Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) Read online

  “No, not yet. I had some business I needed to do.”

  She gave a quick look around. “By yourself?”

  He didn’t want her here all of a sudden. His hands itched to carry her off back to his tent and he knew that would be a bad idea. In fact, having her tonight at all would be a bad idea.

  “Go back to the feast, little one,” he said, gently as he could. “Enjoy yourself.”

  But there was a crease between her brows, the one that appeared whenever she was presented with a problem she wanted to solve. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  “There is nothing wrong.”

  “Yes, there is.” She paused, searching his face. “Is it because of tomorrow? Our last day?”

  His chest tightened at the words. There was no point denying it. “Perhaps. You will make your decision and I will abide by it.”

  In the flickering lantern light, her gray eyes looked very dark. “You’re regretting it, aren’t you? You’re regretting giving me the choice.”

  He couldn’t lie. “Yes, of course I am regretting it. But I promised you I would let you make it and so I will.”

  She’d gone quite still, that sharp, perceptive gaze of hers resting on him. “You…don’t want me to go?”

  “Of course I do not want you to go. You already know that.”

  “I do but…” A small hesitation. “Do you want me to stay?”

  At first he didn’t quite understand her emphasis. “Yes, Felicity. I want you to stay. You saw the way the chiefs looked at you tonight. They approve of my choice of bride. And if they accept you, then my country will.”

  “Ah.” Her voice was quiet. “Yes, I see.” She looked away from him, her jaw tight.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I’ll go back to the feast then.”

  And as she turned back to the tent, he realized. That small emphasis. Do you want me to stay? She wasn’t asking the king, she was asking the man.

  The words almost came out. Yes, I want you to stay.

  But he closed his teeth on them. He couldn’t say them, he couldn’t let them out. Because they were an admission that he felt something for her, and he wasn’t allowed to feel anything for her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself.

  Anger. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Hunger. Already he’d felt too many of those things where she was concerned, already they were beginning to take root. And if he wasn’t careful, soon too would come the violence.

  Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?

  A kind of fatalistic calm settled down inside him. The calm that came with the acceptance of the inevitable.

  Yes, he knew what he had to do. What he should have done the day he’d lifted her from the dusty cobbles of Al-Harah and felt the beast inside him stir.

  She could not stay, she was not safe. He had taken her away from everything and everyone she knew, forced her to stay with him. Denied her an escape. Put at risk the company she valued. No, he may not have taken up a weapon to use against her, but he’d hurt her nonetheless.

  And if he kept her, even if it was her choice, he would continue to hurt her.

  Because she deserved more than a throne and country. She deserved to be loved. And that was the one thing he could never give her.

  She. Was. Not. Safe.

  So he would let her go.

  Chapter Eleven

  Felicity stood in front of the small mirror in her tent, fiddling with the veil of deep blue silk she’d wound around her hair and sighing with frustration. She could never get it right, and today, she particularly wanted to.

  They would be going back to the palace that morning, their desert trip over, and a part of her felt desolate about that.

  She wanted to stay here, spending time with Zakir. Riding with him over the sands, swimming in the oasis. Learning dirty words in Arabic in his bed. Exploring their physical passion together. Talking with him about his country and his people. Listening to him talk about himself. Not that he did much of that, but she’d learned more about him at least, about his days in the army and the difficulties of becoming sheikh when he hadn’t expected to.

  More pieces of the puzzle. Yet it wasn’t enough.

  Perhaps it never will be.

  She stared at herself in the glass, no longer finding it so strange to have silk wrapped around her head.

  No, perhaps it never would be enough. He was complicated. And maybe it would take a lifetime to uncover each and every facet of him.

  Her chest constricted, a strange ache settling in her heart.

  She hadn’t made her mind about what to do, deciding to enjoy the time with him while she could and leave the decision till later. She hadn’t even thought much about Red Star. And then last night, at the feast, she’d seen him leave abruptly. So she’d followed, knowing something was wrong and wanting to find out what it was.

  She’d thought, for one intense, dizzying minute, that when he’d told her he was regretting his promise to her, that it was because he wanted her. He wanted her. But it hadn’t been that at all. He hadn’t been thinking like the man, he’d been thinking like the king. Wanting her for his country, not for himself.

  It had hurt. Far more than it had any right to and she couldn’t understand why.

  Are you sure you don’t know why?

  Her throat felt tight all of a sudden, because of course she knew why.

  She was falling for him.

  Stupid, of course, to fall for the king who’d taken her, to fall for her kidnapper. But then, it wasn’t the king she was falling for. It was the man. The man who’d provided a phone for her to call her company and her family, who’d taken her side when she’d been insulted, who’d covered her with a cool cloth when the heat had gotten too much, and who’d shown her the colors of a desert sunset then washed her hair under the stars.

  The man who’d shown her the passions that lay within herself in the dark of the night.

  A hard man, but honorable and protective.

  A man she wanted more from than just to be his queen.

  Her father had wanted a son. Her mother had wanted a different kind of daughter. No one had ever just wanted her. No one except Zakir. Except, as it turned out, it seemed like she was more important to him as his queen than she was as Felicity.

