Desert Sheikh vs American Princess

by Teresa Morgan

  Except, maybe, if you wanted to make sure nothing went wrong in your kid's life. One way to do that would be to make sure nothing went on in your kid's life at all.

  "So that's not my imagination," she managed to eke out.

  Walid nodded. "Before I brought your father here--"

  "Before you kidnapped me, you mean," she put in, but the words didn't have their usual teeth.

  He ignored the accusation. "I had a private investigator look into your father's background. I called her recently with some additional questions. She is a thorough kind of person, and already had the answers I sought at hand."

  Walid outlined what she had suspected in the dark places of her heart, but never let herself believe.

  He told her of her father's relentless campaign to end everything she started. After he'd yanked her out of college over nothing, her friend had asked her to help with the marketing for her online candy delivery service--only to have all the suppliers pull out at the last minute. Her father had met with every one of them.

  The app another friend had been developing--the one that would help artists across the world connect and collaborate? The one she'd invested a ton of her allowance in? Someone had stolen the idea and developed it first. Turns out that developer had been funded by her father.

  Walid kept talking, outlining her attempts at business one by one. The organic vegetable market whose funding fell through? Her father. The theater group who had been kicked out of their venue at the last minute? Her father. The dog-friendly coffee shop? Her father.

  "Your investigator is very thorough," Noelle said though numb lips.

  "Your father is the villain of your life," Walid said. "Why?"

  There didn't seem any point in hiding things from the sheikh now. He knew it all anyway. "I wasn't what he wanted."

  Walid made a noise of appreciation in his throat. "A son."

  She shrugged. "Or a daughter."

  "Noelle, you are a daughter."

  "Not the right kind, though."

  "Because of the pirate princess who lives in your head."

  His word sliced through her numbness. Who'd told him--oh, of course. "Thale has a big mouth."

  "Indeed."

  She'd never told anyone the stuff she felt like telling him now. Her rich friends wouldn't have cared. And the friends she had who weren't rich? How could she possibly complain about everything she'd been given when they had to struggle? No way would she lay her stupid privileged rich people problems on them.

  But Walid? He just might get it. "I was always falling out of trees as a kid. Getting into everything. Lighting things on fire. Having my own little adventures. I wanted to be a speedboat driver when I grew up."

  She'd wanted nothing more than to burn up the waves in the fastest boat her dad could afford. It had been the closest thing to a pirate that she could think of.

  "I see no harm in any of that, so long as the trees were not so tall," Walid suggested. "I wished to be a racecar driver."

  She gave him the biggest smile she could muster. It wasn't very big. "I figured that out from the car collection, even if it isn't here right now. Anyway, Dad didn't seem to mind any of that. He even bought me a jetski."

  Never mind that there weren't many kart races in North America. She'd loved that kart. It had been poison green with sliver stripes. When she was in it, she imagined she was flying. Good thing she'd had a lot of imagination.

  Walid leaned forward. "Why do I suspect the jetski did not often run?"

  "Because you're smart," she told him. "It always seemed to be broken. I never got to take it out even once. And then, one day, I was headed to find Dad to show him the Lego spaceship I'd built. I found him yelling at Angelique and hid around the corner. I didn't really mean to listen in, but I did. She said she wasn't doing her job, which was apparently turning me into a lady. He said that I wasn't even a girl."

  "How old were you?"

  "Eleven." She'd been devastated. She hadn't known she was a failure. He'd never shown any signs of being disappointed. Sure, Angelique had tried to get her to wear dresses and brush her hair, but it had always been Angelique. Never Dad. "I figured out that if Angelique's job was to turn me into a lady, my job was to become one. So I put away the Lego and asked for dresses for my birthday. Dresses are not great when you have a habit of scraping your knees. I've been failing at everything ever since."

  You were a great pirate princess. You shouldn't have given it up, Bonnie said.

