Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys)

by Jackie Ashenden

  He let her have her moment of irritation, moving over to the tent opening and called an aide, issuing a terse instruction before coming back to the bed where she sat grumpily removing the rest of her veil.

  You should leave now. Distance, remember?

  And yet for reasons he couldn’t have explained, he remained where he was.

  “Do not be angry with me,” he said, then paused. “You were right. I should have warned you I did not have any protection. I…apologize.” The apology wasn’t easy for him, and he was even a little surprised at himself for uttering it.

  She balled the white cotton up on the bed, the expression on her face furious. “You think this is just about the fact we had unprotected sex? What about the whole kidnapping, drugging, holding prisoner thing? The ‘you’re going to marry me or else’ thing?” Her chest heaved as she took a breath, the pretty, fair skin of her cheeks still brick red. “The company I worked hard to build is now in danger of going down the tubes and all because you’re forcing me into a life I didn’t choose and didn’t want. And now I could be pregnant. And we don’t love each other and any child we have could be—” She stopped suddenly. As if she’d said something she didn’t mean.

  Like she had back at the training room. He hadn’t asked her about her hesitation then because something had stopped him, a feeling he didn’t want. Sympathy. And he couldn’t afford to feel sympathetic toward her, not if he wanted this marriage to go forward.

  Yet now…that feeling was tightening his chest, hooking into his anger. He wanted to know what was wrong, why she’d stopped speaking. Because there had been a note in her voice, a note that sounded like pain, and he found he hated the sound of it. He didn’t want her to be hurt. And if she had been, he wanted to know who’d hurt her.

  “Could be what?” he demanded before he could stop himself, more harshly than he’d meant to.

  “Nothing,” she replied, looking away. “Can you go away, please? I’m not feeling so great.” She pushed herself up off the bed sharply, heading for God alone knew where.

  No. She could not go. He would have answers. Because maybe he should know after all. And maybe, in knowing, he could make her change her mind about this marriage.

  Since when did you care how she feels about it?

  But he ignored that thought. Instead, he stood right in front of her, blocking her way.

  Felicity looked up at him, temper flashing in her eyes. Then, beneath her flushed skin, she paled suddenly. “Oh. I really don’t feel great.” And she swayed again.

  Zakir moved without thought, catching her slight weight before she fell, her body so warm against him. Too warm. Her lashes lay still on her cheeks and under that red flush, she’d gone quite white. Definitely heat exhaustion.

  Your fault.

  The uncomfortable feeling in his chest turned into an ache. He had brought her here to the desert. And not just to the desert, he had brought her to Al-Shakhra, whether she wanted it or not. He had ripped her away from her home and placed the company she valued in jeopardy. And not only that, he had refused to let her go back.

  He had hurt her.

  You pretend to be better than Farid, but you are not.

  No, he was better than Farid. He had to be. How else was his country to recover? How else was he supposed to be the king he’d intended to be? To restore the Al-Nazari name? He’d meant to do that with this woman. She was the start of his new regime, and yet, how could he begin to wipe the taint from his family if he couldn’t even look after one small American woman properly?

  He was the fool.

  Angry with himself, Zakir rounded the bed and sat down with her in his arms.

  A soft sound at the tent’s entrance announced one of the palace staff carrying the drink he’d ordered a few minutes earlier. Getting them to put it down on the nightstand next to the bed, he waited until they’d gone. Then he laid Felicity down on the bed and gently peeled the robes from her.

  She was wearing jeans underneath, the little idiot. Shaking his head, he leashed his hunger for her and took those off her as well, leaving her in her underwear. Then he took the white veil into the bathroom, unraveled it, and immersed it in cold water before wringing it out again. Taking it back into the main room of the tent, he came over to the bed and gently laid the cool, wet cotton over her. Then he sat down and, because he couldn’t help himself, he gathered her into his arms again, wet cloth and all.

