Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) Read online

  She sat back in her chair, her arms folded and her shoulders hunched, a defensive posture. “How does wearing a robe change the fact that I’m still a prisoner? Because, FYI, that’s the thing that’s really making me feel crappy, not to mention the fact that my company is probably going down the tubes as we speak.”

  Zakir considered her for a long moment. Despite the flush of heat in her cheeks, he could see her underlying pallor and the faint, purple bruises under eyes.

  No, she had not slept well.

  You caused that. You are to blame.

  A flicker of something he refused to call regret flicked through him. Because he could not regret taking her. His country was too important to ignore for the sake of regret, as was wiping away the stain of Farid’s actions.

  No, she was not the wife he was hoping for, and being a westerner would not win her any hearts with his suspicious, conservative countrymen. But he would convince them. She was the future incarnate and that was what Al-Shakhra needed.

  They would love her as they loved Maysan, he’d make sure of that.

  Wordlessly, he lifted the silver pot that contained the coffee and poured it into a thick, white china mug. Then he pushed it over the table to her. “Coffee. That should make you feel less…’crappy’.”

  She gave him a suspicious glance, but after a moment she pulled the cup closer, adding a bit of milk from a jug next to the coffee and a couple of lumps of sugar. “Thanks,” she muttered. “And for the record, kidnapping me and intimidating me won’t get you what you want. But a good coffee might.”

  He sat back in his chair, picking up his own cup and cradling it in his hands. “You are very forthright in your views, Miss Cartwright.”

  She colored a little. “Having an opinion isn’t a crime.”

  “Of course it is not. But do you speak to clients of your company the way you speak to me?”

  There was a pause.

  She glanced up at him, quicksilver beneath bright copper lashes. “No. I just…my emotions get the better of me sometimes. And you have to admit, I had reason to get angry yesterday.”

  She, unfortunately, did have a point.

  Absently, he swirled his coffee in his cup. “You must understand that my intention was never to harm you, Miss Cartwright.”

  “Your hand around my throat would beg to differ.” She gave her coffee a vigorous stir.

  Ah, yes. That. “To be fair, you bit me.”

  “To be fair, that was because you held up my car and kidnapped me.”

  Despite himself, a thread of amusement wound through him. She was quick, he’d give her that. “I was a soldier before I was ever a king. My first reflex is to defend myself from attack.”

  You liked having your hand around her throat. You have always liked that.

  Zakir pushed the thought back down into the darkness where it should have stayed.

  “Why were you a soldier?” Felicity sat back in her chair, sipping her coffee, her gray gaze wary. “Did you go into the army before you got to be a sheikh?”

  “I did.”

  “And what happened then? I guess your father was the king and then you got to be?”

  The conversation had taken an unexpected turn toward a subject he didn’t wish to go into. No need to talk about Farid just yet.

  He lifted his cup and drained the coffee in it before putting it back down on the table “There will be time for that later. Right now, we need to have a discussion about our mutual needs.”

  Her forehead creased as if she didn’t much care for the change of subject. “Okay then.” And her expression changed again, turning calculating and more than a little fierce, which he found fascinating. She was such an expressive little thing.

  “So obviously my freedom is out of the question.”

  “You may have freedom. As long as you stay in Al-Shakhra.”

  “I knew it. Still, worth a try.” She took a sip of her coffee, never taking her gaze off him. “So exactly how long are you expecting to keep me here?”

  He didn’t look away. “Indefinitely.”

  Her mouth tightened and he waited for some kind of furious protest to escape it. But instead all she said was, “In that case, I want internet connectivity. I have to be able to be able to communicate with my company.”

  Rashiq, Zakir’s father, had had very strong views on the internet, viewing it and indeed, anything modern, as anathema and a threat to the very fabric of Al-Shakhran society. He’d closed the borders of the country, enforcing a kind of dark age, only allowing certain government departments access to any kind of modern technology. When Farid had succeeded him, inroads had been made into modernizing the country’s infrastructure, but it had been a difficult process, made even more difficult by Farid himself and his mood swings.

