Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) (23 page)

Everything that Red Star could have done for Al-Shakhra, too, if he’d been a more selfish man.

But he’d learned. This was way it should be. What he should have done all along—released her. Kept her safe.

You’re afraid.

He paused by the window, her voice
echoing in his head. Full of anger and hurt.

I’m falling in love with you, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

The ache he’d been trying to ignore for four weeks deepened, making him even angrier.

No, this was ridiculous. Why was he thinking about her? He’d done the best thing for them both, and it had nothing to do with him being afraid or otherwise. He wanted to protect her and he knew that not
being able to give her the kind of love she wanted, the kind she deserved, would only end up hurting her.

He’d done the right thing sending her away. The only thing.

The right thing for you.

A growl escaped him. He didn’t have time for this. The desert tribes had been unhappy he’d gotten rid of the prospective bride he’d brought to them for their approval, while Faisal and his cronies had been
full of triumph that the outsider was now gone. Both sides were pushing him to find another bride and quickly.

But that was the problem. There were no other brides. And he was back in the same position he’d been when he’d gone on that first raid to Al-Harah.

You don’t want another bride anyway.

No, that was a lie. He could find another woman. He would have to.

His gaze fell to the screen of
his computer and helplessly he read those words again, feeling the last link, the last secret hope he’d had, fall away.

There were no reasons now to go after her and there were no reasons for her to come back.

With a roar, he suddenly swept the offending piece of technology off his desk and onto the floor, the screen cracking and bits of the keyboard flying everywhere.

His office door opened
instantly, Jamal there with his hand on the hilt of his sword, obviously thinking there was some emergency. “Sire?” His gaze dropped to the broken computer, then back up again. “Are you well?”

Zakir kicked aside the broken computer, striding toward the door. He had to get out, get rid of this rage, deal with it somehow because he was behaving in a ridiculous fashion.

“Get someone to clean this
up,” he said shortly as he brushed past him. “I will be in the training room.”

Perhaps that was it. He was used to training every day and he hadn’t been down there since he’d gotten back from the desert. He’d been busy, of course, and hadn’t had the time, but he clearly had to make time.

Being busy is just another excuse. You haven’t been down there for a reason.

Zakir ignored the voice his
head, striding down the corridors, scattering guards and palace staff as he went. They were avoiding him, he knew. Mostly because he’d been in a foul temper since the abortive desert trip.

It was the lack of training, definitely. Nothing at all to do with the lack of one small, redheaded, American woman.

The training room was as it always was, the blue of the pool reflecting calmly on the ceiling,
the space silent. He headed straight to the weapons cabinet, divesting himself of the robes he’d been wearing as he went so that all he wore were his usual black, combat pants.

The blades gleamed, ready for use, as he opened the cabinet. The dagger he’d used to cut away Felicity’s clothes was back in its place, its edge just as sharp as when he’d used it. For some reason, he found himself picking
it up, watching the light play along it.

The day he’d taken her that first time, on the low couch by the pool. Pale skin and red silken hair. Basketball boots digging into his back as he’d—

A sharp pain shot through him and he cursed, blood from a cut finger bright against the metal.

He was a fool. What was he doing thinking about sex when holding a sharp blade?

Carefully he cleaned the dagger
and placed it back in the cabinet, then he got down the sword he favored for his usual forms.

He moved into the middle of the room and began his routine, letting the familiarity of the movement calm him, focus him. Watching the light run down the metal, he listened to his breathing.

There, he’d had her. On that couch. She’d been so passionate and unafraid, willing to go with him wherever he’d
led her. The taste of her had been so sweet, the feel of her so intense. She’d been so generous with him, considering how he’d treated her. Giving herself to him then and afterwards in the desert.

I would have stayed, Zakir.

His steps faltered and he cursed again, shoving the echoes of her voice from his head. Wrenching his focus back, he began his routine again, faster this time. Harder. Letting
the burn of his muscles drown out the memories of Felicity.

The way she’d talked to him in the little courtyard that day, so excited and proud of the software she’d developed. And he’d realized what a light she was, and how drawn he was to that part of her. The way she’d advanced on him and poked him in the chest, no matter that there were drawn blades all around her. So courageous even though
he knew she’d been afraid.

And then in the desert, how she’d leaned back into his arms as they’d watched the sunset over the sands, and sighed, her body relaxed against his as she openly appreciated the beauty around her. And later, in that outdoor bath, as pleasure had made her eyes glitter even more brightly than the stars above her head.

He moved faster, the sword sweeping around him in great,
shining arcs.

Felicity in the tent, tears rolling down her cheeks, anger bright in her eyes, telling him he was hiding behind his brother’s madness. That she was falling in love with him.

And you were falling in love with her.

His feet stumbled again and he stopped, his muscles screaming, his skin covered in sweat, the sword hilt slick in his hand. His arms shook. His chest hurt.

No, that
was wrong. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t allow himself to and he’d been very careful about that. Love hurt. Love destroyed.

His brother had loved Maysan and that love, twisted by madness, had killed her.

He could not give that to Felicity. He would not put her in the same position. No, he wasn’t his brother, but he couldn’t love her. Wouldn’t. Love was toxic, damaging, and he couldn’t stand
it if…

But this isn’t about you. This is about her.

He stopped, all the breath leaving his body, and he stared at the wall opposite him, the sword feeling heavy and unwieldy in his hand.

