Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) (13 page)

No wonder. It must have been horrific for him.

Her desire to know more suddenly intensified. Perhaps this was the key to mystery of him. The way to unlock him, know his secrets. And maybe if she was able to unravel the puzzle of him, she’d be able
to change his mind about the marriage, not to mention get a deal for Red Star.

You’d really use his personal tragedy like that?

Something heavy shifted in her chest. Well, no, not quite like that. She didn’t want to hurt him; she only wanted to know more. And after all, he’d kidnapped her and was holding her prisoner. She needed to reclaim her power in some way.

Felicity packed away the newspapers
then went back to the cabinet, hauled out all the boxes she could find and carried them back to the desk. For the next couple of hours she went through various government documents, magazine articles, and personal records from different officials, all puzzle pieces that when put together gave her a better picture of Al-Shakhra.

No wonder the whole place felt like it had only just stepped out
of the dark ages. It had been a closed country right up until five years ago, after the death of the ruling sheikh. Farid had opened up the borders, had started encouraging foreign business and investment, tourism and trade. There had even been steps to get rid of the absolute monarchy that had ruled the country for hundreds of years and a start to move to a democratic system of government.

Until Farid had apparently killed himself and his bride, setting back the progress the country had made in one fell swoop.

She stared at the words in the document she was currently reading, the heavy thing inside her shifting again, fascination winding tighter. Is that what Zakir was trying to do? Undo the bloody legacy left by his brother? And how had that affected him? What had really happened
to Farid? He’d been seen as a good ruler up until that night, so something must have.

Felicity sat back, biting her lip.

These records could only give her so much and information was sparse even with those. If she wanted to know more, she was going to have to ask Zakir. But how to get him to talk about such a personal tragedy?

The memory of the night before rose. The hunger in his black eyes
and the feel of his mouth on hers. He’d tasted like the fine whisky her father used to drink, dark and rich and intensely alcoholic. His hand on the back of her head, his hard, muscular body right up against hers. Hot. Demanding. And then, inexplicably, he’d shoved himself away from her as if she’d burned him.

Okay, so she may be inexperienced, but she was very far from an idiot. She’d known
he wanted her. So what had made him pull away?

Another mystery. But maybe that desire was a key, too. And she could use it to find out what lay beneath it. Get to the heart of him, find a way to make him change his mind about her and this wife thing.

Sure. But you have no idea what you’re doing. And when he touches you—

She cut the thought off before it could form. No, she had no idea what
she was doing when it came to desire. But she could learn. She’d always been quick, after all.

All she had to do was keep her head.

Easy.

*     *     *

Zakir had spent
all morning dealing with the diplomatic aftermath of the night before. Faisal had sympathizers, and unfortunately he couldn’t get rid of them all as easily as throwing them out of his palace.

He would have to do something else, take another approach. Probably one that involved diplomacy. The thought did not put him in a good mood. Diplomacy had never been one of his strong points—he was a soldier, not a diplomat. Farid had been the one whom the people loved, not him.

But he would have to make an effort if he didn’t want to end up like his father, ruling with an iron fist, crushing
dissent with his armies. That was not the legacy Farid had intended when he’d opened up the country’s borders. That was not the legacy Zakir wanted either.

The advice of his minsters was to take Felicity into the desert and get the approval of the powerful Bedouin tribes. Their opinion was important in Al-Shakhra and a great many people still listened to them, especially those sympathetic to
Faisal.

It was a good idea, so he’d assigned several people the task of organizing it. Jamal was silently disapproving, but Jamal would have to rethink his opinions. Especially since far from getting Zakir to change his mind, Faisal’s tactics had only entrenched his decision.

He would marry Felicity Cartwright. She was perfect in every way, and she would be his sheikha no matter what they said.

Perfect. Yes. Especially the taste of her.

Memories of the night before kept ambushing him, which was unacceptable. He should not be thinking so much about a mere kiss, two years of abstinence notwithstanding.

After he’d finished with his ministers, he made his way to the only place he found peace these days—his training room. A couple of hours of exercise should help with those kinds of thoughts,
it always did.

He liked weapons training, the sword in particular. It was peaceful, allowed him to center his thoughts. It also concentrated his control beautifully and that, in particular, was especially important since it was clear he was going to need it with Felicity around.

He’d been at it an hour and a half, practicing forms, when Jamal entered. “Miss Cartwright wishes to you see you,
sire.”

Zakir didn’t stop what he was doing, conscious of the heat inside him leaping at the mention of her name. A bad sign. But to refuse to see her would be a sign of weakness he couldn’t allow. Last night had been an aberration, nothing more, and it was best not to build it up into something it wasn’t.

“Show her in,” he said curtly.

Perhaps this was about the archive access he’d allowed
her that morning. It wouldn’t be what she was used to, not when she had all the information she needed available at the touch of a button on the internet—but he’d hoped she’d find it useful nevertheless. His father had always limited access to information about Al-Shakhra, so much of it wouldn’t be available anywhere else.

Jamal nodded then went to the door to usher Felicity into the room.

Zakir spun the sword in his hands, moving into another series of movements as Jamal brought her in, then left, closing the doors behind him.

Felicity stood with her arms folded, her chin jutting at its usual stubborn angle. A defensive posture, he was starting to recognize. She wore again the clothes he was beginning to associate with her, a T-shirt and jeans, basketball boots on her feet. Like
a teenager.

She is definitely not a teenager.