  Thanks, she shot back, filled with gratitude for the only person who'd ever encouraged her in anything. Even if that person was imaginary.

  "In your adulthood, you have begun many endeavors," prompted Walid.

  "I thought I could make something out of myself," she told him. "Get some independence. But no."

  And make your parents proud of you, pointed out Bonnie.

  "Because your father prevents it," Walid stated.

  Now that he'd said it out loud, she could accept what she'd begun to suspect. That everything she'd tried to do had been sabotaged by her dad. It was even happening now, with Elise's jewelry shop. All Elise had done was ask Noelle to help her make some connections in Askar, and her dad had started a competing shop right next door. Determined to drive Elise out of business just because she was friends with his daughter.

  What an ass.

  "I can't even escape. Dad controls my bank account, so I have no money for my own apartment. Once, I convinced a friend to let me have a room until I found a job. He got evicted within two months. His building was sold."

  "To a shell corporation owned by your father. It was demolished to make way for a parking garage, I understand."

  "The guy got kicked out of his home for helping me. Dad blew up his apartment to finish the job." At the time, she hadn't been sure her father was behind Peter's bad luck. She'd suspected, and hadn't dared look into it. She'd been too afraid that she was right. Now, she couldn't work up any surprise at Walid's confirmation. "Well, that's me. Now you know all my secrets. I'm a pathetic failure whose own parents don't believe in me. Also, I'm stuck here. Happy now?"

  Her last words didn't contain any malice. All her strength seemed to be sapped, leaving her in mortified resignation.

  She must have made a great picture. Depressed girl in scarlet satin, slumped in an expensive chair, a failure even at using seduction against a guy who admitted he was attracted to her. What did she have now?

  "Yet you fight so desperately to return to your parents." Walid sounded intrigued. "I wonder why."

  A tiny spark flashed inside her. "Because you kidnapped me. It's just that simple."

  "Or perhaps it is more complicated," he suggested. "You wished to return to your parents on your own power as yet another attempt to impress them with your strength."

  "I suppose," she conceded. "Also, I don't like being locked up."

  "By me, or by your father?"

  "By anyone, ever. That's just normal." And she might as well admit... "And by you in particular."

  "If you could escape Askar, perhaps you could also escape your father's control."

  Maybe, she had to admit. Hadn't she created a fully blown internal voice that would help her?

  That's me! Bonnie shouted happily.

  "So what?" she asked. "It doesn't matter. I haven't even lived up to my own expectations. No chance I'll ever be able to get out from Dad's thumb. Well, fist."

  Walid leaned back in his chair, looking better than any man had a right to. Especially when dissecting a woman's motivations while she wore lingerie meant to distract him. "I will help you."

  She couldn't help the laugh that came out of her. "You need my father to pay his debt--"

  A muscle in Walid's neck twitched, betraying him. Oh, so he thought no one knew his desperation for cash.

  "--so let me guess, you'll help me get away from him. All I have to do stop trying to escape and convince him to pay you back. Then you'll what? Set me up in an apartment in Budapest? Dad has a hot
el there. And Krakow. And Lisbon. Rio. Sydney. Dad has a hotel everywhere."

  Walid lifted a finger. She waved a hand at him. "Yes, yes, everywhere but here. But he has one in Thadq, over in Sadad. Dad is actually quite tight with General Ghalib. Would you risk your country's good relations with them to help me out? That would be a dumb move."

  "What is General Ghalib to Askar? My cousin rules there."

  Guess he didn't know what Ghalib was up to. "Don't kid yourself, Walid. General Ghalib runs Sadad now."

  "My cousin is ill, but that is all. We hear from him regularly. You are mistaken."

  "If you say so." But her father had told her that Ghalib had performed a neat coup d'état. And her father made it his business to get stuff like that right. "In any case, Oldrich properties are everywhere, and my father's influence is everywhere. Including friends in international media. If he wanted, say, a story about you kidnapping me to appear, say, everywhere, he wouldn't have a problem. He's keeping this quiet. For now."