  Now Farid was gone, modernization had fallen to Zakir and the job hadn’t gotten any easier. Al-Shakhra had barely gotten electricity and running water out to its most remote villages, let alone putting in the fiber cable needed to ensure internet access. The central business district of Harja had it, but that was pretty much it. The palace itself with its thick walls had been a nightmare to get a signal in, but his office had a direct, broadband connection.

  Zakir stared at her, assessing. Remembering her arrogance of the day before. “Ah, yes. You were hoping to use it to communicate with others to arrange help, thinking I would not notice.”

  Another wash of color swept over her already pink cheeks. “I told you I was sorry about that. Anyway, can you blame me?”

  “No, but the problem still stands. I cannot let you use something that will help you escape.”

  Her forehead creased. “I’d advise blocking my access, but then I’m not sure you’d be able to do that. I can pretty much get around any kind of firewall.”

  Once again he found himself amused by her candor. “Any other suggestions in that case?”

  “What if I promised I wouldn’t?”

  “That would mean trusting you. And I don’t.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, biting her lip. “What do you want then? Apart from my surrender, of course.”

  A woman. Warm and soft and willing. Strong enough to take him. Who wouldn’t break.

  The thought crept through him, sliding under his defenses, curling out of the darkness. He shoved it away. That was not what he wanted. Not anymore.

  “A wife,” he said aloud. “To help me modernize my nation, to give my people hope for the future.” Wipe the stain from the Al-Nazari name. “To give me heirs.”

  The creases in her brow deepened. Almost absently she reached out to the basket of fresh, white crusty bread on the table and took a piece of it, buttering it and slathering it with the fresh honey that had come from the palace beehive.

  “Modernize your nation,” she murmured, taking a bite out of her bread and chewing thoughtfully. “What if I told you I could help you with that without the need for a wedding?”

  Something clenched inside him, but he couldn’t quite decide what it was. Disappointment? Excitement? Curiosity?

  He studied her.

  The sun had crept higher, shining down on the awning, the heat deepening. The ancient stone of the walls around them absorbed that heat, radiating it outwards. A cool breeze blew but it was still very, very hot.

  Beyond the stone parapet, the few skyscrapers of his city towered, some of them partially built. There were more on the way, signs of new business confidence, but it was slow. The country needed more investors, more everything. It needed more of the vigor that neighboring Al-Harah had, the life that had been injected since the lost princess had returned to the throne.

  But his country had no lost princesses. It only had him and a legacy of blood and madness.

  “Tell me more,” he ordered, watching her. He had no intention of changing his mind, but it would be useful to hear what she had to say all the same.

  Felicity brushed the bread crumbs from her fingers and leaned forward, her smoke-gray eyes glint
ing. “Well, that’s why I was in Al-Harah. To present this new software that Red Star has developed. It basically utilizes the existing mobile communication network to deliver internet to anyone who can get a signal. And it does it much faster and enables more data than any other existing software.” The sparks in her eyes got brighter, her expression becoming excited. Proud. “Pretty great, huh? We can also use existing electricity infrastructure too, so you don’t need to build a whole lot of new cell phone towers. It’s aimed at helping developing nations get easy, simple internet access.” She grinned at him, inviting him to share her pride in her creation. “It took me months. I knew there were another couple of companies also working on this thing because the tech is based on some shareware code. But I just pushed myself, made a few leaps that I don’t think anyone else would have, and bam!” Her hand came down unexpectedly on the table, making the cups and plates jump. “I basically turned it out way before anyone else.” Her face shone, her eyes bright as summer lightning. “You might even want a piece of that yourself, right?”

  You do want a piece of that. Except it’s her you want a piece of.