The night before she hadn’t been any kind of child. Her mouth under his had been open, letting him in to taste her. So sweet and hot. She’d curled her fingers into his tunic, holding on, her body melting against his. Inexperienced yes, but all woman that was for certain.

The memory of the kiss hit him hard once again, the heat already simmering
inside him built, and his hold on his sword wavered, his footwork faltering.

You should not have seen her yet.

His jaw hardened. This was insanity. He wasn’t a teenager either, getting hard at the memory of one kiss. No, he was thirty-five. He was a man, a king. He was in supreme control of himself both physically and mentally. And nothing would happen unless he willed it.

Turning, Zakir brought
the sword around in an arc, the blade slicing through the air, stopping right in front of her.

She didn’t flinch. “That’s pretty cool,” she said, looking down at the blade in front of her. “But you don’t actually use swords nowadays, do you? I mean, they’re just ceremonial, right?”

He lowered the weapon. Yes, he felt calm. He felt in control. She wouldn’t get under his skin again; he wouldn’t
let her. “They can be useful in certain situations.”

“Like when? In an actual war?”

“Whatever kills the opposition the quickest and with the least number of fatalities to your own side is usually the best weapon. Sometimes that is a blade. Sometimes it is not.”

Curiosity gleamed in her eyes. “Oh. Well. I guess that makes sense. And you’ve been in a war too, haven’t you? Five years ago, right?”

How would she know that? Perhaps she had looked it up? “I see you have been making use of my private archive.”

Her mouth turned up, excitement glittering in her eyes.

The animal inside him growled, low and deep. She would look like that in his bed, as he moved in her. If she was on her back. Or on her hands and knees. Perhaps he would take her in front of a mirror so he could look at her face.
Watch her. See that excitement turn to ecstasy as he pushed hard and deep.

Stop. You were supposed to be in control of yourself.

Ah, holy God. An hour and a half’s practice should have dealt with any rogue thoughts, and yet she’d only been in the room a minute and already all he could think about was how her mouth had tasted. How her body had felt against his.

Where was his strength? Where
was his control?

You are more like Farid with each day…

He turned sharply away, going over to the heavy metal cabinets that housed his training weapons. Wiping the sword down with a cloth, he then pulled open the cabinet and took down the scabbard that belonged with the blade, sheathing it soundlessly.

Behind him, he could almost feel her surprise. He ignored it.

“Uh,” she said when he didn’t
speak. “Yes, I made my calls then spent this morning looking through your archives. That’s why I came down here. To thank you. You did what you promised and I just wanted to say—”

“You did not pass on any messages to anyone?”

There was another small silence, the briefest hesitation.

“No.” She said the words quietly and with some dignity. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was or what had happened.
It would have been a bit difficult with Jamal standing guard over me. Anyway, as far as my company is concerned, I’m pursuing a new business opportunity and I’ll keep them updated as things develop.”

A tightness he hadn’t been previously aware of eased somewhere inside him and he wasn’t quite sure why. Not because he’d been afraid she’d make things difficult for him diplomatically, but for some
other reason. As if she’d made a choice. And that choice had been him.

Slowly, he closed the doors to the cabinet. “And why did you say that?”

“Because now that the deal with Al-Harah has fallen through, you’re going to have to help me save my company.”

He turned. She stood not far away, the blue of the pool at her back, her gray eyes very clear, very direct.

“Do I?”

“I told you I needed
that deal. And since you’re the one who effectively killed it, you’re the one who’s going to fix it. My company can help your country and we can do it without this marriage thing.”

He straightened, watching her. She had no idea how very desirable she was to him right now, that direct, almost challenging expression in her eyes. Reminding him of how she’d looked in his arms as he’d kissed her.
Of how she would look as he stripped her clothes away and took her.

In fact, he could do that right now. Right here. Peel her tight, little T-shirt off over her head, strip away her jeans. Leave her naked but for her ridiculous basketball boots. Those he would keep on, because he could. Then he’d lay her down on one of the long couches near the pool—

Remember Farid. Remember what he did. Passion
is the downfall of the Al-Nazari, this you know.

“You are aware of what I want.” His voice sounded rough. Of course she would not know what he truly wanted. Not really. “This ‘marriage thing’ is nonnegotiable.”

He expected an angry response, but all she did was narrow her gaze, staring at him silently. “Why?” she asked after a moment. “What’s so important about marriage to you?”

“Marriage is
always important to a king, especially when he needs an heir.”

She tilted her head like a curious bird. “So it’s just that? What about love? Companionship?”

A thread of irritation wound through him. Where was she going with this? “Those things are irrelevant when it comes to royal marriages.”

Felicity stuck her hands in her pockets, scuffing the floor with one shoe. “Not for normal people,
it isn’t. Love is pretty important when it comes to getting married.”

“You and I are not normal people.”

“Speak for yourself.” Her gaze dropped away from his, her foot moving restlessly on the floor. “Did…your brother love his wife?”

Shock arrowed down his spine, stealing his breath. Of course she would know about Farid and Maysan. He’d forgotten his archivists would have gathered all those
lurid headlines. There were reasons he kept those archives closed.

You should have told her.

Perhaps. But what would it have benefitted her to know the horrific crime his brother had committed? She needed to feel at home here, to settle in. Rather difficult to do that knowing what had happened to the last sheikha within these walls.

Except now she did know. And she had questions. Questions
he did not want to answer.