No. He
was
thinking about her. Wasn’t he?

You made the decision for you and didn’t even give her the choice. Doesn’t she at least deserve that?

It felt like someone had run him through with his own sword.
Because of course she did. And he’d thought he’d made that decision for
her
. But he hadn’t. His decision hadn’t been about protecting her, but about protecting himself.

She’d been brave. She’d been courageous. She’d stood in front of him and told him what she wanted and he’d been the one to run. He’d been the coward, thinking only of himself. She’d put him to shame.

Zakir abruptly flung his
sword to the side, heedless of the way the stone rasped against the metal.

He didn’t know what she’d say, whether she’d send him away like the dog he was, or whether she’d accept the paltry things he could offer her. But he did know he had to try. He couldn’t let her go another day thinking that he felt nothing for her. That she’d put her heart on the line for him only to have him throw it back
in her face.

Because
that
she didn’t deserve.

Zakir didn’t bother wasting time dealing with his weapons.

He had a plane to catch.

*     *     *

Felicity finished reading
her last email, wrinkling her nose at the screen. The final agreement with the government of Al-Harah for her software had come through that morning, their offer more than generous.
Red Star was going to benefit mightily from the deal.

Yet for some reason, she didn’t know whether to take it or not, and she couldn’t really figure out what was holding her back.

Really?

Letting out a short breath, she shoved her chair back. Okay, so she knew.

Zakir had kept his promise to her, righting the wrong he’d done when he’d kidnapped her, ensuring she wouldn’t lose the company she’d
worked so hard to build. Except, she’d lost something else instead—her heart.

And even now, four weeks later, she was still subconsciously waiting to see if Zakir would contact her. A patently ridiculous thing to do when he hadn’t even responded to her
no baby
email.

Then again, maybe he didn’t even read his email. Maybe he didn’t get email at all. Maybe he only dealt with correspondence via
carrier pigeon or something.

The joke was a feeble one and didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, nothing made her feel better these days. Not even Red Star’s deal. Not even finding out she wasn’t pregnant after all.

That had actually made her feel worse, which was insane since she didn’t want kids, at least not yet.

You want Zakir’s kids.

She scowled at her screen. No, she wasn’t going
to think of him. Not again. Not ever. He didn’t want her and she sure as hell didn’t want him.

She’d had a lucky escape, that’s what happened. God, imagine if he’d changed his mind when she’d told him she wanted to stay? When she said she was falling in love with him? She’d be there right now, in that medieval hellhole, sitting in the sun of that courtyard while he held her in his arms and…

Her intercom went off.

Felicity swallowed past the lump in her throat and hit the button. “What is it?”

“You have a visitor,” her PA said.

“What? Now? I’m just on my way out.”

“I know, but…he’s most insistent.”

“Who is it?”

But there was no answer. And then she could hear her PA’s voice from outside the office, calling, “Wait. I’m afraid you can’t go in—”

And abruptly her office door opened
and a man strode through it before kicking it shut behind him.

A very, very tall man, massively built. A familiar man. At least, he would have been familiar, if he hadn’t been wearing a beautifully tailored, charcoal gray suit, with a black shirt beneath it and a black tie. If his strong jaw hadn’t been shaved. If his black hair hadn’t been brushed back from his high forehead, making those aristocratic
cheekbones stand out and accentuating the straight slashes of his black brows.

And then her shocked gaze met his eyes.

Black. Sharp. Like shattered obsidian.

Zakir.

Her knees went out from under and she dropped back down into her chair, unable to say a word. Unable to tear her gaze from his. Unable to believe he was here, standing in her office. In a…suit of all things.

Once or twice, she’d
imagined him in western dress, but she hadn’t really understood until now the effect of it. She’d thought he’d look more civilized somehow, more modern even. But he didn’t. He looked just as wild, just as barbaric. Even more so, the suit a foil that only emphasized the raw intensity of him, all that leashed violence that simmered beneath his skin.

“W-what are you doing here?” she stuttered like
a fool, her brain falling over itself with all the questions it wanted answering.

Would he still smell the same? Would he still feel the same? Her heart felt like it was going to explode in her chest.

He walked straight over to her desk and stood there, looking down at her, his black eyes gleaming with determination, with will.

“I have come to tell you something, Felicity. Do you have time
for me? If not, I will wait.”

She blinked, struggling to process what exactly was happening. “What do you mean you have something to tell me? What something?”

The intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. Instead he put his hands down on the edge of her desk and leaned forward on them, his gaze holding hers. “That I should never have taken your choice away from you.”

She blinked again, feeling her
eyes start to prickle. “It’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

“Maybe it is. But I had to come, little one. I had to come and tell you that I am sorry for what I did. I am sorry for denying you what you wanted. I am sorry for thinking only of myself. Love has always meant death to me. It has been tainted by Farid’s actions and I thought…I believed that sending you away was the right thing.”
He paused, the look in his eyes becoming even more intent. “But it was not. You were right when you accused me of being afraid. I was. I still am. I am a coward, Felicity. I am afraid I cannot give you the love you deserve. The love you need. But here is my promise you to. I will try every day of my life to make you happy. To make you feel wanted. To make you feel safe. I will give you my throne
and my country. I will give you my palace and the desert. You may even wish to live here in America, where you can manage your company more easily and if so, I will buy you whatever house here you desire. These are paltry things. They do not encompass the whole of your worth, but they are all I have to give.”