Sheikh's Desert Desire: Carrying the Sheikh's Heir. Maisey Yates

CHAPTER SIX

      SHERIDAN SUCKED IN a deep breath and pulled her robe tighter, even though it couldn’t protect her from the fury in his dark eyes. She thought of Fatima’s fearful look earlier today and wondered if perhaps this man was more frightening than she’d thought. Her blood ran cold.

      “The door was open. I—I wanted to see outside.”

      “You are in my quarters, Miss Sloane.”

      Oh, dear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

      He still hadn’t moved. He stood in the door, his broad frame imposing. She told herself not to look below the level of his chin. She failed.

      “So you decided to wander in the middle of the night and open random doors?”

      She twisted the tie of her robe. “Something like that. I’m on a different schedule than you, I’m afraid. Wide-awake and nothing to do.”

      “Nothing to do.” His voice was somehow full of meaning. Or perhaps she imagined it.

      “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

      He still looked imposing and impossible. And then he shoved his hand through his hair and moved out of the doorway and onto the terrace. Sheridan stood frozen.

      “You didn’t disturb me. I was awake.”

      “You should try hot milk. It helps with insomnia.” Oh, no, she was babbling. Sheridan bit her lip and told herself to shut up. This man was dangerous, for heaven’s sake. Not at all the sort to put up with babbling in the middle of the night.

      “I don’t need much sleep,” he said. “And I don’t like hot milk.”

      “I don’t either, actually. But I understand it works for some.”

      He went and leaned on the railing, near her. She thought she should take this opportunity to escape, and yet she was curious enough to want to stay. He made her nerves pop and sing. It was an interesting sensation.

      “When it’s light, you can see all the way to the gulf from here,” he said. He lifted his hand. “In that direction, you can see the dunes of the Kyrian Desert. The Waste is out there, too.”

      “The Waste?” She moved closer, reached for the railing and wound her fingers around the iron.

      He turned his head toward her. “A very harsh, very hot part of the desert. There is no water for one hundred miles. The sands are baked during the day, and at night they give up their heat and turn cool. You can freeze out there, if you don’t die of heatstroke during the day.”

      It was hard to imagine such a place in this day and age. “Surely there are ways to bring water into it.”

      “There are. But there is no reason to do so. It would be cost prohibitive, for one thing. And who would live there? There are nomads, but the people who are accustomed to the cities would never go.”

      “Have you been there?”

      He didn’t speak for a long moment. “I have. There is an oasis midway. It was once part of a trade route across the desert. I went as a boy. It was part of my training as an al-Hassan.”

      She could imagine this harsh, dark man out there now. But as a child? It seemed so dangerous and uncertain. “I’ve never been to a desert before. I’ve never been anywhere but the Caribbean. Until now, I mean.”

      He looked at her. “Are you more comfortable now that you have a television and internet access?”

      “It helps. But I’m still used to doing more than I have the last day. I like to be busy.”

      “Consider it a vacation.”

      “That would be easier if it actually were.”

      “Miss Sloane—”

      “Sheridan. Please.” Because she felt so out of place when he called her Miss Sloane. She needed him to acknowledge her as more than a random stranger. Because, regardless of whether or not there was a baby, they’d shared something incredibly intimate. Even if it had been clinical.

      “Sheridan.”

      She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips. Why? Because it sounded like a silken caress. “Thank you,” she said.

      “I was going to say that I realize this is not easy for you. It is not easy for me, either.”

      “I know.”

      He turned to look out at the city lights and she watched the play of the wind in his hair and the soft glow of moonlight on his profile. He was a very beautiful man. And a lonely one. She didn’t know why she thought he was lonely, but she did.

      “I have decided to give you what you’ve requested,” he said, and her heart thrummed. “I want your stay to be pleasant. If it pleases you to talk to me, then I will grant it.”

      She was surprised and pleased at once. “I appreciate that very much.”

      They stood there in silence for a long moment. “It is an extraordinary length to go to, to have a baby for someone else.”

      She felt a touch defensive. “It’s not just for anyone. Annie is my sister.”

      “I am aware of this.”

      Sheridan sighed. The night breeze whipped up then, just for a moment, and she shivered. “She and Chris have tried and tried. They’ve seen doctors and been through one treatment after another. Nothing seems to work.” She gripped the railing tightly, staring off toward the flickering lights of the city. “There was one doctor who mentioned an experimental treatment in Europe. Annie wanted to do it, and Chris would do anything for her. But the cost... Well, it’s a lot. And there are no guarantees. They would have to sell everything and then hope...” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I offered to step in before they went deeper into debt.”

      “So you would put your own life on hold to have this child for your sister. And then you would hand him or her over as if the previous nine months had happened to her instead of you.”

      The lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. She hugged her arms around herself to keep from shivering. The air seemed colder now. “I didn’t say it would be easy, but it’s what you do when you love someone. You make sacrifices.”

      He seemed very quiet and still as he watched her. She’d expected him to make some sort of remark, but he said nothing at all. It began to worry her, though she didn’t quite know why. She cleared her throat softly and told him the truth.

      “I don’t quite know what to say to you,” she admitted. “I never know if you’re angry or if you’re just the kind of man who doesn’t speak much.”

      He was looking at her with renewed interest. “I’m not angry. I’m frustrated.”

      “We’re both frustrated.”

      “Are we?”

      “I...” She sensed that this conversation had moved out of her control somehow. His eyes glittered in the night. He seemed suddenly very intense. And very—dear heaven—naked. “Yes, uh, of course. Why wouldn’t we be? This is a frustrating circumstance.”

      “I find it very interesting that you could be carrying my child, and yet we’ve never been intimate. I’ve never undressed you, never tasted your skin.”

      She was growing hot now. So very hot. “Well, er...”

      “Have you thought of it, Sheridan? After that kiss, have you wondered?”

      Her heart hammered hard. Another moment and she would be dizzy. Yes she’d thought of that kiss. And she’d thought of her flesh pressed against his, nothing between them but skin and heat. She’d wondered what it would be like to be this man’s lover. This dynamic, incredible man.

      “Of