Sheikh Protector. Dana Marton

that I cannot allow you to leave the country until the bloodline is determined. Our very law would forbid it, except with the permission of the father. Aziz is gone. As his brother, I’m responsible for you and your baby.”

      If ever a sentence had the power to stop her heart, this was it. She was getting sucked in, losing control, the very thing she’d been most afraid of. She shouldn’t have come here.

      “This is insane. I have nothing to do with you. You can’t keep me here. I’m an American citizen.” She backed toward the door, relaxing marginally when he stayed where he was.

      “You will find that in Beharrain, Beharrainian laws are given a priority over ideals of foreign countries thousands of miles away.”

      Was there a hint of threat in his steely voice?

      She kept moving, but he still didn’t follow. Not even when she reached the hallway and ran to the left, not knowing which way the exit was, but wanting to get away from him and the nightmare this trip was turning into.

      Before long she’d reached a palatial marble foyer. The front door was open, but there were armed guards at the wrought-iron gate that led to the street.

      “Excuse me,” she said when they wouldn’t move out of her way. Maybe they didn’t speak English.

      Step aside. Please, step aside. She wanted to get out before Karim decided to come after her. She didn’t think he would let her go this easily. She glanced behind her, then back at the men who looked as unmovable as the seven-foot-tall brick walls that surrounded the property.

      “I need to leave,” she said slower and louder, knowing that was unlikely to make a difference. “Please.” She pointed toward the gate. They had to know what she wanted.

      “You are to leave the palace only in the company of Sheik Abdullah,” one of them said after a moment, without looking at her.

      So the language barrier wasn’t an issue.

      Her breath caught. Desperation rose inside her—desperation, fear and anger. She shouldn’t have come. She had thought she would be able to keep her child safe while giving her or him the kind of large family she never had. But she understood now that wasn’t possible. To keep her baby safe and with her meant that she had to escape far, far away from here. She would never give up control of her baby.

      There had to be a way. She refused to accept that she, along with her unborn child, was a prisoner in a foreign land, held at the will of the Dark Sheik.

      Chapter Two

      She was fighting a losing battle. Sheik Karim Abullah’s palace was better guarded than the Pentagon. But Julia wasn’t the type to give up.

      Since she had resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to escape on the ground level, she went up, sneaking through the night. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for, perhaps a large tree that came near one of the balconies. Trying something—anything—had to be better than sitting in her gilded prison of a room and crying her eyes out like she had done for the first half of the night.

      She hated how weepy her overactive mommy hormones made her. This was not the time to give in to weakness. But she was emotionally exhausted and ravenously hungry. Hungry to the point that she was afraid her growling stomach would be heard.

      She stole down the second-floor hallway, pausing in front of the first door. She pushed it open a fraction of an inch at a time and glanced around the lavishly appointed living room she discovered. Some sort of a suite. Other doors opened from here. The furniture was exquisitely made—all ornately carved wood—and was breathtaking even without her being able to make out the true colors of the luxurious fabrics in the moonlight.

      Her gaze settled on a phone on a small, octagonal table. Her U.S. cell phone didn’t work here and there wasn’t a phone in her room. She wished she knew the number of the U.S. embassy by heart, and dialed zero, hoping to get directory assistance. Nothing happened.

      She tried zero-zero, her stomach continuing to growl. No ringing on the other end. Zero-one. Just one. One-one. A disembodied voice said something in Arabic then the line went dead again. She gritted her teeth with frustration and took a banana from the fruit bowl next to the phone. An apple’s crunching might give her away. She peeled it then bit in, and nearly moaned at the soft sweetness that diffused on her tongue. Heaven.

      Her food tray had been removed that afternoon on her request when the smell of food had made her nauseous. She had refused dinner on principle—not the smartest thing, in hindsight.

      She grabbed another banana and was stuffing it down the front of her shirt when a small noise came from behind one of the doors opposite her. She froze, nearly ran, but stopped herself. She needed to find a balcony, a way out.

      She picked a door that was half-open, figuring she would make the least noise that way, and found herself in a large bedroom. The space was dominated by a sprawling bed, draped in black sheets, that didn’t look slept in. A handful of papers lay tossed on the nightstand, next to a book.

      Then her gaze was drawn to the source of the noise she’d heard before. A bathroom off the bedroom, lights on, the water running. She was facing a full-size, gilded mirror on the bathroom wall that was angled away from her. The picture it presented made her mouth go dry and her feet freeze to the tile floor. She swallowed the chunk of fruit in her mouth with some trouble.

      Karim stood in an open shower with black mosaic tile and one of those drenching, foot-wide showerheads, water sluicing down his tanned skin. He stood with his back to her, so she had an unobstructed view of the scars that ran down his back, breaking up the otherwise perfect lines of the most incredible male body she had ever seen. He had his hands up, bracing himself on the wall, his head hanging as if deep in thought, tension evident in his corded muscles.

      Shadows stretched across his back. She couldn’t tell from this distance whether they were scars or some sort of tribal markings.

      Another person might have looked vulnerable naked, but not the Dark Sheik. Strength radiated off him, and danger.

      He reached to the side and turned off the water with one sinuous movement.

      Okay, so Mr. I’m-Lord-of-All-I-Survey was sexy. Very.

      She couldn’t care less. She was leaving. Now.

      He wrapped a black towel around his waist then turned, his dark gaze finding hers unerringly in the mirror. He didn’t show surprise. Somehow he’d known she’d be there, staring.

      How humiliating.

      “Is there anything you wanted from me, Julia?” His voice was low and measured, full of innuendo and contempt.

      She wanted to turn and run, but his gaze wouldn’t release her. When he strode closer, she backed away without looking where she was going, hoping she was backing out the door. Instead, in a few steps, her back bumped against the wall.

      He was a short foot from her, looming dangerous in the semidarkness of the room, his wide shoulders outlined in the light that came from the bathroom. Drops of water glistened on his dark skin. He smelled like soap and sandalwood. He was the most erotic and intimidating sight she’d ever seen.

      “Looking for a substitute sheik for your plan?” He put his right hand to the wall next to her head. His hand being higher than his shoulder, droplets of water ran backward, along his carved granite biceps.

      Her heart jumped to her throat. He thought she’d come here to seduce him. She moved the other way, but that arm came down, too, and boxed her in. She didn’t feel panicked as much as mesmerized. Blinked her eyes. Snap out of it. How dare he?

      “Don’t touch me.” She shoved with her free hand, indignation giving her strength. She tried not to notice the hard muscles of his warm—and still wet—chest under her fingers. Her limbs were shaky. From exhaustion, no doubt. She was likely still jet-lagged, too.

      He didn’t budge a millimeter, but a dark