  She made a protesting sound, her eyes opening and looking up at him. “What are you doing?”

  “You probably have heat exhaustion. I am trying to cool you down.” Reaching over to the nightstand, he took the glass off it and put it into her hand. “Here, drink this.”

  She squinted at it. “What is it?”

  “A fruit and yogurt drink. The glucose in it will help.”

  She took a cautious, experimental sip. “Hmm. It’s nice.” Then took a larger sip. Her body had relaxed against him and he was suddenly, painfully aware that she was only in her underwear and covered by wet material that was almost completely transparent. She didn’t seem to have noticed. “You can let me go now.”

  But he didn’t want to. “No. You were going to tell me something just now and you stopped yourself. About children. I want to know what it was.”

  Her attention stayed on her drink. “I… It’s nothing.”

  “It is not nothing. I can hear it in your voice. You are hurt.”

  Copper red lashes rose sharply, sparks of anger in her eyes. “I’m not hurt.”

  He ignored that. “Tell me.”

  “Why should I? You keep demanding things from me but you won’t give me anything in return.”

  She was right and he didn’t like that she was.

  If you want her to change her mind, you must give her something.

  Yes, he had to. The only alternative was him continuing to hurt her and he couldn’t keep doing that. He had to be better than Farid.

  “Tell me,” he said slowly. “And then I will tell you about my brother.”

  Felicity glanced up at him sharply, her gaze narrowing as if she didn’t quite believe him. Then she leaned back against his arm. “You first.”

  In spite of himself, he almost smiled. She wasn’t going to let him get away with anything, was she? “It is not a pleasant story.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it is.” She took another sip of her drink. “Tell me anyway.”

  He didn’t want to. Speaking of it was painful and it made him angry. Yet there was something comforting about holding her, as if her warmth was enough to chase away the dark.

  “I told you my brother was sick,” he said after a moment. “Well, he was. My father’s own mental health was not good, but Farid and I thought we had avoided the same fate. Yet, not long after he was made king, he started to display the same problems that plagued my father. Paranoia, depression. Hearing voices. I told him he had to seek medical assistance, but he refused.” Zakir paused, trying not to let the anger creep into his voice. Or the helplessness. He didn’t look at Felicity, keeping his gaze on the far wall of the tent. “So I sought advice secretly on his behalf, importing drugs that would keep the symptoms at bay. And soon enough he started to get better and I thought it was all over.” Another pause. He could feel her looking at him.

  “It wasn’t?” she prompted softly.

  “No.” Zakir forced himself to continue. “He met Maysan and decided to marry. The day of the wedding, Farid was angry because she had smiled at one of the guards. He thought she was having an affair. I told him to calm himself; that all would be well, and he let it go. But…that night, the palace staff heard arguing in his wedding suite.” He could feel all his muscles begin to tense. He didn’t want to keep talking about this, but he’d promised her. “They were worried and came to fetch me, but by the time I got to the suite, all was quiet. I did not want to interrupt Farid’s wedding night and so I left them. It was not until the next day, when the staff could not get an answer to their knocks, that I we
nt in and found them.”

  There had been so much blood. So much blood everywhere. He couldn’t seem to get it out of his head.

  Something pressed against his chest and when he looked down, a small hand was spread there just above his heart, very pale against the darkness of his robes.

  “I’m sorry, Zakir.” Felicity’s face was still very pale, her eyes dark and full of something that made it hard to breathe. “That must have been terrible.”

  He wanted to look away from her, but he didn’t. Because he was not and never had been, a coward. “I looked in the drawer of Farid’s nightstand and I saw the packet of pills he should have been taking. It was unopened. I do not know when, but he had stopped taking them.”

  “Oh,” she said thickly. “Oh, Zakir.”

  “At the wedding feast all the signs were there, but I dismissed them. I thought he was better.” He could not, even now, seem to remember why he’d thought nothing of the look in his brother’s eyes. Why he’d pushed his own doubt to the back of his mind. But he had. And the consequences… “I should have realized that his fixation with the guard was his paranoia back again. I should have been suspicious of it. But I wasn’t.”

