Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) Read online

  The blades gleamed, ready for use, as he opened the cabinet. The dagger he’d used to cut away Felicity’s clothes was back in its place, its edge just as sharp as when he’d used it. For some reason, he found himself picking it up, watching the light play along it.

  The day he’d taken her that first time, on the low couch by the pool. Pale skin and red silken hair. Basketball boots digging into his back as he’d—

  A sharp pain shot through him and he cursed, blood from a cut finger bright against the metal.

  He was a fool. What was he doing thinking about sex when holding a sharp blade?

  Carefully he cleaned the dagger and placed it back in the cabinet, then he got down the sword he favored for his usual forms.

  He moved into the middle of the room and began his routine, letting the familiarity of the movement calm him, focus him. Watching the light run down the metal, he listened to his breathing.

  There, he’d had her. On that couch. She’d been so passionate and unafraid, willing to go with him wherever he’d led her. The taste of her had been so sweet, the feel of her so intense. She’d been so generous with him, considering how he’d treated her. Giving herself to him then and afterwards in the desert.

  I would have stayed, Zakir.

  His steps faltered and he cursed again, shoving the echoes of her voice from his head. Wrenching his focus back, he began his routine again, faster this time. Harder. Letting the burn of his muscles drown out the memories of Felicity.

  The way she’d talked to him in the little courtyard that day, so excited and proud of the software she’d developed. And he’d realized what a light she was, and how drawn he was to that part of her. The way she’d advanced on him and poked him in the chest, no matter that there were drawn blades all around her. So courageous even though he knew she’d been afraid.

  And then in the desert, how she’d leaned back into his arms as they’d watched the sunset over the sands, and sighed, her body relaxed against his as she openly appreciated the beauty around her. And later, in that outdoor bath, as pleasure had made her eyes glitter even more brightly than the stars above her head.

  He moved faster, the sword sweeping around him in great, shining arcs.

  Felicity in the tent, tears rolling down her cheeks, anger bright in her eyes, telling him he was hiding behind his brother’s madness. That she was falling in love with him.

  And you were falling in love with her.

  His feet stumbled again and he stopped, his muscles screaming, his skin covered in sweat, the sword hilt slick in his hand. His arms shook. His chest hurt.

  No, that was wrong. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t allow himself to and he’d been very careful about that. Love hurt. Love destroyed.

  His brother had loved Maysan and that love, twisted by madness, had killed her.

  He could not give that to Felicity. He would not put her in the same position. No, he wasn’t his brother, but he couldn’t love her. Wouldn’t. Love was toxic, damaging, and he couldn’t stand it if…

  But this isn’t about you. This is about her.

  He stopped, all the breath leaving his body, and he stared at the wall opposite him, the sword feeling heavy and unwieldy in his hand.

  No. He was thinking about her. Wasn’t he?

  You made the decision for you and didn’t even give her the choice. Doesn’t she at least deserve that?

  It felt like someone had run him through with his own sword. Because of course she did. And he’d thought he’d made that decision for her. But he hadn’t. His decision hadn’t been about protecting her, but about protecting himself.

  She’d been brave. She’d been courageous. She’d stood in front of him and told him what she wanted and he’d been the one to run. He’d been the coward, thinking only of himself. She’d put him to shame.

  Zakir abruptly flung his sword to the side, heedless of the way the stone rasped against the metal.

  He didn’t know what she’d say, whether she’d send him away like the dog he was, or whether she’d accept the paltry things he could offer her. But he did know he had to try. He couldn’t let her go another day thinking that he felt nothing for her. That she’d put her heart on the line for him only to have him throw it back in her face.

  Because that she didn’t deserve.

  Zakir didn’t bother wasting time dealing with his weapons.

  He had a plane to catch.

  * * *

  Felicity finished reading her last email, wrinkling her nose at the screen. The final agreement with the government of Al-Harah for her software had come through that morning, their offer more than generous. Red Star was going to benefit mightily from the deal.