  "Noelle, I would help you. I do not fear your father." He looked at her with such intensity that she didn't doubt it. He would help her, no matter what it cost him, thinking that he wouldn't be condemned for doing the right thing. He'd be wrong.

  "I don't want your help." She didn't even try to make him believe the lie. She'd just reject any help he offered. She was on her own with her father. She wouldn't let her dad hurt any more of her friends.

  Friend. Had she just thought of him as a friend?

  "It will not be that way between us," Walid said, steering the conversation through a hard left turn.

  "What won't be what way between who?"

  He inclined his head toward her, a nod to her outfit.

  An inferno crept up her shoulders, turning her as crimson as her bodice. She had a dozen bathing suits that covered way less than what she wore now, and she suddenly felt like scrambling for a towel to cover up the naughty bits that weren't actually showing. The hunger in Walid's eyes made her throat, her ankles, even her toes, feel like naughty bits.

  "Us," he continued. "When you and I make love."

  When, she noted, not if. Something inside her echoed the word back. When.

  "This outfit is a gambit to seduce me. But when you and I make love, it will not be you attempting to control me or me attempting to distract you. We will come together because we choose to."

  She shifted in her chair, her bare thighs sliding against the buttery soft leather. "Really. You're so sure it'll happen. You know how dumb I'd have to be to sleep with the guy who kidnapped me?"

  Walid stood, unfolding from his spot on the couch. No man she'd ever seen compared to him. Everything about him whispered power. The suit that embraced the hard lines of his body. The sleek muscles in his bare forearms. Even the dark shadow of beard emerging from his jaw.

  Moonlight caught the silver at his temples, sparking white fire. "On the contrary." He moved toward her with the same confidence in his voice. "You sleeping with me will not be a matter of intelligence--"

  She found herself drawn out of her chair to match his stance. "How about the lack of it?"

  He ignored the quip. "It will be a matter of our desire for each other, body and mind. Nothing more. I know you feel the attraction between us."

  Jerkwad. I know you feel the attraction between us. Well, he hadn't felt attraction toward her in the limo, when he'd set her aside. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was hurt him. To tear off a strip of his self-confidence.

  "Sure. You're hot and I'm hot." She kept her tone light. "Your brother's hot, too."

  She waited for a flash of rage to darken his expression. For him to remember her kissing Thale and stomp off in an alpha male temper tantrum.

  "You were never attracted to Thalatha. You only wished to punish me."

  Arrogant bastard! Telling her how she felt. How would he know? "Oh, really. Well, maybe I want to punish you more now, with him."

  He nodded. "You are free to do so, of course."

  "He's nice to me, at least. Not like you. I have so much more in common with him."

  "I am certain," he conceded. "But there is something visceral between us. A connection on many levels, not only the physical. A craving that longs to be satisfied, but also something more."

  "There wasn't 'a craving that longs to be satisfied' in the limo." The words lurched out of her, shot by a trigger she hadn't pulled.

  "You had just attempted to leave my palace and my country forever," he pointed out. "I kissed you because I was relieved you were safe. At the time, I had no idea if you recognized our connection. Or if you hated me as much as you seemed to. Not to mention that we had an audience in our driver and the guard."

  "I don't hate you." She folded her arms over her chest, overly aware of how little she was wearing, how close he stood.

  He smiled down at her, shifted an inch closer. "I don't hate you either."

  "Hey," she said. "You used a contraction. Nice wo--"

  She didn't get to finish the word. His mouth covered hers, swallowing the last syllable.

  One tiny touch of his lips made her float off the floor. The blood in her veins turned runny, filling with a happy helium fizz. She closed her eyes, cutting off her other senses so she could fill herself with his soft touch, his bitter coffee taste, his masculine smell.

  "Noelle," he whispered against her lips. And for some reason, he tried to draw back.

