Desert Sheikh vs American Princess

by Teresa Morgan

  She checked the clock on the bedside table. 11:30. Sleep probably wouldn't come tonight. Not after the day she'd had. Oh well. She might as well lie down and try.

  And that was when the sea shanty started.

  What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? the voice in her head belted out with enthusiasm. That stupid voice, back with a vengeance.

  Ignore. Ignore. Ignore, she told herself. You're not going crazy. You're just stressed, she assured herself. You need some sleep.

  But the voice continued. Irritatingly, it didn't seem to know any of the other words to the song, but just kept repeating the line she did know.

  What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we--

  What. The. Hell.

  Just like herself, the voice had zero singing talent.

  Stop. Please just stop, she begged, sitting up straight in the bed.

  Oh, so now you're talking to me, the voice responded, mercifully giving up the singing.

  Who are you and what are you doing in my head? she asked.

  The better question, the voice suggested, sounding even more like an eleven-year-old girl, is why don't you remember me? You used to listen to me all the time.

  Who are you? Noelle repeated.

  Me? I'm the one who's going to get you out of here, matey, declared the voice.

  Something familiar teetered on the edge of Noelle's memory.

  Matey?

  Noelle swore she heard the voice sigh. When did you turn into a landlubber?

  Why do you talk like a sailor? she asked. Oh God, she really was losing it.

  Sailor! As if! The voice's indignance filled the air. Well, the air inside her head, at least. I'm no mere sailor. I'm Bonnie Read, pirate princess, at your service. Yarrgh!

  Two

  BONNIE READ. THE name sent Noelle's brain spinning.

  Bonnie Read was... Well, Bonnie Read was Noelle. Or she used to be, at least.

  When she was a kid, she'd read about the lady pirate Anne Bonnie. Anne had been a pirate in the 1700s and discovered a fellow woman dressed as a man on one of the ships she'd taken--Mark Read was, in fact, Mary Read.

  The two women had bonded over the patriarchy and piracy and gone on to be feared across the seven seas. As a kid, Noelle had decided that she was going to be a pirate princess when she grew up, and she'd taken the name Bonnie Read.

  Bonnie Read had been her imaginary friend, the voice inside her head that had talked her into doing all the bad things that had made her dad mad at her. That tree she'd fallen out of had been a ship's mast. The bully she'd punched had been a rival pirate. The silverware she'd buried in the backyard? Hidden treasure. Which maybe wouldn't have been so bad if she'd remembered to make a map to it.

  Nothing is better than buried treasure. X marks the spot, Bonnie declared, unapologetic. Then you decided to ignore me. You shoved me aside. You weren't my friend anymore.

  I grew up, Noelle countered.

  Nope, you decided making your dad happy was more important than hanging out with me.

  Did Bonnie just sniffle there? Did the voice inside her head sound hurt, on the cusp of tears?

  Noelle fell backward on the bed. The mattress gave a soft whump. I've only been kidnapped for a few hours and I'm already losing it.

  You won't be here long. Bonnie sounded back to her normal brash self. I'm getting you out of this.

  In case you haven't noticed, I'm being held hostage in a palace.

  Exactly the job for a pirate princess. Too bad I don't have my trusty sword.

  Her sword. Wasp, named for its sting. Ha. It had just been a branch that she'd carved into a vaguely pointy shape, but she'd loved that "sword" more than the room full of Barbies everyone kept giving her. Barbies she would routinely make to swab the deck and walk the plank.

  But this wasn't her playroom, and the women with guns outside her door weren't dolls.

  Bonnie, I don't see how. The door is guarded and there's no other way out, she told her friend. Her imaginary friend. Who lived in her head. Oh man, this was so weird.

  Noelle could practically see Bonnie, red handkerchief tied around her head, frayed jeans cut off at the calf, over-large shirt stolen from her dad's closet, stick out her chest with pride. There's always a way out for a pirate princess.

  And then, as if Noelle didn't will it, her attention turned to the sliding doors that led to the balcony.

  You have got to be kidding me, she protested.

  Ahoy, matey, we're going over the side. Yarrgh! she yelled, a battle cry Noelle hadn't heard since she was twelve.

  One that filled her with dread.

  *****

  If she fell, Noelle told herself, she probably wouldn't die.

  Probably. Her room was only on the third story, she figured. Could have been worse.

  Okay, so maybe it was the fourth.

  She held tighter to the "rope" she'd made by ripping apart thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets and tying them together. To her relief, the rope had reached all the way to the ground when she'd tied it to the balcony railing and thrown it down.

  Now she dangled in midair with nothing but the rope and her own strength to hold her up. She really should have added upper body training to her running. It was okay, though. Her muscles barely burned, or so she told herself. Her triceps weren't on fire with the white heat of the nuclear center of a thousand suns or anything.

  A breeze blew, cooling the sweat on the small of her back.

  Feel that, raved the pirate princess. This is freedom. This is adventure. Remember when we fought the notorious outlaw pirate Smith together?

  That wasn't real. I could actually die here, Noelle complained, as she let herself down another few feet.

  But the night surrounded her, hid her from the view of the boring, dull people of the world. It had been years since she'd felt this alive.