  Yet for some reason, she didn’t know whether to take it or not, and she couldn’t really figure out what was holding her back.

  Really?

  Letting out a short breath, she shoved her chair back. Okay, so she knew.

  Zakir had kept his promise to her, righting the wrong he’d done when he’d kidnapped her, ensuring she wouldn’t lose the company she’d worked so hard to build. Except, she’d lost something else instead—her heart.

  And even now, four weeks later, she was still subconsciously waiting to see if Zakir would contact her. A patently ridiculous thing to do when he hadn’t even responded to her no baby email.

  Then again, maybe he didn’t even read his email. Maybe he didn’t get email at all. Maybe he only dealt with correspondence via carrier pigeon or something.

  The joke was a feeble one and didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, nothing made her feel better these days. Not even Red Star’s deal. Not even finding out she wasn’t pregnant after all.

  That had actually made her feel worse, which was insane since she didn’t want kids, at least not yet.

  You want Zakir’s kids.

  She scowled at her screen. No, she wasn’t going to think of him. Not again. Not ever. He didn’t want her and she sure as hell didn’t want him.

  She’d had a lucky escape, that’s what happened. God, imagine if he’d changed his mind when she’d told him she wanted to stay? When she said she was falling in love with him? She’d be there right now, in that medieval hellhole, sitting in the sun of that courtyard while he held her in his arms and…

  Her intercom went off.

  Felicity swallowed past the lump in her throat and hit the button. “What is it?”

  “You have a visitor,” her PA said.

  “What? Now? I’m just on my way out.”

  “I know, but…he’s most insistent.”

  “Who is it?”

  But there was no answer. And then she could hear her PA’s voice from outside the office, calling, “Wait. I’m afraid you can’t go in—”

  And abruptly her office door opened and a man strode through it before kicking it shut behind him.

  A very, very tall man, massively built. A familiar man. At least, he would have been familiar, if he hadn’t been wearing a beautifully tailored, charcoal gray suit, with a black shirt beneath it and a black tie. If his strong jaw hadn’t been shaved. If his black hair hadn’t been brushed back from his high forehead, making those aristocratic cheekbones stand out and accentuating the straight slashes of his black brows.

  And then her shocked gaze met his eyes.

  Black. Sharp. Like shattered obsidian.

  Zakir.

  Her knees went out from under and she dropped back down into her chair, unable to say a word. Unable to tear her gaze from his. Unable to believe he was here, standing in her office. In a…suit of all things.

  Once or twice, she’d imagined him in western dress, but she hadn’t really understood until now the effect of it. She’d thought he’d look more civilized somehow, more modern even. But he didn’t. He looked just as wild, just as barbaric. Even more so, the suit a foil that only emphasized the raw intensity of him, all that leashed violence that simmered beneath his skin.

  “W-what are you doing here?” she stuttered like a fool, h
er brain falling over itself with all the questions it wanted answering.

  Would he still smell the same? Would he still feel the same? Her heart felt like it was going to explode in her chest.

  He walked straight over to her desk and stood there, looking down at her, his black eyes gleaming with determination, with will.

  “I have come to tell you something, Felicity. Do you have time for me? If not, I will wait.”

  She blinked, struggling to process what exactly was happening. “What do you mean you have something to tell me? What something?”

  The intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. Instead he put his hands down on the edge of her desk and leaned forward on them, his gaze holding hers. “That I should never have taken your choice away from you.”

  She blinked again, feeling her eyes start to prickle. “It’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe it is. But I had to come, little one. I had to come and tell you that I am sorry for what I did. I am sorry for denying you what you wanted. I am sorry for thinking only of myself. Love has always meant death to me. It has been tainted by Farid’s actions and I thought…I believed that sending you away was the right thing.” He paused, the look in his eyes becoming even more intent. “But it was not. You were right when you accused me of being afraid. I was. I still am. I am a coward, Felicity. I am afraid I cannot give you the love you deserve. The love you need. But here is my promise you to. I will try every day of my life to make you happy. To make you feel wanted. To make you feel safe. I will give you my throne and my country. I will give you my palace and the desert. You may even wish to live here in America, where you can manage your company more easily and if so, I will buy you whatever house here you desire. These are paltry things. They do not encompass the whole of your worth, but they are all I have to give.”

