Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) (6 page)

“Yes, I can.” He made his voice harsh so she could be in no doubt. “My palace is full of guards and you have no money or passport. Even if you were to somehow
manage to avoid my soldiers, you would not get far.”

Her throat moved and he had the most peculiar desire to stroke his hand down the graceful white column of it. He remembered the feeling of her pulse beneath his palm back in the SUV, fluttering hard and fast, like a bird.

“You said I could refuse.” Her voice had gotten thicker. “You said a woman has to give her consent.”

Prompted by some
urge he couldn’t name, he stroked his thumb experimentally on her chin. “That is true in most places, Al-Harah for example. But here, in Al-Shakhra, our customs are much older. Here the right of refusal happens only when a woman is claimed by more than one man.” She gave a little shiver as his thumb moved, her eyes going wide with surprise. Very interesting. Had she not been touched like this before?
“So you may refuse, Miss Cartwright. But only if you already have a husband or a man who will come for you.”

Something flashed across her face then, a raw kind of emotion he didn’t recognize. Then her expression closed up, those pretty red-gold lashes veiling her gaze. “I have a government,” she said stonily. “Once they’ve found out what’s happened to me, they’ll come for me.”

Well, she might
very well have a government who would help, but she had no man to come for her, to claim her, of that he was sure.

If he’d had a heart he might have felt sorry for her. But he’d cut the remains of it out when Farid had killed himself. He had no pity left.

“Your government would have to know where you are in order to come for you and I have made sure they will not find you for some time.” He
should release her now, yet he didn’t. As if he wanted to test himself against her sweet scent and the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. It had been too long. It had been far too long…

She tensed and he could feel the subtle pull of her chin against his hand. She wanted to get away, escape him, but he continued to keep a tight hold on her, studying her delicate features.

Back in Al-Harah,
lying unconscious on that street, he’d thought she was a rather insignificant consolation prize when compared to Princess Safira. Not for her looks because beauty wasn’t a quality that drew him—as a soldier he had no use for beauty. But because she looked weak. And he respected strength.

Yet this small creature had proved to have a certain strength after all. She hadn’t cowered before him or
begged for mercy. Instead she’d raged and shouted. Had jabbed him in the chest with her finger. And even now, though she was held fast in his grip, she was trying to get away.

Perhaps she would make a good sheikha after all.

Her lashes rested on her cheeks, her gaze firmly on his chest. “Please,” she said unexpectedly, her voice husky. “Please, s-sire. Take me back to Al-Harah. Let me go.”

That stutter again. It made something unfamiliar tighten in his chest. Something unwelcome. No, it could not be regret. Or sympathy, or any one of those weak emotions. The ones that had ultimately led to Farid and Maysan’s death. He would not let them in, not ever.

Zakir released her, stepping away and trying to ignore the warmth from her skin that lingered on his fingertips. “I cannot do that,
Miss Cartwright.” He kept his tone cold. “Your place is now here. With me.”

Slowly she raised her chin, looking at him, and this time he couldn’t read the look in her eyes. But there was no mistaking the determined line of her jaw. “And my company? My whole life? What about that?”

Yes, this would be hard for her. But then what was life if not hard? Everyone who lived in the Al-Shakhra, the Stone
Kingdom, knew that.

“You will not need a company,” he said steadily. “You will have a new life. As queen of this country. As my sheikha.”

Her jaw became even more determined, hard and set, a furious silver flame burning in her eyes. “Over my dead body.”

Well, he hoped it would not come to that.

Zakir turned, going over to the one of the benches and sitting down, reaching to undo his desert
boots. After he’d trained, he liked to swim in the pool, and especially now, with the strange, tight feeling remaining in his chest and the heat in his blood, he could do with immersing himself in some cold water.

Putting the boots beside the bench, he then reached for the buttons on the black combat pants he wore, pulling them open.

“What are you doing?”

He looked up to see Felicity staring
at him, her eyes wide.

“I am going swimming. I prefer to do so after a training session.” He paused. “You wish to join me?”

“God, no.”

Perhaps she didn’t like to swim. “You are quite welcome to use the pool at any time.”

“But…but…”

She looked flustered, though he couldn’t imagine why. “But what?”

“What about me?”

“What about you?” He began to push down his pants and the briefs he wore under
them.

“Oh.” The word came out on a funny squeak, color rushing into her already pink face. Her mouth opened, her gaze dropping down his body as he stepped out of his pants completely.

This was his palace and he was king of it. And shame was another emotion he no longer felt. So it didn’t bother him that she went redder than her hair at his nudity. In fact, it was almost…intriguing to see her
look at him with such wide eyes. As if she’d never seen an unclothed man in her life.

It made him want to play with her a little.

“Do you see something…unusual?” he asked bluntly.

Her gaze jerked up to his face and he didn’t think it was possible, but she went an even deeper shade of red. “What? Uh, no, of course not.” She blinked. “Can I go now? I mean, am I dismissed?”

“No.” He found he
wasn’t in any hurry to let her leave. “You will stay.”

That small, delicate jaw of hers firmed. “Well, you could have given me a little warning that you were just going to…you know…strip.”

“I always swim naked. Besides, you will have to get used to seeing me like this.” He turned toward the pool, a peculiar sense of satisfaction at her reaction resting inside him, which was strange because he
really didn’t care what she thought of him.

“Why will I have to get used to seeing you like that?” Her voice sounded shaky.

He walked to the edge, looking down at the blue water. “Because one day I will need an heir.”