  Nah, pirate princesses never die. It's only another two stories. To freedom!

  Right. Freedom. Actually, we'll still be stuck inside the palace grounds. There's still a huge wall between us and freedom, Noelle pointed out.

  We'll escape, you'll see, Bonnie assured her.

  Noelle grunted as she tried not to think about how she was dangling in midair. If they did get out, they'd still be stuck in the middle of a foreign country where they didn't speak the language, with no passport and no money.

  You used to be fun, pouted Bonnie.

  Well, she thought, for some reason eager to have the voice inside her head approve of her, there's the U.S. embassy, I suppose.

  Bonnie practically rubbed her hands together in anticipation. A friendly ship. We just need to get there.

  From all the tree climbing and jumping off roofs when she was a kid, Noelle knew one thing at least. How not to look down. Instead, she concentrated on the rope, letting herself down hand over hand, trusting that she made good progress. Trying not to let her sweaty grip slip. Looking down wouldn't get her to the bottom faster.

  Well, it might, but the wrong way.

  The clear night gave her lots of light to work with. Above her head, the nearly full moon sailed past the tallest turret of the palace. The one that stood so much higher than any other tower.

  This is kind of... exciting, she admitted to Bonnie.

  I knew you'd come around. Yarrgh!

  Yarrgh, she agreed, smiling like an idiot as she moved herself lower.

  She was actually going to get away with this. Her imaginary friend from childhood would get her out of the biggest jam of her life.

  The arrogant sheikh who had thought he could keep her prisoner was going to get a big surprise. She could only imagine the look on his handsome face as he realized that she had gotten the better of him.

  Well, okay, so the look on his stony face wouldn't change at all, but she could just imagine what he'd be feeling behind that superior mask of his. Maybe he'd break something. No, he'd probably just adjust his tie
.

  She could go back to her life, the pirate princess could go back into her box... and just maybe, her dad would be proud of her for once.

  Out of nowhere, something warm and firm wrapped around her waist. The rope swung perilously, threatening to rip out of her fingers, no matter how she clamped them.

  She gave a strangled cry. Oh God, she was going to fall to her death, smashing against the stone courtyard. The sheikh would bury her in a corner of his garden and no one would ever hear from her again.

  "Let go of the rope, Miss Oldrich," a familiar gravel-edged voice ordered.

  Then she did the one thing she knew she shouldn't do. She looked down.

  Right into the eyes of the blasted sheikh.

  She'd made it to the ground. The cobblestones lay just below her feet. Another couple of hands down, and she'd be able to run.

  Except for the fact that the sheikh was now supporting her, holding her up by her waist.

  She'd been seen. And reported. No less than twenty guards circled the two of them--her and the sheikh. Escape was not happening tonight.

  Oh hell.

  She let go of the rope, letting her full weight drop into Sheikh Walid's hands. He lifted her down easily, placing her feet on the ground and giving her a chance to steady herself before taking away the support.

  In the full moonlight, no way could he miss the hot blush creeping up her neck. The rest of the guards watched her with looks that mixed interest and humiliating concern for her safety.

  "You will come with me, Miss Oldrich," he told her, his tone all business. "We have much to discuss."

  *****

  This was supposed to be simple, Sheikh Walid al Kalam reminded himself. Invite the American heiress to stay in his palace for a few days. Encourage her father to pay the massive debt he owed to Askar, which any honorable man would have already paid. Return the man's precious daughter when the money was safely where it belonged. Use the money for the fast approaching expenses of the Nahr pipeline that would run along the Askar-Zallaq border.

  This way, he could avoid contacting the sheikha for her assistance. More importantly, his brother would never have to know how badly Askar's finances had been mismanaged.

  The incident would all be over in less than a month. In twenty-one days, in fact, as that was the due date of the fifty-million-dollar payment that he did not currently have. No. As it was after midnight, the deadline was now only twenty days away.

  Of course, the idea of holding any person against their will went against all he believed in. To mitigate his guilt, he had removed every discomfort, and ensured that his guest's stay would be as pleasant as possible.

  Despite all his efforts, Miss Noelle--emphasis on the No--Oldrich stood before him in sweaty workout clothing, having thrown herself out a window in a useless effort to get away from him. And something inside him had wished to cheer her on.

  A pinprick headache threatened to explode behind his eyes.

  "What would possess you to put yourself in such danger?" He strained the limits of his self-control to keep his tone below ear-splitting. "You are under my protection. If you had died, I would have been responsible. I cannot have you running around my palace taking dangerous risks."

  Sea-green eyes narrowed at him. "Oh, why don't you make this about you, then?"

  This was about him, and about his responsibilities, as well as the commitments he had made. If anything happened to her, he would fail everyone.

  He would fail Askar.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. "Very well, let us make this about yourself, as you put it. You could have died. Taking this risk was not worth the price you could have paid."

  She mimicked his arm-crossing. Yet on her, the gesture had the effect of pushing her truly spectacular breasts up, putting them on display. "Kinda fun, though. I haven't done anything like that since I climbed our backyard trees when I was a kid. Of course, my dad caught me and cut them all down. Besides, it was only three stories. I wouldn't have died."