  Abruptly, he pushed himself away from her desk, holding himself tall, those black eyes of his burning. “I broke my promise to you last time. I will not break it again. And I will abide by any decision you choose to make.”

  She went very still, her throat hurting, her heart full of longing. All those things. Paltry, he called them. But they weren’t. Yet she only needed one of them.

  Slowly she got up from the desk and came around the side of it. And he watched her come, his gaze never leaving hers, watching her as if he was a man on a desert island and she was his one chance of rescue.

  She came close, standing right in front of him, looking up into his dark eyes, his beautiful, beloved face. “The love I need, Zakir, is exactly the love you can give me. No one else can, only you.”

  A shadow passed across his face, a darkness. “I do not know if I can, little one. I have never loved anyone before. After seeing what Farid did to Maysan, I could not even bear the thought of opening myself up to that kind of feeling.”

  “Farid was sick, though. And his illness twisted that love. You’re not sick. And you can.” She reached up and touched the warm skin of his cheek, the way he had with her before he’d walked out on her, watching as a familiar flame leapt in his gaze. “You protected me. You made sure I was safe, that I was cared for. And those four days in the desert were the happiest of my life.” She dropped her hand to his chest, pressing her palm against the charcoal wool of his suit. “Remember your vow? Before the people, only God. When you told me what those words meant, I could see how much it meant to you. How much you believed it. And you believed it because you care, Zakir. You love your country. Your people. And you loved your brother, too.” She blinked against the tears that threatened. “You can love, I know you can. You can love me, too.”

  He was silent a moment, staring at her, so many things burning in his eyes she couldn’t untangle all of them. Then suddenly his arms were around her and she was swept up in them, close to his chest. And his mouth was on hers, kissing her like he was starving and she was his sustenance, like a man drowning and she was the oxygen he needed in order to breathe.

  Then he tore his mouth from hers and stared down at her, color along his cheekbones, passion igniting in his eyes. “I would give you everything I have to make you stay, Felicity. Anything. Everything.”

  She smiled. “I only want one thing, sheikh.”

  “What? Name it. It is yours.”

  “I want your heart.”

  And slowly, his mouth turned up, a slow, sinful curl that had her heart racing and tripping over itself inside her chest. “It is already yours, little one. I think you wrote your name on it the moment you ignored all those drawn swords and poked me in the chest.”

  Was it okay to explode with happiness? Good thing he was holding her because she thought she might just float away. “Ah, I remember that. It’s death to touch the sheikh, isn’t it?”

  His smile became tender. “Yes. You were very brave.”

  She spread her palms on his chest. “Will you kill me if I touch you now?”

  “I think I will kill you if you do not.”

  So she slid her hands up to those glorious shoulders and around his neck, keeping him on tenterhooks a little while longer, just because she could. “I haven’t made a decision yet. In fact, I’m still thinking about the Al-Harahan offer. Thank you for negotiating with them on Red Star’s behalf, by the way. Their offer is extremely generous.”

  “Little one.” His voice was a growl. “You need to make a decision. And I too can be very generous. Whatever they have offered you, I will double it.”

  She looked up at him, her throat tight. “I don’t need money, Zakir. I want to stay with you. Not because I want to be your queen and give you heirs. Not because my company’s survival depends on it. Not even to help your country. I want to stay with you because I love you. And that’s all.”

  This time the look on his face was all triumph, all satisfaction. “And so I will keep my promise to you, Felicity Cartwright. Every day I will make you happy. Every day I will love you.”