  She deserved more than that, didn’t she?

  No, it wasn’t about what she deserved. It was about what she wanted. And she wanted him to care about her.

  As if on cue, the tent flap opened and Zakir strode in, bringing the heat and swirling sands of the desert with him.

  Her gaze caught his in the mirror as he came up behind her, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his black eyes guarded, the mask of the king back in place.

  The night before he hadn’t visited her in her tent or asked her to join him in his. It had been their last night and his lack of interest had hurt for reasons she hadn’t wanted to look at too closely. So she hadn’t pushed, telling herself it would be good to get some sleep at last. Except she hadn’t slept, restless and aching for his hands on her skin. For his arms around her. For his scent and his heat.

  They hit her now as she stood there while he automatically adjusted the veil on her head, the heat of him, the scent of sandalwood and spice. Making her body tighten and her heart ache.

  “Thanks,” she said, a husky edge in her voice. “I can never get that right.”

  This would be last time he did that. Perhaps it would even be the last time he was this close.

  Longing rose up inside her, and she turned abruptly, staring up at him. “Zakir,” she said thickly, not really knowing what she was going to say. “I—”

  “It is time to go.” He stepped back from her, the look in his black eyes expressionless. “Are you ready?”

  Something in her chest folded in on itself. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  One black brow rose. “What do you mean?”

  Her throat was suddenly tight. “Last night at the feast you sa
id nothing was the matter but we didn’t… I slept alone.” She swallowed. “So what it is? And don’t tell me nothing because I don’t believe you.”

  He stared at her a long moment, his eyes expressionless as black glass. Then he said, “I am going to take you home, Felicity.”

  The words felt like hard stones thrown into a pool, each one landing with a heavy splash, causing ripples to expand outwards. “H-Home?” she stammered. “What do you mean home?”

  “I mean, I am going to put you on a jet back to America. I will also do what I can to help you renegotiate your company’s deal with the Al-Harahan government.”

  She blinked, not quite understanding, and for a moment even ignoring what he’d said about Red Star. “But…you said I could choose. You said I could choose to go or to stay. What if I choose to stay?”

  His face was as hard as he’d ever seen it. “That is not a choice I am giving you. You wanted to be free so I am setting you free.”

  The crumpled thing in her chest collapsed in a little more, a sharp, steady pain. “Why?” she demanded. “Why, Zakir? What changed?”

  A ripple of regret, of pain, passed over his features. He lifted a hand, cupping her cheek, his palm warm against her skin and she couldn’t help leaning into it. “I am sorry, little one. But I cannot hurt you anymore. And I will. If you stay, all you will get from me is hurt. I know what you deserve and I cannot give it to you. I will never be able to give it to you.”

  “What are you talking about? You haven’t hurt me and you won’t. Haven’t you learned anything these past four days?”

  His thumb stroked the side of her cheek and that hurt, too. How strange when freedom had been what she’d wanted all along.

  “I took you, Felicity,” he said softly. “I took you away from everything you knew and I kept you. And I was going to force you to marry me. Those things hurt you. Life with me will hurt you.”

  Her vision blurred. God, was she crying? She wanted to pull away from his hand but it felt so good, so gentle. This was stupid. He was right, he was hurting her and she couldn’t seem to pull away.

  “Well, this hurts, too.” Her voice was thick with tears. “So how about you stop doing it.”

  Horribly, he was the one who pulled away, leaving only a lingering warmth against her cheek. “I will. Soon you will be on a flight home, your company will be taken care of, and you will put all this behind you.”

  She felt the tear roll down her cheek. How strange to finally get what she wanted—the deal with Al-Harah—and yet now…it just didn’t seem all that important any longer. “What if I don’t want to put it behind me? What if I want to stay with you?” She lifted a hand and brushed the tear away. “And what do you think I deserve anyway?”

  Something flickered through Zakir’s eyes, something dark and hungry. Then it was gone. “You deserve love, Felicity.”

  A part of her wanted to automatically deny it. But no. Not this time. Not after how he’d made her feel. Wanted. Special. Cherished. Maybe this time she could admit it to herself that not only did she deserve love, she needed it.

  You need it from him.

  Her heart, her poor crumpled up heart, beat once in response, hard.

  She blinked. “Can’t you give it to me?”

  Slowly, he shook his head and a deep pain lanced through her.

  “Why not?” It seemed important to know. “It has to do with your brother, doesn’t it?” Because somehow, it all did.

  Zakir was silent a moment. Then he said, “He loved Maysan. And his jealousy was amplified by his madness. If he had not loved her, she would still be alive.”

  “So…this is all some kind of protective thing?” She couldn’t hide the note of disbelief in her voice.

  “I do what I must to protect those who need it.”

  Her throat felt clogged, swallowing impossible. “To protect you, you mean.”

  The lines of his face hardened. “This is not about me.”

  “Yes, it is. You know you’re not like your brother, or at least, you should by now.” She took a ragged breath, feeling suddenly so angry she could barely speak. “All this about not wanting to hurt me? That’s just an excuse, Zakir, and you know it!”

