Sheikh's Desert Desire: Carrying the Sheikh's Heir. Maisey Yates
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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.”
It was just like him, of course. King Rashid acted. He did not consult a soul. He simply did what he deemed best. Just like when he’d scooped her up and brought her to Kyr against her will.
“I have told you your options.” His voice was smooth and even, as if he was explaining things to a child.
Anger wrapped long fingers around her throat and squeezed. “I still have Annie to consider. What about her?”
His expression grew hard. Hard and cold and unapproachable. “What about her?”
That was the moment when the bile in Sheridan’s stomach started swirling hard, pushing upward, demanding release. She got to her feet and staggered toward the bathroom. She barely made it in time, and then she was bending over the sink, retching.
There was a hand in her hair, holding it back. He put another hand on her back and rubbed gently while tears sprang to her eyes and she felt utterly miserable. She wanted to tell him to stop touching her, but in fact it felt nice to have him soothe her. She was a traitor even to herself.
“I’m not trying to be harsh,” he said, his voice gentle for once. “But your sister cannot figure into my dynastic responsibilities. There are other solutions to her problem. You told me yourself about an experimental treatment.”
Sheridan put her hands on the counter, bracing herself, her eyes squeezed shut as she prayed there was nothing else left to come up.
“They can’t afford it,” she said miserably when she could speak.
“I can.”
Sheridan turned on the water and gulped some down before she straightened shakily and turned to face him. His beauty always hit her with a punch and now was no exception. A king had just held her hair while she’d thrown up the little bit of food she’d managed to eat.
If anyone had ever told her such a thing could happen, she’d have never believed them.
“You would do that for them?” Her heart was still pounding, but for a different reason now. It was everything she could have wanted for Annie. There were no guarantees the treatment would work, but it was a chance.
“I would not do it for them,” Rashid said very softly. “I would do it for you.”
* * *
Rashid watched her mouth fall open on a soft “oh” and was seized with a desire to claim her lips and take everything he desired. But she wasn’t feeling well, and he hadn’t come here for that anyway.
No, he’d come because Fatima had said she wasn’t eating. And because he’d been getting endless reports about her roaming the palace, commenting on the architecture, talking with endless people, playing with orphaned puppies and spending time in the kitchen discussing recipes and food service.
At a recent lunch he’d attended with some visiting dignitaries, the napkins were folded in shapes. They had been lotus flowers, he’d realized, and he’d been so fascinated that he’d missed the first half of what one of the dignitaries had been saying to him about water rights and oil production.
When he’d asked about it afterward, someone had told him that Miss Sloane had taught the staff how to do it. Lotus napkins. Puppies. Even Daoud spoke her name with a quiet reverence that set Rashid’s teeth on edge.
Everyone liked Miss Sloane, and that had made him think about her more than he wished. He liked her, too, but in a different way. He liked the way her body moved beneath his, the sounds she made when she came and the way her mouth tasted his so greedily. He’d thought about it for days now.
He’d deliberately stayed away because he didn’t trust himself not to act upon the hot feelings she ignited in him.
He’d been right, considering that he was staring at her mouth and thinking about it drifting over his skin.
Her eyes filled with tears. It was almost a shock, considering that she’d been so strong from the moment he’d first seen her until now. One spilled down her cheek and she quickly dashed it away.
“I don’t know what to say.” She pulled in a breath and rubbed her hand over her mouth.
His throat was tight and he didn’t know why. He cleared it. “You need to rest, habibti.”
She pushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear. Her fingers were trembling. “Yes, I probably should. I am quite tired.”
She was sagging against the counter and he reached over and swept her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
She was so light, so small. She weighed nothing and it made something move deep in his chest as he thought of her huge with child. “Taking you to bed.”
Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t feel up to, to...”
He carried her into the bedroom and set her on the bed. “And that is not what I’m suggesting.”
He picked up her gown from where it lay neatly folded on her pillow and handed it to her. She clutched it to her chest. On impulse, he ran his fingers over her cheek.
“Change. I’m going to finish eating. Then I will come back. If you still wish to talk, we will talk.”
Her eyes were red rimmed. “All right.”
He turned away and went back into the living area to finish eating while she changed. He didn’t like the way she’d seemed so shattered just now. So stunned and confused. He preferred the Sheridan who stood up to him. The Sheridan who got spitting mad and told him there was no way she would give up her baby.
That Sheridan was strong and would survive anything he threw at her. Anything the world threw at her. But would she survive a baby? She was so small, so delicate.
Rashid couldn’t help the memories crowding his head. They made him shiver, made him ache. He would not go through that again. His heart had to remain hard, no matter that Sheridan threatened to soften it.
When he figured she’d had enough time to change, he strode back toward her room, expecting her to pelt him with questions or rebuke him for making decisions for her. Perhaps he’d let her say whatever she wished, since her fire aroused him, and then maybe he’d undress and climb in bed with her. If one thing led to another, who was he to complain?
But when he got there, she was sound asleep in the middle of the bed.
“THE TEST IS POSITIVE.”
The doctor, a lean, short man with glasses, was looking at the results on a printout. No peeing on a stick for Sheridan. It had been far more involved, with urine and blood samples and an excruciating wait while the lab processed the results. “Your hCG levels are doubling nicely and all looks normal at this stage.”
Sheridan sat in her chair in Rashid’s office and felt as if her heart had stopped. Across from her, Rashid sat at his desk, his lips compressed into a tight line. The doctor seemed oblivious to the undercurrents in the room as he stood and bowed low.
“Congratulations, Your Majesty.”
Rashid waved the man out and then they were alone. But Rashid didn’t speak. He simply sat there with that bloodless look on his face until her belly was a tight ball of nerves.
“I’m not sure I really believed it would happen the first time.” Her voice shook but Rashid didn’t seem to notice.
He