Without waiting for her response, which would no doubt be an unhappy one, he dove cleanly into the cool water. It was the very height of luxury to have so much water purely for
swimming in, but unlike the harem, it was the one pleasure from Farid’s reign he’d allowed himself to keep.

Coming up for air, he lifted his hands and wiped the water from his eyes.

Felicity stood at the side of the pool with her arms folded, a mutinous expression on her face, silver sparks flashing in her eyes. “Just so you know, if I’m refusing to be your wife, I’m also refusing…a-anything
else.”

Playing with her was unfair, especially when he had all the power and she had none. But again, it was better she got used to it because that was life in the Stone Palace, where he was the king and his word was law. Al-Shakhra wasn’t an absolute monarchy for nothing.

Zakir slicked his hair back with one hand. “I am prepared to wait until you are ready.”

Truth be told, he was in no hurry
to consummate the marriage himself. Part of the reason she would make him a good sheikha was the fact that he wasn’t attracted to her. Sex would only happen in the creation of heirs, he’d already vowed that to himself, and if they had no physical chemistry then he wouldn’t be tempted to break that vow. He would never give into passion the way his brother had.

Yet he hadn’t counted on the strange
stirrings of desire he’d experienced these past ten minutes, where he’d found his control with her a little less complete than he liked it to be.

So, no. He would wait. He was very good at waiting.

“You don’t understand. I will
never
be ready.” She’d started pacing beside the pool, her arms folded tightly. “I’m only twenty-four. I don’t want marriage. I don’t want kids. I graduated MIT with
a PhD when I was twenty-one and I own one of the fastest growing software companies in the States. A company that needs this deal with Al-Harah. That’s where my life is. That’s what I want.” She stopped all of a sudden, a fierce look on her face. “How can I make you see that?”

If she was trying to make herself less of an asset as a sheikha, she wasn’t succeeding. So it seemed she was not only
an accomplished businesswoman—which he already knew from the research Jamal had done—but she was also highly intelligent as well. That only reinforced his decision to keep her.

“What I can see,” he said, “is that I made the right choice in taking you, after all. Intelligence is valuable in a sheikha.”

A look of what he thought was surprise flickered over her face, before it gave way to frustration.
“That’s great. Apart from the small fact that I do not want to be a sheikha.”

Zakir eyed her. As intriguing as she was, the conversation now started to wear thin. He had other things to do today and had no time to have the same argument over and over again with this little redhead. He’d made his decision. It was final.

Moving purposefully over to the edge of the pool, he put his hands on the
edge and pushed himself out of it.

She didn’t move, that fierce, obstinate look on her face, keeping her gaze firmly above his waistline this time.

“You have told me your objections,” he said, his voice flat with command. “And I have listened. My decision stands, however.”

She scowled. “But look, it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not nobility. I’m not beautiful. I don’t know anything about your
customs. I’m from New York, for God’s sake. Marrying me isn’t exactly a smart move.”

Now she was questioning his intelligence? Definitely, this conversation was over.

Ignoring her, he strode over to the discreet control panel on the wall near where he’d left his towel and pressed a button that would call back in his guards.

“Also, you’re still failing to take into account the fact that the
American government is not going to be happy when they hear—”

“The American government will not hear anything,” he interrupted. “Because I had Jamal cover our tracks. As far as they or anyone else is concerned, you are taking an unexpected sightseeing trip into the Al-Harahan desert that is likely to last more than two weeks. Now stop talking. My word is law here, little one. And the sooner you
understand that the better.”

As soon as he spoke the doors opened and a pair of his royal guards swept in.

“Little one?” She didn’t seem to notice the guards, obviously too busy being incensed. “I’m not little.”

Zakir gestured. “Take her to the sheikha’s quarters,” he ordered the guards in Arabic. “See to her every comfort.”

The lines of her face tightened as she finally noticed the guards
heading in her direction, her mouth firming.

Smoky gray eyes met his. “Am I heading to the dungeons now?” she asked, the question laced with heavy sarcasm.

“No, you are to be taken to the queen’s quarters, your every need seen to.”

Defiance glittered in her eyes. “I will
never
be your queen
.”

Zakir bared his teeth at her, his patience at an end. “Yes, Miss Cartwright. You most certainly will.”

F
elicity paced back
and forward over the polished stone floor, so furious she had to move, otherwise she’d spontaneously combust with rage.

She wanted to smack the sheikh of Al-Shakhra full in his harsh, handsome face.

She’d tried pleading with him and that hadn’t worked. Then she’d tried a bit of logic, but that hadn’t worked either. All she was left with now was sheer,
bloody-minded determination.

It felt like she’d just gone back in time four years, back to when her mother had invited the scion of a particularly wealthy and influential New York family to the Cartwright’s family Christmas party, telling Felicity she had to do her best to get to know him, because he would make her father an excellent son-in-law and that’s what her father really wanted.

That
had been the night Felicity had finally realized that making her father happy was all that mattered to her mother. That her mother didn’t care about Felicity’s PhD. Or the fact that she was many, many years ahead of her peers. Or that she’d won academic awards right, left and center, and had a brilliant future ahead of her.

No, all that had mattered was using Felicity for her own ends, to stave
off her parents’ divorce that had come anyway.

And now this sheikh was wanting to use her, too, whether she liked it or not, putting everything she’d worked so hard for at risk.

Over her dead, freaking body.

It might come to that if you actually end up smacking him in the face.

A little wave of cold swept through her.

She couldn’t think why she wasn’t more afraid. Any sane woman would be,
after what had happened to her. But although fear was certainly there, it was anger that had her in its grip.