  His dark eyes glittered like jet, hard and sharp. “You do not know what you are talking about.”

  “Yes, I do.” She took a step toward him, staring up at him, heedless of the tears running down her cheeks. “I’m the genius, remember? And you’re hiding behind your brother. You’re hiding behind his madness.” She tried to swallow past the lump. Failed. “And you’re hiding because you’re afraid.”

  Anger flickered across his face. “Do not presume—”

  “I will presume!” She took another step, getting right up close to him. “I will presume everything! I don’t what you’re afraid of, but I’m not.” She took a heaving breath, the words flooding out of her before she could stop them. “I would have stayed, Zakir. I could even have brought Red Star here. I wanted to. Because I’m falling in love with you, and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

  He stared at her, and for a second a look of such fierce longing burned in his eyes that she thought he was going to sweep her into his arms, hold her close. Tell her that she mattered, that he’d been wrong, that he loved her.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead the ferocity extinguished like a flame being snuffed, his face expressionless and cold once more.

  “Be ready to go in five minutes,” he said flatly.

  Then he turned and stalked out, leaving her with nothing but the lingering warmth on her cheek and the smell of sandalwood and spice in the air.

  Felicity stared at the tent’s entrance, her vision blurry with tears, a part of her wanting to go after him and beg him for what she wanted. But no, she had her pride. She wouldn’t go begging where she wasn’t wanted. And she wasn’t going to settle for any scraps he might throw her either.

  If he was going to let her go, then she would go.

  She had her company. She didn’t need anything else anyway.

  She never had.

  * * *

  Four weeks later, an email arrived in Zakir’s personal inbox. It only had three words. I’m not pregnant.

  It made him so angry he had to shove his chair back and get up from his desk, pace the narrow confines of his office, because he just couldn’t sit there staring at it.

  He couldn’t work out why he was so angry.

  For four weeks he’d excised Felicity Cartwright from his mind. He’d put her on a flight straight back to LA the moment they’d arrived back from the desert, and she’d gone without protest. Without even looking back. He’d been as good as his word afterwards, contacting Altair, the sheikh of Al-Harah, and asking him to reconsider working with Red Star as a personal favor. The sheikh had done so—not that he’d needed much convincing after Zakir had pointed out everything Red Star could do for his country.

  Everything that Red Star could have done for Al-Shakhra, too, if he’d been a more selfish man.

  But he’d learned. This was way it should be. What he should have done all along—released her. Kept her safe.

  You’re afraid.

  He paused by the window, her voice echoing in his head. Full of anger and hurt.

  I’m falling in love with you, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

  The ache he’d been trying to ignore for four weeks deepened, making him even angrier.

  No, this was ridiculous. Why was he thinking about her? He’d done the best thing for them both, and it had nothing to do with him being afraid or otherwise. He wanted to protect her and he knew that not being able to give her the kind of love she wanted, the kind she deserved, would only end up hurting her.

  He’d done the right thing sending her away. The only thing.

  The right thing for you.

  A growl escaped him. He didn’t have time for this. The desert tribes had been unhappy he’d gotten rid of the prospective bride he’d brought to them for their approval, w
hile Faisal and his cronies had been full of triumph that the outsider was now gone. Both sides were pushing him to find another bride and quickly.

  But that was the problem. There were no other brides. And he was back in the same position he’d been when he’d gone on that first raid to Al-Harah.

  You don’t want another bride anyway.

  No, that was a lie. He could find another woman. He would have to.

  His gaze fell to the screen of his computer and helplessly he read those words again, feeling the last link, the last secret hope he’d had, fall away.

  There were no reasons now to go after her and there were no reasons for her to come back.

  With a roar, he suddenly swept the offending piece of technology off his desk and onto the floor, the screen cracking and bits of the keyboard flying everywhere.

  His office door opened instantly, Jamal there with his hand on the hilt of his sword, obviously thinking there was some emergency. “Sire?” His gaze dropped to the broken computer, then back up again. “Are you well?”

  Zakir kicked aside the broken computer, striding toward the door. He had to get out, get rid of this rage, deal with it somehow because he was behaving in a ridiculous fashion.

  “Get someone to clean this up,” he said shortly as he brushed past him. “I will be in the training room.”

  Perhaps that was it. He was used to training every day and he hadn’t been down there since he’d gotten back from the desert. He’d been busy, of course, and hadn’t had the time, but he clearly had to make time.

  Being busy is just another excuse. You haven’t been down there for a reason.

  Zakir ignored the voice his head, striding down the corridors, scattering guards and palace staff as he went. They were avoiding him, he knew. Mostly because he’d been in a foul temper since the abortive desert trip.

  It was the lack of training, definitely. Nothing at all to do with the lack of one small, redheaded, American woman.

  The training room was as it always was, the blue of the pool reflecting calmly on the ceiling, the space silent. He headed straight to the weapons cabinet, divesting himself of the robes he’d been wearing as he went so that all he wore were his usual black, combat pants.