Her Ardent Sheikh

by Kristi Gold

  Holding Jamie Morris did, and he cursed the fact that he had not been with a woman in quite some time. Surely this was the reason for his reaction. Weeks had passed since he had returned home. In his country, there were women readily available to care for his needs. Experienced women who considered taking him to their bed an honor because of his station. The couplings were without emotion and left him with a sated body and an emptiness deep in his soul. An emptiness he did not care to acknowledge.

  Jamie Morris was different from those women. She aroused feelings in him that he had rarely experienced in his thirty-six years. Aroused his need to protect. To keep her safe. That desire lived so strong within him that he knew he would die before he let any harm come to her, if he could prevent it.

  He had covertly watched her for several weeks, had memorized her habits. He knew she woke every morning at 6:00 a.m. and took her coffee and the newspaper onto her apartment’s small verandah. She returned to the same spot every evening and stayed with a book late into the night. She was still very young, and he was very jaded. She was an innocent; he was world-weary. Yet at times he had glimpsed loneliness in her expression, as if she craved companionship. He could relate.

  But he could not consider his loneliness tonight. He must remember his duty. He was here to protect her, not to sample her luscious body.

  Ben sent up a silent prayer of gratitude when Jamie stopped moving, her breathing now deep and steady. At least she slept.

  Ben, however, would not for quite some time.

  The dream was so nice, Jamie didn’t want it to end. The visions were so very real she could still feel her imaginary lover’s arms wrapped around her.

  Unwelcome light penetrated her closed lids and the fragrant smell of coffee teased her senses. Resisting the distractions, she snuggled further into the heavenly bed.

  Her mind still caught in a pleasant haze, she reached for a blanket to cover her head. She contacted something that didn’t feel the least bit like her grandmother’s handmade quilt.

  Her eyes snapped open. What the heck was that? She didn’t own any pets. Her gaze traveled downward to discover exactly what she was clutching.

  A hairy arm. A large hairy arm that certainly didn’t belong to her—unless she’d grown a spare during the night. Definitely male, she decided, after surveying the golden skin laced with prominent veins, the large square fingers attached to the end of a hand. A nice hand. Very nice.

  Nope, she knew where her arms were. Connected to her shoulders, not to her hip.

  Coming fully awake, she sat up with a jolt and yanked the sheets to her chin. It was all coming back now, one frame at a time, like a slide show. She wasn’t in her own bed, and she wasn’t alone.

  Who had relieved her of her senses? How could someone have crawled into her bed without her knowledge?

  “What is going on?” she hissed, then cried “Ouch!” when she pushed farther back and her sore skull bumped the headboard behind her.

  Only then did she realize that the arm was an extension of a real live half-naked man whom she didn’t recognize, until she met his dark gray eyes now staring up at her through a fringe of sinfully long lashes. The man who had occupied her dreams.

  Prince Ben, savior sheikh.

  He slowly ran a hand through his thick mussed hair—hair as dark as the Texas crude that had made Royal so prosperous. “Did you sleep well?”

  Now suffering from sexy sheikh shock, Jamie couldn’t force herself to utter one word.

  When she continued to stare at him, his mouth curled up in a smile that revealed deep grooves framing his mouth and enhanced fine lines around his eyes. A smile that would melt an iron washtub. Dark whiskers scattered above his well-defined lips and granite jaw made him look a bit on the sinister side. Sensually sinister. She figured he probably had to shave twice a day. A beard like that would definitely promote whisker burn during long kisses. She’d just bet he could kiss the bloomers off Betty Mays, Royal’s spinster county clerk.

  And he was in bed with her. Jamie Morris, who didn’t even kiss on the first date.

  “Well?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy.

  “Well what?”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She had found her voice, but where was her brain? This was no time for pleasantries. “No! I mean…why are you in bed with me?”

  He rolled onto his back and stacked his hands behind his head, giving her an intimate view of the tuft of hair under his arm. Jamie looked away and contacted his bare chest. Her gaze followed the path of dark hair that began as a silken mat between his pecs then thinned to a stream over his abdomen before disappearing into the waistband of a pair of striped pajamas. And just below that…

  Oh, my.

  Like someone viewing a horror film, Jamie didn’t exactly want to look, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the hypnotic sight, even if her life depended on it.

  Suddenly realizing he was speaking, she pulled her gaze back to his face. His grin deepened, causing her cheeks to fire up like Manny’s grill at the Royal Diner.

  “You were having bad dreams. I worried you might hurt yourself if you thrashed about too much.”

  She didn’t remember a single bad dream. A very good dream, yes. “Oh.”

  “So I took the liberty of holding you until you calmed. I apologize if my presence in your bed has alarmed you.”

  “I wasn’t alarmed exactly. Just a bit unnerved.” Jamie was still unnerved, but she wasn’t suffering from fear, as he’d assumed. She was more afraid that her dreams had been real, and he wasn’t telling the absolute truth.

  She chewed her lip for a moment, trying to decide how to broach the subject. Asking point-blank seemed like the sensible solution. “Did we…” How could she ask him that?

  He impaled her with his night-sky eyes. “Did we what?”