  "Five," he corrected.

  "Huh. Well, I didn't look down. Everyone knows you don't look down."

  "I reiterate that you could have died, which would have created an international incident."

  The infuriating woman smiled. "The press would have slobbered over that one."

  He allowed himself to raise his voice. "This is a serious matter. I have important guests coming tomorrow."

  "Wouldn't want a nasty red stain in the courtyard. Embarrassing."

  "I did not say such a thing. I warn you, do not pretend that you speak for me."

  "Fine." She jutted out a slightly curvy, very intriguing hip. "Serious matter. But a serious matter you created. If you're going to kidnap me, I'm going over the side."

  "Over the side?"

  "Out the window." She waved a hand as if to dismiss his confusion. "Point is, you made this situation, not me. If you were in my place, you'd do the same. You just expect me to take your crap because you're a king. Not going to happen."

  "No, I expect you to do the logical thing because you are an adult. Your father will pay what he owes and you will be free to go in a matter of days."

  "You wouldn't do anything different if you were me."

  Actually, if he were her, he would have no time to cut up expensive sheets and crawl down them. He would be kept busy running his palms over those breasts... Down her stomach... Under the waistband of her skintight pants...

  "I would not," he informed her, snatching back his attention from the dangerous places it wandered.

  "Then you're a sheep."

  She stumbled backward, and for an instant, he did not understand why. Then he realized. Without instructions from his mind, his body had advanced on her, forcing her to retreat. Right up against the wall, until she had it solid at her back and him blocking her in front.

  She had felt trapped before? He would show her how he truly could trap her if he desired. He slammed his hands to the sides of her head. She was no model-thin wisp of a woman, not with her rounded hips and breasts that begged to be caressed--breasts now pressed against his chest in a most satisfying way. Even so, he loomed over her.

  "Do I seem stupid to you?" he hissed at her. "I am trying to resolve an awkward situation without making it into a public relations nightmare. People's livelihoods are at stake. The reputation of both Askar and your father hang on what happens in this palace."

  "What do you think you're doing?" She raised her chin in a classic pose of defiance.

  An extremely good question. What did he think he was doing? He had never needed to intimidate females before. He had never needed to pursue, cajole, or seduce. Women came to him, for the most part because he was first the heir, then the ruler, of Askar. And perhaps because they found him attractive. He rarely accepted such offers.

  And yet seeing Noelle dangling in a precarious position in the air high above his courtyard... Seeing her courageous and defiant... Some part of him had desired her success, even as he feared for her and cursed her stupidity. Had she thought his guards would not see her and rouse him? Even if she had made it to the ground, which he had to admit she had done, she never would have found her way out from the palace's high walls. His security would not have permitted such a thing. But she had made the attempt. Against all odds and common sense, she had fought her captivity and taken him by surprise.

  Broken and cut off from support, she gathered her bravery and risked everything she had.

  Much like Askar itself had to do now. Once a proud, unified country, Askar had encompassed the provinces of Askar, Zallaq, and Sadad. His ancestor had carved the land into three, leaving Askar a shell of itself.

  His father's financial mismanagement had left his country to devolve further. Instead of seeking to diversify Askar's exports beyond oil, or developing the industry to produce oil-based products, his father had merely sold oil and left the country's other resources to stagnate.

  Now, like Noelle, Askar must gather its courage and risk every
thing to survive.

  "Walid," came a breathy voice from in front of him.

  Noelle's face was very close to his own. Her eyes had widened to enormous green pools. Her mouth, moistened and parted, aligned with his own. Her breath touched his lips. Probably because he had bent his head to her. Exactly as if he meant to kiss her.

  He blinked in confusion to find himself in this position. How had this occurred?

  She darted out from his arms, ducking to effect her escape.

  When he turned, she stood in the middle of the room, a rage blush pinking her face.

  "I am--" What? How did he complete that sentence? I am sorry? He was not the least bit sorry for nearly kissing her. Only sorry that he had not. Why was he so drawn to this reckless female?

  If he was another man, he might lie to smooth his way with her, but he could not stomach deception. An order. He had to give an order, regain control of the situation.

  "Do not do anything else so insane, Noelle," he warned. "Wait for your father to pay--"

  She dared interrupt him. "My ransom?"

  "His debt," he corrected. "I assure you it shall not be long. Not as long as if you broke your leg and had to remain here for six weeks to recover. Or are accidentally shot as an intruder."

  Her pert lips drew into a flat line. It would be interesting to kiss that flat line. To kiss her to sweetness, or perhaps her tartness would do just as well. He shook away the unwelcome thought.

  "'Accidentally shot'? Are you threatening me?"

  With great effort, he remained calm. On the surface, anyway. "I am informing you of the risks you take. My staff believe you are my guest. They are not primed to shoot you."

  She snorted. "They probably think we're having an affair."

  At this moment, he did not imagine an affair between them unlikely. He would certainly welcome that scenario. From the angry lines in her forehead, she did not have the same opinion.

  "An excellent explanation for your presence here without your parents. I will have your things moved to the chamber that connects with my own."