Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) Read online

  And he knew in that moment he’d been a fool. He’d overestimated himself. Overestimated his ability to resist.

  You are weak. Like Farid was weak.

  With a force of will that shouldn’t have been as great as it was, Zakir released her, shoving himself away, his heartbeat like thunder in his head, the need to take her wildfire in his blood.

  She stumbled as he stepped away, her mouth open in shock, her eyes wide. “Z-Zakir?” Her voice was ragged. A question he did not know the answer to.

  The only thing he did know was being near her right now was impossible.

  So he turned and without a word, he strode away.

  Chapter Six

  Felicity woke to the sound of someone knocking hard on the door. She rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head and tried to snuggle back down. Perhaps if she just ignored them they’d go away.

  But they didn’t.

  And as she let out an annoyed breath and opened her eyes, memory began to come back to her.

  She wasn’t at home in New York. She was in a room, in a medieval stone fortress of a palace. She was a prisoner of the sheikh of Al-Shakhra who considered her his bride prize.

  And last night she’d been presented to his court only to be insulted by lumps of dirt given instead of gifts, and then had wine spilled all over her. And then Zakir had taken her out onto that terrace where he’d stripped of her wine-soaked robes, wrapped her in black cotton, and then…

  Felicity flung back the quilt and sat bolt upright, her heart suddenly slamming hard against her breastbone. No, she didn’t want to think about what had happened after that. Not at all.

  Yes, you do.

  The first ever kiss she’d actually lost herself in and it had come from the man who’d kidnapped her. Who’d put his hands in her hair and pulled her head back, held her with such casual mastery and yet such gentleness.

  She’d been so out of her depth, awash with anger from what had happened in the stone hall, an anger that had only seemed to intensify the strange fascination she had for Zakir. And not just the fascination but the attraction, too.

  Such a complex mix of emotions, she’d had no idea how to deal with them.

  Until he’d offered to show her.

  He’d looked at her like he wanted to eat her alive and a small, secret part of her had loved it, absorbing his attention like a thirsty plant absorbs rain. And he seemed to know exactly what to say to her, the perfect lure to her hungry mind.

  Close your eyes. I will show you something new.

  And she’d done…exactly what he said.

  The knocking on her door became more forceful, jolting her. Pushing the thoughts of the night before out of her head, Felicity slid out of the low bed and scrabbled around for some clothes.

  When Zakir had stalked off the night before, he hadn’t left her totally alone. A couple of minutes after he’d gone, Jamal had found her and escorted her back to her rooms. She couldn’t even remember returning, or stripping off the black cotton of the robe Zakir had wound around her. Or even falling into her bed.

  The only thing clear to her was that her mouth burned. And someone had turned a blowtorch on her skin, taking off the entire outer layer, leaving her raw and sensitized, conscious of every movement her body made, every item of clothing she wore. She couldn’t stop thinking about Zakir’s hand around her throat, the heat of it. Or the feel of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his teeth. The possessive grip of his fingers in her hair.

  That kiss…

  The hammering on the door had stopped and she heard the sound of someone trying to open it.

  No. No more thoughts about that damn kiss.

  After scrambling into her clothes, she finally went to the door and pulled it open. Only to find Jamal standing there looking irritated.

  “I am to escort you to his majesty’s office,” he said shortly.

  Felicity pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, gazing warily at him. “Why?”

  “His highness is fulfilling his promise to you,” Jamal said, folding his arms.

  “Promise? What—” And then she remembered. She’d told him she’d agree to be presented at his court, if he’d let her make the phone calls she needed. “Ah, okay then.” She gave Jamal a narrow look. “How many calls can I have?”

  “As many as you need to handle your business and inform your family and friends that you are well.”

  “And I guess they’re not going to be private calls?”

  “No.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and went out the door in a swirl of robes. Clearly this was her cue to follow.

  This time the walk down the medieval corridors wasn’t as long as to the sheikh’s training room. They passed by narrow windows that gave glimpses out over the dry valley and the glittering city at the bottom of it, and more sweeping stairs that led out onto wider galleries. There was more palace staff around, silent men and women in traditional robes, moving with purpose here and there. A few of them cast glances at Felicity, but unlike the night before, she didn’t get the feeling they were hostile, merely curious.

  She took a breath, trying to calm herself, trying to think about how she was going to handle these calls and what she would say. She wasn’t going to be able to say much if Jamal was there watching her.

  Eventually Jamal stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and pushed it open.

  The room inside wasn’t particularly large, but it was furnished with spartan simplicity. A heavy, antique-looking desk of some kind of dark wood stood over by one of the narrow windows, a surprisingly modern-looking computer monitor sitting on the top of it. There was a shelving unit along one wall made out of the same dark wood as the desk, with a few books neatly shelved on it and not much else. There were no pictures on the walls and no rugs on the floors. It was bare, utilitarian. The office of a general, rather than a king.

  Jamal gestured to the sleek, modern-looking phone unit that also sat on that bare desk. “You may call whom you wish. But be aware that should you make any attempt at asking for help or sending coded messages, I will end all calls instantly.”