  No way. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging with all the force in her pleasure-weakened muscles.

  "This is a terrible idea." Her words came out muffled, probably because she didn't want to stop kissing him to talk.

  "You did not think so when you put on that garment." His hands planted on her hips. They felt comfortable there. It would be even more comfortable if he held her a bit tighter. She snuggled into him to encourage this. It worked. "Did you wear this to torment me with your body?"

  "Of course. But you're too controlled to give in to temptation."

  She pulled him down to her for another luscious kiss. Damn, he was good at that. His mouth fit hers like they were made to go together. His taste satisfied her like the best coffee she'd ever tasted, complete with caffeine buzz--but at the same time, he made her thirsty for even more.

  "You have misjudged me." His voice was a parody of his normal, composed tone, ragged at the edges. "Many things about you loosen my control. For our entire conversation, I have been sitting on the couch in an interesting state, with my self-control in shreds."

  "I'm aware of your interesting state now," she told him, and pressed her lady bits against his interesting state. Which was getting more interesting by the minute.

  His hands roamed her back, sliding over satin and skin. The skin was better. Definitely better. It would be even better if there were less satin on her back and more exposed skin.

  In fact, he could have some skin out, too. That would be good. His shirt, probably, was the first thing that should go.

  She reached for his buttons.

  "Noelle." God, the way he said her name, in that silky accent, made her hot from the inside out. She could listen to it forever. Except right now, when he needed to stop talking and kiss her again.

  "Noelle," he repeated. "Do you want this? Truly? I want you, but you must want me as well."

  She blinked at him. How could he doubt that she wanted him? Despite his kidnapping her, holding her hostage, controlling every aspect of her life just like her father wanted to, she still wanted him. Not just for his steamy hot body, but for the self-control that was making him talk instead of kiss her now. For his devotion to his country. For his determination, way, way stronger than her own.

  "Oh, I still think this is a terrible idea--"

  Walid began to pull away from her, forcing her to claw-grab his shirt as hard as she could and hang on. "Let me finish, would you? Terrible idea. I still want you. More than I've ever wanted anyone. We'll probably both regret it in the morning."

  The gold in his eyes burned a
fierce orange. "I will never regret tonight. And I shall ensure that you do not either."

  Whatever. Right now, she didn't care about regretting anything later. All she cared about was slipping her hands lower... Finally getting to dig her fingers into that spectacular ass.

  His hands cupped her jaw as he drew her lips to his, and oh. Oh, the way he filled her senses, all skin scent and body heat and Walid taste. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, strong and wet and probing.

  Her hands dropped, following the valley of his spine down his back. Craving excitement built in her as she felt the leather of his belt, the curve of his backside, and then the solid muscles of his bottom. Hmmm. Yes, a very nice bottom. Rounded in the right places, muscly divots on each side. But he still had his pants on, which was terrible and stupid.

  He definitely needed to get those off.

  Before she could tell him that, Walid dipped his mouth to her throat, and her pulse seemed to rise to her skin to meet the touch of his lips. Every nerve ending in her body concentrated on that one insane point of delicious, wet pressure. He licked and it wasn't quite tickling, but she felt like squirming. He sucked and it wasn't quite a kiss, but she felt like moaning.

  Before she realized it, she'd hopped off the floor and her legs had wrapped themselves around his slim, strong waist, her arms around his neck. He took her weight instinctively, cupping his hands beneath her butt for support, which didn't seem fair, since she didn't have the chance to grope his butt in return.

  She pressed her breasts against him, the smooth satin of the lingerie chafing against her sensitized nipples.

  "Why... are... we... still... wearing... clothes?" she demanded, planting kisses his face.

  "Feel free to remove what you will," he graciously suggested. "Once I put you down, which will be in a moment."

  They were moving, the part of her brain not busy clinging to him noted. He navigated them through a door toward his apartment. Toward his bed, she hoped. She really, really hoped.