  Do the wild thing. Make whoopee. Shuffle the sheets.

  She couldn’t force herself to say any of those things.

  He had the nerve to smile again. “I am waiting.”

  Jamie got the distinct feeling he enjoyed watching her squirm like a night crawler on the end of a hook. “You know…you and me…together. In the bed.”

  His smile disappeared, replaced by a dark, sensual expression even more disarming. “Did we make love?”

  “Yeah. Did we do that?”

  “Why would you assume this?”

  She didn’t mind mentioning the dream, but she refused to reveal that he was the prime subject. “Well, because I was out of my head. And you are in bed with me. And then I had these images of hands…and things.” Lots of things.

  “Someone hurting you?”

  “No. Just the opposite.”

  He rolled to his side and faced her again with his elbow bent, one palm bracing his cheek, his eyes darkened by something Jamie couldn’t quite name. “Do you mean hands touching you? Perhaps a mouth on you, kissing every inch of your body until you writhed with pleasure? Someone making love to you until you could not breathe, yet you wanted more, until you found yourself begging for the very thing you feared, giving everything over to sensation until you were lost, body and soul?”

  He spoke in a low steady tone that made Jamie shiver and sweat, all at the same time.

  She somehow managed to speak, with effort. “Yes, something like that.”

  His smile crept in once again, slowly, and only halfway. “No, Miss Morris. That did not happen between us. If it had, you would know. And you would not so easily forget.”

  Without further comment, he pushed himself up and left the bed with graceful movements, like a panther progressively stalking its prey. And Jamie sat with her mouth gaping like a sprung screen door, feeling as boneless as putty, her body immersed in heat and her head reeling from his words.

  As he walked to the chair across the room, Jamie couldn’t help but notice the way his pajamas tightened with each stride, revealing a bottom that would best be described as a true work of art. He picked up
a heavy blue robe and slipped it on, covering his artful bottom, much to Jamie’s disappointment.

  He faced her again, this time his expression all-business, unreadable. “You must be hungry. I will have my housekeeper bring you a tray so that you may regain your strength.”

  She would need all the strength she could get to fight his control over her. Her desire to know him. All of him.

  Shaking off the covers and the stupid thoughts, Jamie scooted to the end of the bed and touched her toes to the luxuriously carpeted floor. She needed to get out of here. Away from him. The danger she might face outside was nothing compared to the danger this man posed to her sanity and her sudden urges. “Yes, I’m starved. But I can eat after you take me back to my apartment.”

  “I am afraid that is not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “You must remain with me until we find the man who is attempting to do you harm.”

  Jamie stiffened her frame and tried to stand. She felt weak as a newborn, every inch of her crying out in protest. One giant total body ache. Bracing her hand on the bedpost, she steadied herself to keep from falling in front of the man. She refused to let him believe that she couldn’t take care of herself.

  “Look, Prince Ben, I’ll be fine. If anything happens, I’ll call the police.” Her spongy knees didn’t want to support her.

  He stepped toward the bed and caught her elbow when she leaned a bit. “You cannot do that. We cannot involve the police at this time.”

  This guy had too many rules, none of which she understood. He also radiated a sensuality that wasn’t easy to ignore.

  She stared up at him, only then realizing he was tall. Very tall. Intimidating-to-the-max tall. “Care to explain why I can’t call the cops?”

  “Trust me, Miss Morris, this is for your sake. The less you know, the better that will be.”

  Jamie decided he was sorely mistaken, and his determination to keep her in the dark grated on her already raw nerves.

  Oh, well. She’d play along for now. She was too tired to argue. “Since I can’t go home just yet, mind if I use your facilities?”

  His dark brows drew down with confusion. “Facilities?”

  “Bathroom? I’d like to freshen up.”

  “Of course. I thought you might want to bathe, so I had my housekeeper set out some things for you. This way.”

  He held on to her arm as he guided her to the room across the hall. Once they reached the door, she expected him to leave. He didn’t.

  With her hand on the knob, she gave him her best sugar-sweet smile. “Am I allowed to have some privacy?”

  “I thought you might wish me to draw your bath.”

  “So you can watch?” Jamie cringed. She sounded like she wanted him to watch.

  He smiled and Jamie felt it down to her size-five feet. “However tempting that might be, I will allow you your privacy after I help you prepare.”

  “I’ll manage. I’m feeling much stronger.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “As you wish. If you find you do need help, there is an intercom near the tub—”

  “I can handle this. I promise.”

  She backed into the room and slammed the door in his face. Slammed the door on those mysterious eyes and all that out-there sexuality. Turning, she leaned back against the wooden surface for support. But it wasn’t the lump on her head making her feel like an overcooked noodle. He made her weak knees weaker and her shaky body shakier.

  Determined to drive him out of her mind, Jamie concentrated on the huge room. A room big enough to house Sadie, her trusty blue sedan. An opulent bath straight out of her fantasies of what a bath should be.