  His heart was beating faster than it should have, and he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze from the brightness of her face. It had been a long time since he’d seen pride and genuine pleasure light up a person in quite that way. A long time since anyone had shared it with him.

  Sometimes it felt like he lived in darkness, surrounded by violence and death. With hard men who found pleasure in nothing but killing. Who lived for nothing but war. He was one of those men himself.

  Yet Felicity wasn’t. Right in this moment she was a flash of sunlight in a shadowed room and he wanted more. He wanted that sunlight shining directly on him. Preferably while she was naked.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “I might indeed want a piece of that.”

  Her smiled widened. “Well…maybe you can have it as well as Al-Harah. I’ll give you the software and you give me my freedom. Easy.”

  “Alas, it is not so easy. Your software would be very useful, no question, but it will not take the place of a wife.”

  The brightness in her face dimmed and for some reason the loss felt acute. As if he had taken a small, priceless jewel and cast it under his boot heels, crushing it into dust.

  “But you said you wanted to modernize—”

  “I also said I wanted heirs. So unless this software of yours can create children as well as provide cheap Internet, you will stay.”

  She sat back abruptly in her seat. All the brightness had gone now, the glow in her eyes dissipating. The light through the canvas awning glinted on her red-gold lashes as she lowered them, veiling her gaze. “So you’ll give me nothing.”

  He should not care about the look on her face or whether he’d disappointed her. And yet an inexplicable anger at the look on her face licked up inside him all the same. “Why should I give you anything? You are mine to do with as I see fit.”

  Her chin firmed and those pretty lashes of hers swept up all of a sudden, her gaze calculating. “Okay, baby steps then. What would you need from me in order to give me internet access?”

  A burgeoning respect began to thread through his anger. She really didn’t give up, did she? That kind of spirit was certainly to be commended. “What would I need?”

  “Yeah. I’ll do whatever you want if you give me access to my email and the net.” She blinked. “I mean, within reason. I’m not going to….” She paused, another violent blush rising to her cheeks. “You know…”

  He did know. “Sleep with me?”

  Her throat moved and she hurriedly reached for a glass of water, taking a quick sip. “Yes. That.”

  Under the coiling anger, desire stirred yet again and along with it a curiosity that really shouldn’t be there. She had no problem with sharing her anger with him and yet at the mention of sex, she suddenly became reticent. Why was that?

  Ah, but no. He couldn’t think such things. “Do not worry.” He kept his voice hard, certain, addressing both her and the desire that seemed to be leaking through him like blood in pool of water. “Sleeping with you at this point is the last thing I want to do, Miss Cartwright.”

  She blinked, something flashing through her eyes he didn’t quite catch. Then her lashes swept down again, the blush on her cheeks now crimson. “W-well, that’s good. Because sleeping with you is the last thing I want to do, too.” She cleared her throat. “So, for the record, I’ll do anything other than that.”

  A tense silence fell and he let it hang there a moment.

  He didn’t need to give her anything at all. He could make her do whatever he wanted. And yet…

  You want to be different to your father? From Farid? Might is not the only way.

  He did want to be different. He had to be different. Otherwise what kind of legacy would his family leave on this country? He would not let it end in blood.

  “Tonight is the feast where I present my bride prize to my court,” he said after a moment. “If you acquit yourself well, I will grant you access to my office. You may use the phone there to call your business and your family to let them know you are well. I cannot let you do anything more than that.”

  Copper red brows drew down, annoyance flickering in her eyes, though really, what did she expect? “Generous of you. And acquitting myself well being…?”

  “You will wear the clothes I give you and act as though you are perfectly willing to be there. You will not protest or insult our customs. You will comport yourself with grace and dignity.” His ministers were suspicious of his choice—he’d already had a number of them air their opinions the previous day—and it would not do to have her insult the entire court so early on. Not that he needed their agreement or permission, but if he didn’t want to be the dictator his father was he’d need to at least show he was sensitive to their wishes.