  “No.” That small hand pressed hard against him. “You thought he was taking his pills. You thought he was better. How could you have known he wasn’t?”

  He looked down at her, meeting the fierce look in her eyes. She wouldn’t understand. She didn’t know what lay inside him. “Perhaps I just did not want to see.”

  Her forehead creased. “See what?”

  “That he was not getting better. That he would never would.” She had to know his doubts, she had to be aware. “Perhaps I did not want to see, because the seeds of the same madness lie within myself. And if there was no hope for Farid, there was no hope for me.”

  Felicity stilled in his arms, staring up at him. “You’re not mad, Zakir.”

  “How would you know?” His hold on her had tightened for some reason, so he tried to ease it. “I have kidnapped you, held you against your will. Some would say that is madness.”

  But she was shaking her head. “No, that’s ridiculous. Okay, so I did wonder at first if you were a little insane. But you’re not. You’re old fashioned, a traditionalist from a very conservative country. That’s not madness, that’s your culture. Anyway, you don’t seem paranoid and you don’t hear voices—at least, you don’t look like you do.”

  He looked down into her face, held her gaze, letting her see into the darkness that lay inside him. “I am possessive, little one. I am violent. As a soldier, I have killed and perhaps I will kill again. All the necessary seeds are there, and all it would take is a little water for them to grow.”

  She was frowning now, her gray gaze searching. “What water?”

  But he did not want to talk about that anymore. Didn’t want to reveal his doubt and the fear he told himself he didn’t feel. He’d given her something; it was now time for her to hold up her end of the deal.

  Ignoring her question, he said, “Enough about me. It is your turn.”

  Chapter Nine

  Felicity stared up into his dark eyes, her chest aching. He was afraid, she could see it in his face, and of course he wouldn’t want to admit that to her. A man like him wouldn’t want to admit that to anyone. But she could see his fear all the same.

  And she could understand it. A father and a brother falling to madness, and of course he must feel that he was next.

  He might even be right. But…she didn’t think he was.

  I am possessive. I am violent. I…have killed.

  Well, she was possessive of her company. And, okay, so she hadn’t actually hit anyone, but she felt violently about some things all the same. No, she hadn’t killed, but she thought she might if she had to protect someone she loved.

  Yet just because she felt all those things didn’t mean she was mad. It didn’t mean he was either. Didn’t mean he’d lose control of himself and go on a rampage like his brother. In fact, those feelings lay within everyone. Didn’t he see that?

  She wanted to tell him not to be afraid, but he was clearly not willing to talk about it anymore, and she sensed pushing him wasn’t going to help. Which meant she was now going to have to talk about herself.

  The nausea and faintness had faded a little, the cool, damp cotton of the veil against her skin helping ease the terrible heat. Being in his arms felt good, despite the fact that he was way too warm, and she would have preferred to rest there for a while without having to talk. Telling him about her family was going to sound so pathetic after what he’d confessed to her.

  Maybe distance would help. Certainly his heat wasn’t helping her feel cooler. Pulling the almost-dry cotton around her, she slipped out of his lap. He let her go, sitting on the bed wrapped in his dusty black robes and blue headscarf. Dark-eyed, bronze-skinned, black stubble lining his chin, he looked dangerous, enigmatic. A desert warrior ready to do battle.

  Except he hadn’t. He’d picked her up, covered her with wet fabric to cool her, and gotten her a drink. Then he’d told her about his brother, giving her a piece of himself.

  Why? What had changed?

  She pulled the cotton tighter. “You don’t really want to know.”

  “You promised me, little one.”

  “It’s going to sound stupid after what you told me.”

  “It will not.”

  It’s not a big deal so quit making it into one.

  Of course she shouldn’t. “It’s…nothing, really. No one died. No one was murdered. My parents got divorced. That’s it.”