  Several black marble steps led to a mammoth whirlpool tub, a huge arched window its backdrop. The matching marble vanity top was graced with gold fixtures and two basins complimented by jeweled soap dispensers and toothbrush holders. And laid out near one sink—for her benefit, she presumed—was a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste and two velvety black towels with a matching washcloth. On a freestanding gold rack near the toilet hung a lush red velvet robe and underwear. Her underwear.

  Her underwear?

  She reached back and planted both hands on her butt. No lines. No underwear. She wore nothing more than a too-large sheer ecru gown. The armholes, big enough to drive a truck through, hung all the way down to her waist. No wonder she was shivering.

  Who had relieved her of her white lace drawers? And why had she just now noticed?

  She’d been barely coherent, that’s why. And obviously, the cad had undressed her. Bared her bod and taken liberties.

  No way. He hadn’t done anything lewd to her person. No doubt about it. Like he’d said, she would know.

  Recalling his suggestive words, the thought of him undressing her again caused shock to course through her already shocked body. And it annoyingly excited her.

  Regardless, she planned to have a serious talk with the sheikh. Planned to inform him that, at the very least, undressing her without her permission was ungentlemanly. She valued her privacy, and although she wasn’t all that modest, she did have high standards and certain expectations. If someone was going to get her naked for the first time, then she darn sure better be conscious during the process.

  A wave of nausea hit her like a raging bull. She slumped onto the step and considered the intercom.

  No. She could do this.

  With stilted motions, she managed to draw a bath and slip into the tub without passing out. The warm water soothed her sore limbs and made her feel a bit more human.

  After luxuriating for a while, then attending to all her toiletries, Jamie felt halfway decent again. Now all she needed was some food, and to convince the sheikh that she needed to go home. But how could she do that in just a robe and underwear? Where had he hidden her jeans and shirt? Okay, so maybe he hadn’t hidden them, but she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he had. No clothes, no escape. Obviously he was determined to keep her here against her will.

  Well, Prince Ben was wrong if he really believed he could do that.

  She slipped on her underwear and the robe, then opened the door and tried to gauge where she should begin in order to find him. Starting down the hall, she peered into several rooms, all bedrooms decorated in more bright colors, but she didn’t come upon the man with many names, and probably many talents.

  At the end of the corridor, wonderful smells drew her forward. The kitchen must be close, and maybe she would find him there. But before she reached her destination, she came to a den. It gave new meaning to the term great room.

  The place was a combination of luxury and comfort. Old West meets Middle East. A set of horns hung near the vaulted ceiling over the massive white-rock fireplace, and, draped below, a purple tapestry with rainbow colors woven throughout traveled down the stone wall to the top of the hearth.

  Jamie moved farther into the room and noted another opening and a hallway that seemed to go on for miles. In the immediate area, several chairs and rugs were set out in various locations across the gleaming hardwood floors, all in elegant dark colors. The whole place was velvet and marble, a sprawling ranch house most would only dream of, and something she’d not been exposed to in her twenty-two years. She had always appreciated simple. She liked simple. Not that she couldn’t get used to luxurious.

  Scanning the area, she honed in on a huge suede caramel-colored sofa set to one side of the fireplace. And in the middle of that sofa sat a man, reclining against thick cushions, reading a newspaper, his long legs stretched out before him, booted heels propped on the heavy oak coffee table. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. Threadbare jeans. Tight T-shirt.

  Considering his lazy posture, his common ranch-hand clothes, he could be just any sexy-as-sin cowboy. But when he looked up, nailing Jamie with those iron-gray eyes, there was no mistaking his identity.

  Prince Ben as Bad-Boy Cowboy.

  Ben stared up at Jamie now looming over him dressed in an oversized robe, her eyes flashing anger, her
delicate jaw set tight. He suspected she would soon demand more answers from him. Answers he was not at liberty to give her.

  Tossing the paper aside, he dropped his feet from the table and straightened. “You are looking much better. Refreshed.” With her damp hair falling just below her slender shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed, she was all softness and innocence. A celestial being.

  “How dare you!”

  She no longer looked angelic. She looked as angry as Alima when a tennis championship interrupted her American soap operas.

  What had he done now? “I do not understand.”

  She clenched her fists and Ben braced for another swing, but fortunately it did not come. “How dare you undress me and put me in that see-through gown. I have never in my life—”

  “Miss Morris—”

  “—met a man who thought—”

  “Miss Morris—”

  “—he could get away with taking off my clothes without me knowing it and—” She put a hand to head and looked as though she might faint.

  He vaulted off the couch and circled his arms around her to prevent her from falling. “Miss Morris, you must calm down. You are still not well.”

  She looked up at him but did not push him away, or try to punch him. Instead, she leaned into him. “I’m fine, thank you very much!”

  She did not seem fine. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and she looked as though she might buckle. “I think not.” He tightened his hold on her.

  “I want to go home,” she said willfully, belying her fragile state.

  “I told you that is not possible.”

  She locked into his gaze, her chin raised up in determination. “You can’t keep me here.”

  “I am hoping you will see that it is necessary in order to ensure your safety.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s necessary. I need to find a job.” She grasped the front of his shirt. “I’m running out of money. My rent’s due right now. Then the car payment.” 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.”