  Felicity moved over the desk, giving him a surreptitious glance. Perhaps she could get out some kind of message without him knowing? Even a quick scream down the phone, maybe?

  His dark eyes stared back at her, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and he moved his hand suggestively onto the hilt of his sword. Okay, then. Maybe screaming for help wouldn’t be the best idea.

  So what to do? She couldn’t tell anyone where she was, that she hadn’t been so irresponsible as to go on a sudden sightseeing tour of the desert instead of attending an important meeting. That she’d actually been captured by a sheikh and was now being held prisoner. She couldn’t even see if she could get her Al-Harahan meeting rescheduled because she had no idea how long it would take her to get out of here.

  The people at Red Star would probably be frantic with worry, especially if the Al-Harahan deal had fallen through. They’d know she wouldn’t have gone sightseeing…

  Think, Felicity.

  Okay, well, there was only one option. Her company needed a deal of some kind which meant that if she couldn’t get it from Al-Harah, then she’d get it from this sheikh. From Al-Shakhra.

  This was a business opportunity and she needed to treat it like one. After all, she had the ear of a king. A king who needed her software and her expertise. She might even be able to convince him to change his mind about the whole marriage thing, too. Oh, yes, and let her go when the time came.

  Jamal picked up the phone. “The number,” he said brusquely. “I will dial for you.”

  He really wasn’t taking any chances, was he? She gave him the number of her PA and he punched it in before handing her the receiver. And pretty soon, Charley’s voice came down the line, so familiar Felicity almost wanted to cry.

  But she pulled herself together, dealing with Charley’s shock and surprise at hearing from her. She kept it short and sweet, deflectin
g her PA’s questions and asking him to forward her apologies Al-Harahan government. Then, keeping the specifics vague, she told Charley not to worry, that she was currently following up an interesting and potentially even more lucrative new opportunity for Red Star and the negotiations were at a ‘delicate’ stage, but she’d be in touch once things were finalized.

  She ended the call quickly after that, before Charley could ask any more questions.

  “Satisfied?” She glared at Jamal.

  “You may call your family,” he said, expressionless.

  She hadn’t spoken to her parents for years. They didn’t even know she was in the Middle East, let alone that she’d suddenly gone off on a sightseeing trip. Not that they’d be interested anyway. “No, I’m good.”

  A faint frown creased his brow then was gone. “Very well. His majesty also suggested you may wish to visit the royal archives. There is much you need to learn about our country.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say she didn’t need to learn anything since she wouldn’t be here long enough, but she swallowed it back. If she was going to treat this as an unexpected business opportunity, then learning a bit more about Al-Shakhra wasn’t a bad idea.

  She went silently with Jamal as he led her down some more corridors, taking her this time into a much larger room packed with book-lined bookshelves and cabinets of lots of different sizes. There was a desk near one of the shelves, obviously there for reading or working at. It reminded her of a very old-fashioned, public library, perhaps one from fifty years ago.

  “Most of the material here is in Arabic,” Jamal said, then gestured to one of the cabinets. “But over there we have some records in English.” He gave her a clearly disapproving glance. “Unless you wish to return to your rooms?”

  Perhaps that’s what he expected her to do. In which case, she wouldn’t. She’d sit down here and she’d damn well familiarize herself. “Actually, no,” she replied. “I think I might sit here and learn a bit more about your country.”

  If he was surprised he didn’t show it, merely inclining his head.

  “Excellent.” Felicity gave him a sly smile. “In that case, you’d better show me how to find stuff here. I’m used to just entering a search into Google.”

  His lip curled fractionally. Without a word, he pointed to one of the cabinets then folded his arms, clearly intending to stay here for the duration and not happy about it.

  “You could wait outside, you know,” she said, uncomfortable with the idea of Jamal looming over her while she read. “It’s not like I’m going to escape from here or anything.”

  He gave her an enigmatic look, grunted, then turned on his heel and went out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  After he’d gone, Felicity went over to the cabinet and pulled out one of the filing boxes. She couldn’t read the Arabic label on the side so she opened it and glanced inside. The contents appeared to be a stack of newspapers.

  Curious, she carried the box over to the desk and sat down to leaf through them. And blinked as she did so. They seemed to be all about one thing, lurid headlines detailing what looked like the murder/suicide of the previous sheikh and his sheikha two years earlier.

  She frowned, leafing through more of the newspapers. This was all familiar, in fact, there had been a bit in the media about it, now that she remembered. The ruling sheikh was found dead the morning after his wedding, with his new bride dead beside him. It had been determined the sheikh had killed his new wife then had killed himself. A tragedy for everyone, including the country itself.

  Fascinated, she kept reading. Only to come to a stop at the mention of a name in one of the newspapers. Zakir. Who had found them. Who, as the younger brother, had taken over the throne after Farid’s death.

  She remembered suddenly the breakfast they’d had a few days earlier, when she’d asked him about being a soldier before being a king and he’d changed the subject.

  No wonder. It must have been horrific for him.

