefer the Texas food?” Her tone implied once again that she didn’t approve of his burgeoning American tastes even though she was guilty of the same.
“I will have what Miss Morris is having.”
Alima strolled to the refrigerator, muttering in Arabic under her breath as she yanked open the door and peered inside.
Ben returned to the living room to find Jamie curled up on the sofa, her eyes closed. But when he approached her, she quickly came awake and sat up. “I’m sorry. I just can’t shake this sleepiness.”
He still worried over her condition even though he had spoken with Justin several times by phone since the day before. The doctor had assured him that Jamie would be weak for a few days, but not to worry. Ben did worry, although perhaps he should be thankful she wasn’t quite recovered. The potential for her to fight him would increase with her strength.
He joined her on the sofa. “Alima will bring you something satisfactory. I am afraid we have no hot dogs.”
Jamie yawned. “That’s okay. Right now I think I could eat just about anything if it stood still long enough.”
“Then your appetite is returning. This is good.”
She smiled. A pretty smile that withered Ben’s insides like blades of grass in the sweltering Texas heat. “Yep. I’m feeling better,” she said. “And right after lunch, you can take me to my place.”
He should expect her persistence in this matter. She was not one to give up easily. “All right.”
She smiled. “You promise?”
At the moment, he would promise her anything. “You have my word.”
With her head lowered, Alima scurried into the room carrying a tray full of meats, cheeses and breads. She slipped it onto the table before them but did not raise her eyes to Jamie until Ben said, “Alima, this is Miss Morris.”
Jamie held out her small hand to Alima. “You can call me Jamie.”
Alima did not take the hand Jamie offered, as that would be disrespectful, but she did afford Jamie a smile. “I am pleased to have you in Prince Hasim’s home, Miss Morris. If you wish anything, please let me know.” She turned to address Ben. “Would Miss Morris be more comfortable dining at the table instead of here in the mayaalis, with the dead animals?” She gestured toward the cowhide rug draped on the floor in front of the hearth.
Ben repressed a chuckle. Jamie did not.
“I believe Miss Morris and I are quite comfortable here.” He regarded Jamie. “I am afraid Alima has never approved of informality. She believes that my mother spoiled me by letting me run the palace, doing as I pleased.”
Alima departed, muttering in her native tongue all the way to the kitchen.
“What did she just say?” Jamie asked.
“The monkey is a gazelle in the eyes of his mother. An Arabic proverb.”
Jamie laughed, a rich vibrant sound that made Ben want to laugh with her. “I have to remember that. Maybe while we’re stuck here together, you can teach me some Arabic.”
There were many things he would like to teach her, the least of which involved his native tongue. Or perhaps it would involve his tongue. And his hands, his body…
Thrusting the thoughts away, he said, “Arabic is best learned in an atmosphere where it is readily spoken. I only speak it with Alima on occasion and when I return home.”
She took some meat from the tray and shredded it, then nibbled a few bits. “Where is home?”
“Amythra.