  Oddly, something that looked like doubt passed over her face, another quicksilver flash before it was gone. “Okay,” she said firmly. “I guess you have a deal.” Then she held out her hand over the table. “Shake on it.”

  Don’t. Touching her would be a mistake.

  But no, that was ridiculous. He was stronger than this desire. He had long since mastered it.

  Without hesitation, Zakir reached for her small hand, enclosing it in his own. And he was looking straight at her when he felt it go through him, the spark of electricity when his skin touched hers. Saw the flash of response in her eyes, saw them widen, her mouth opening in surprise and shock.

  Felt himself respond, too. The hunter now fully aware of his prey.

  He tightened his fingers instinctively, the warmth of her skin somehow even hotter than the sun bearing down on them through the awning, because he had to test himself against this. Prove himself master of it.

  Then she jerked her hand from his and he knew, with an instinct that was old as time, he wasn’t alone.

  She’d felt it, too.

  Chapter Five

  Felicity sat on a low chair in front of the mirror, her palms sweaty and heartbeat somewhere in the vicinity of her mouth. Behind her stood one of the veiled women who didn’t speak any English and who was now pinning a length of snowy white silk in her hair.

  She stared at the stranger in the glass. Her face was pale, her eyes huge. They’d been carefully lined with black kohl, her mouth painted a pale pink, the freckles across her nose vanished with some powder. Simple makeup and yet not at all what she usually wore. In fact, she usually wore no makeup because she hated the stuff. Hated how it made her feel like she was once again the quiet teenager berated by her mother for not making more of herself. For paying more attention to her schoolwork than to the very important social engagements her mother insisted she attend.

  Which made it weird that she was now sitting here, docilely letting someone else put paint on her face and do her hair. Folding her into the strange and diaphanous robes of white silk that wrapped around her and fluttered when she moved.

  And all becaus
e she wanted a damn phone call. It made her feel even more like a prisoner than she did already.

  She took a breath, resisting the urge to wipe her sweaty palms down the white silk of her robes.

  Okay, so demanding an internet connection had been pretty direct of her and it was annoying that he wasn’t going to go for it.

  Did you really expect him to?

  If she was honest with herself, not really. He wasn’t stupid, as he’d already proved. Nevertheless, she’d hoped he might be in a generous mood. Or even a pitying one. But apparently he wasn’t in either. And a phone call wasn’t going to be nearly enough. Still, she didn’t have much else in the way of options. She had to call Red Star, salvage what she could of the Al-Harahan deal, fix this somehow. Because the alternative…well, it just wasn’t happening. She’d spent too much time, too much blood, sweat, and tears building Red Star to see it fail because some stupid sheikh had had the gall to kidnap her. Not to mention the fact that she had a whole lot of people whose jobs depended on her.

  No, she needed that phone call. Needed to see if she could renegotiate with the Al-Harahan government, reschedule the meeting…

  For when? He isn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

  She ground her teeth. Well, maybe she’d be able to get some secret message out or something. Whatever happened though, she’d have to act the good little prisoner now. Annoying, when she’d sworn to herself she’d never let anyone use her, never let anyone force her into doing something she didn’t want again. Yet here she was, letting the sheikh do exactly that.

  Damn the sheikh. Damn Zakir.

  And yes, she’d call him by his name and not sire or your majesty or any other title a king might be used to. She wanted to reduce him in her mind, not build him up.

  Her palm stung, reminding her of another reason why she might want to reduce him, and not just because he was obviously a power hungry dictator intent on forcing his will on her. A reason that didn’t have much to do with the fact that he was a king, but everything to do with the fact that he was a man.

  She shivered, remembering the feel of his hand enclosing hers. His skin had felt hotter than the stone of the courtyard, burning her all the way through. And the power in that one clasp, the subtle strength in his long fingers… He could have crushed her hand without any effort. Yet he hadn’t. His grip had been firm, but strangely gentle. And that weird electricity that had gone straight up her arm…