  Her desire to know more suddenly intensified. Perhaps this was the key to mystery of him. The way to unlock him, know his secrets. And maybe if she was able to unravel the puzzle of him, she’d be able to change his mind about the marriage, not to mention get a deal for Red Star.

  You’d really use his personal tragedy like that?

  Something heavy shifted in her chest. Well, no, not quite like that. She didn’t want to hurt him; she only wanted to know more. And after all, he’d kidnapped her and was holding her prisoner. She needed to reclaim her power in some way.

  Felicity packed away the newspapers then went back to the cabinet, hauled out all the boxes she could find and carried them back to the desk. For the next couple of hours she went through various government documents, magazine articles, and personal records from different officials, all puzzle pieces that when put together gave her a better picture of Al-Shakhra.

  No wonder the whole place felt like it had only just stepped out of the dark ages. It had been a closed country right up until five years ago, after the death of the ruling sheikh. Farid had opened up the borders, had started encouraging foreign business and investment, tourism and trade. There had even been steps to get rid of the absolute monarchy that had ruled the country for hundreds of years and a start to move to a democratic system of government.

  Until Farid had apparently killed himself and his bride, setting back the progress the country had made in one fell swoop.

  She stared at the words in the document she was currently reading, the heavy thing inside her shifting again, fascination winding tighter. Is that what Zakir was trying to do? Undo the bloody legacy left by his brother? And how had that affected him? What had really happened to Farid? He’d been seen as a good ruler up until that night, so something must have.

  Felicity sat back, biting her lip.

  These records could only give her so much and information was sparse even with those. If she wanted to know more, she was going to have to ask Zakir. But how to get him to talk about such a personal tragedy?

  The memory of the night before rose. The hunger in his black eyes and the feel of his mouth on hers. He’d tasted like the fine whisky her father used to drink, dark and rich and intensely alcoholic. His hand on the back of her head, his hard, muscular body right up against hers. Hot. Demanding. And then, inexplicably, he’d shoved himself away from her as if she’d burned him.

  Okay, so she may be inexperienced, but she was very far from an idiot. She’d known he wanted her. So what had made him pull away?

  Another mystery. But maybe that desire was a key, too. And she could use it to find out what lay beneath it. Get to the heart of him, find a way to make him change his mind about her and this wife thing.

  Sure. But you have no idea what you’re doing. And when he touches you—

  She cut the thought off before it could form. No, she had no idea what she was doing when it came to desire. But she could learn. She’d always been quick, after all.

  All she had to do was keep her head.

  Easy.

  * * *

  Zakir had spent all morning dealing with the diplomatic aftermath of the night before. Faisal had sympathizers, and unfortunately he couldn’t get rid of them all as easily as throwing them out of his palace.

  He would have to do something else, take another approach. Probably one that involved diplomacy. The thought did not put him in a good mood. Diplomacy had never been one of his strong points—he was a soldier, not a diplomat. Farid had been the one whom the people loved, not him.

  But he would have to make an effort if he didn’t want to end up like his father, ruling with an iron fist, crushing dissent with his armies. That was not the legacy Farid had intended when he’d opened up the country’s borders. That was not the legacy Zakir wanted either.

  The advice of his minsters was to take Felicity into the desert and get the approval of the powerful Bedouin tribes. Their opinion was important in Al-Shakhra and a great many people still listened to t
hem, especially those sympathetic to Faisal.

  It was a good idea, so he’d assigned several people the task of organizing it. Jamal was silently disapproving, but Jamal would have to rethink his opinions. Especially since far from getting Zakir to change his mind, Faisal’s tactics had only entrenched his decision.

  He would marry Felicity Cartwright. She was perfect in every way, and she would be his sheikha no matter what they said.

  Perfect. Yes. Especially the taste of her.

  Memories of the night before kept ambushing him, which was unacceptable. He should not be thinking so much about a mere kiss, two years of abstinence notwithstanding.

  After he’d finished with his ministers, he made his way to the only place he found peace these days—his training room. A couple of hours of exercise should help with those kinds of thoughts, it always did.

  He liked weapons training, the sword in particular. It was peaceful, allowed him to center his thoughts. It also concentrated his control beautifully and that, in particular, was especially important since it was clear he was going to need it with Felicity around.

  He’d been at it an hour and a half, practicing forms, when Jamal entered. “Miss Cartwright wishes to you see you, sire.”

  Zakir didn’t stop what he was doing, conscious of the heat inside him leaping at the mention of her name. A bad sign. But to refuse to see her would be a sign of weakness he couldn’t allow. Last night had been an aberration, nothing more, and it was best not to build it up into something it wasn’t.

  “Show her in,” he said curtly.

  Perhaps this was about the archive access he’d allowed her that morning. It wouldn’t be what she was used to, not when she had all the information she needed available at the touch of a button on the internet—but he’d hoped she’d find it useful nevertheless. His father had always limited access to information about Al-Shakhra, so much of it wouldn’t be available anywhere else.

  Jamal nodded then went to the door to usher Felicity into the room.