  “Starting from when?”

  His smile changed, became hotter, more sensual. “When do you think? Starting from now.”

  And he made good on his promise.

  On her desk.

  Enjoy an excerpt from

  Never Seduce a Sheikh

  Jackie Ashenden

  Copyright © 2014

  Outside the tinted windows of the limo, the sun had turned the tarmac of the private airstrip into a molten silver river, glinting off the sleek Lear jet that had only just touched down. Mid-morning in Dahar and already the heat was intense.

  Sheikh Isma’il ibn Khalid al Zahar stared at the aircraft, trying to concentrate on the meeting ahead and not the thick musty scent that still seemed to fill his nostrils. Or the tainted feeling that had crept right into the very marrow of his bones.

  Returning to Dahar and all the memories that lurked in the corridors of the palace had been bad enough, but spending all morning in his father’s office, going through his papers, had been worse. Yet Isma’il couldn’t put aside what needed to be done, purely because of some personal distaste. A month had passed already since the old man’s death and Isma’il’s investiture as sheikh, and the task of rebuilding Dahar couldn’t wait.

  A strange feeling lingered on his fingertips. Turning his hands palm up into the sun, for a second, he thought he saw something. A red stain. Blood maybe?

  He frowned, but when he looked again, there was nothing there.

  Still frowning, Isma’il brushed his hands off with a careful, fastidious movement, wiping the strange feeling away.

  Out on the tarmac, his personal bodyguards had arranged themselves to form a corridor between the limo and the jet. One, held a brightly colored silk parasol in his hand. A courtesy for his guest.

  Isma’il stared at the bright splash of color and in the dark glass of the limo window saw his reflection. Saw the smile on his face. It looked almost savage. Too savage.

  Definitely, he’d been spending far too much time in his father’s office. He was here to greet a potential buyer for Dahar’s oil, not an en
emy he intended fight.

  With the ease of long practice, he adjusted his expression, making sure nothing remained but the cool, easy charm that was by now effortless to him. Then, he opened the limo door and stepped out into the blinding heat of the airstrip. His bodyguards snapped to attention, his chief advisor Umar coming immediately to his side.

  The jet’s doorway, however, remained empty.

  “Where is she?” Isma’il was not accustomed to waiting for people and he found he didn’t much like it.

  “I’ll check, your Highness,” Umar assured him, starting towards the plane.

  The man was halfway there, when abruptly a tall figure exited the aircraft. A woman. The woman. Lily Harkness, CEO of Harkness Oil and Petroleum.

  There had been many companies frantic for the rights to Dahar’s lucrative oil reserves and Isma’il had gradually narrowed the field down to three possibilities. He’d already met with the CEOs of two of those possibilities. Harkness Oil was the third. It had been the lead contender, at least until Philip Harkness had retired as CEO and his daughter had taken over.

  His young, unproven and no doubt inexperienced daughter. An appointment that had nepotism written all over it.

  Isma’il leaned back against the hot metal of the car and folded his arms, taking her in.

  He’d been expecting a Daddy’s girl, a pretty little princess stepping into the shoes her father had lovingly prepared for her. But the woman currently descending the metal stairs from the jet’s door to the tarmac below did not look like any princess he’d ever seen.

  Oh, she was blonde, her features precise and lovely. But no princess was ever, surely, that tall. At least six foot. And certainly they didn’t wear blue pant suits that appeared to be tailored to hide every feminine curve. Nor did they stride around on the tarmac in a masculine fashion with a phone glued to their ear, while various flunkeys fluttered around them like butterflies.

  Oh no. Princes did that. Not princesses.

  Isma’il found himself unwillingly intrigued. She was unexpected, he’d give her that. Especially when, she hadn’t even looked his way. Not once. And when was the last time anyone had ignored him so completely? He couldn’t remember. It was difficult, after all, to remain unnoticed when you were six foot five and a sheikh.