  But his dark eyes were very sharp, very perceptive. And they didn’t look away. “And what has that got to do with any child we have? Divorce does not happen much in this country, so it will not be an issue—”

  “It’s not divorce I’m afraid of.” She took a breath. “My parents’ marriage was pretty bad even before I was born, and it got worse as I grew up. My mom wanted a son because that’s what Dad wanted, so she was pretty disappointed I was a girl, and she didn’t bother to hide it.” Felicity swallowed, trying not to sound bitter and failing. “She thought if she could make me into this society princess, she’d be able to get Dad a good son-in-law at least, but…I’m not that type of girl and I didn’t want to be. I just wanted to be me.” She couldn’t look at him so she looked at her feet instead. “I tried really hard. I thought they’d like the fact that I did well in school; that I got into college really young. That I won lots of academic awards. That Red Star was a success. But they didn’t. I don’t even think my dad noticed, while all my mom seemed worried about was that I’d intimidate the men she’d picked out for me.” She concentrated on the carpet beneath her feet, the blue and gold pile. It was very soft. “Anyway, I didn’t manage to get Dad a son-in-law and pretty soon he told Mom he wanted a divorce. She was furious and blamed me. Told me the whole reason she had me in the first place was to make Dad happy and I’d failed. I’d poisoned their relationship instead and she wished she’d never had me.”

  Why did it hurt still? Why did it feel like a knife to her chest? Her parents had never loved her and she didn’t care because she didn’t love them either. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t.

  She swallowed back the pain, pretended it wasn’t there, and looked up, bracing herself to meet Zakir’s black gaze. “Like I said, no big deal. No one died. I don’t care what Mom said, it doesn’t matter to me these days. But that’s why I don’t want to marry you. Because you’re forcing me into a role I don’t want, exactly like my mom. And it’s why I don’t want to bring a kid into this. I don’t want my child to be part of a family where there’s no love, where their parents don’t even like each other. I don’t want any kid of mine to be used as a tool to try and make someone else happy. They deserve better, Zakir. I know I did.”

  He said nothing for a long moment, but the look in his eyes glittered and she suddenly had the impression he was absolutely furious.

  Slowly, he stood up,
towering over her and she wondered if she should be scared. Because, yes, he was indeed, very, very angry.

  Defiantly, she said, “I know that probably makes no difference to you, but—”

  One long finger caught her beneath her chin, tipping her head back. His eyes were like a midnight sky, the glitter of his anger the stars. And the scent of him was all around her, sandalwood and spice. Mysterious and exotic. She could feel the heat of him too, and she was suddenly shivering, even though she wasn’t cold.

  “It makes a difference.” His voice, rich and dark with that faint hint of roughness, wrapped around her like fur. “It makes a very big difference to me, little one.”

  The endearment infuriated at her, at the same time as it slid beneath her skin, making her whole heart ache. She’d never been called darling or sweetheart or love. She was only ever Felicity. “Why? What do you care?”

  “Because you did deserve better. You are beautiful, intelligent. You are brave. And you deserved parents who cherished those qualities in you. Who wanted the best for you. Who were proud of you. Who loved you.” There was something burning in those midnight eyes that sharpened the ache in her heart, the longing that stole her breath. “And you deserve that in a husband, too. I cannot give you love, Felicity. That is not something I can give to anyone. But this I will give you. If at the end of our time in the desert you still want to leave me, I will let you go, this I swear to you.”

  She blinked up at him, for a moment unable to speak.

  His grip on her chin firmed. “All I ask is that you grant me the opportunity to show you how much good you could do here. How much you could change as my sheikha. How much your gifts are needed by this country. By my people.” He paused and all of a sudden she saw something else in his eyes, just a flicker. The man behind the king. “By me.”

  She felt like he’d shot her straight through the heart. “Z-Zakir….”

  “Give me this, Felicity. Promise me.”