Read Online Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) by Jackie Ashenden - Free Book Online
Authors: Jackie Ashenden
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yet as he watched Felicity Cartwright move from the darkness of the corridor into the brilliant sunshine of the courtyard, guards flanking her, he was aware again of that stirring of desire inside him, heavy and slow as a hibernatingcreature waking from sleep.
There wasn’t any reason for it. She was dressed once more in jeans and a T-shirt, and sneakers, the clothes unfeminine and ridiculous for a hot desert country. But as she walked over to where the table had been set, he found his gaze drawn to the swell of her small, round breasts then down farther to the graceful indentation of her waist. Her legs seemed slender andin perfect proportion to her figure, not that he really could tell since the denim obscured their shape. Then there was the bright blaze of her hair in a glossy braid down her back, and he found his mind wondering if the curls between her thighs would be the same color…
The desire tightened and he shifted in his chair, the combat pants he favored for everyday wear suddenly more constricting thanthey had been.
It irritated him. He was stronger than this, much stronger. Yes, the mornings were his weakest time as they were for any man, but after he’d dealt with any inconvenient erections in the privacy of his shower, he thought no more about it. And he certainly didn’t find himself getting hard for a woman he barely knew, let alone one small, pale, and very sarcastic redhead.
She seemeda little subdued as she came across the courtyard to the table he’d had set up under the shade of white canvas awning. Her skin was pink, a few beads of sweat on her brow. Already the heat was punishing and it was only nine a.m.
“Good morning, Miss Cartwright,” he said cordially, as she approached. “I trust you slept well?”
One of her guards reached out to pull her chair out, but she’d alreadytaken it herself and was sitting down, pushing herself in. “Fine,” she muttered, giving her guards a resentful look. “If you don’t count waking up to find I was still a prisoner, that is.”
Zakir dismissed the guards with a gesture. “You might have felt better if you’d put on one of the robes in the closet. They’re much cooler than what you have on.”
She sat back in her chair, her arms foldedand 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 thefaint, 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 wouldnot 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 shouldmake 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 inhis hands. “You are very forthright in your views, Miss Cartwright.”
She colored a little. “Having an opinion
There wasn’t any reason for it. She was dressed once more in jeans and a T-shirt, and sneakers, the clothes unfeminine and ridiculous for a hot desert country. But as she walked over to where the table had been set, he found his gaze drawn to the swell of her small, round breasts then down farther to the graceful indentation of her waist. Her legs seemed slender andin perfect proportion to her figure, not that he really could tell since the denim obscured their shape. Then there was the bright blaze of her hair in a glossy braid down her back, and he found his mind wondering if the curls between her thighs would be the same color…
The desire tightened and he shifted in his chair, the combat pants he favored for everyday wear suddenly more constricting thanthey had been.
It irritated him. He was stronger than this, much stronger. Yes, the mornings were his weakest time as they were for any man, but after he’d dealt with any inconvenient erections in the privacy of his shower, he thought no more about it. And he certainly didn’t find himself getting hard for a woman he barely knew, let alone one small, pale, and very sarcastic redhead.
She seemeda little subdued as she came across the courtyard to the table he’d had set up under the shade of white canvas awning. Her skin was pink, a few beads of sweat on her brow. Already the heat was punishing and it was only nine a.m.
“Good morning, Miss Cartwright,” he said cordially, as she approached. “I trust you slept well?”
One of her guards reached out to pull her chair out, but she’d alreadytaken it herself and was sitting down, pushing herself in. “Fine,” she muttered, giving her guards a resentful look. “If you don’t count waking up to find I was still a prisoner, that is.”
Zakir dismissed the guards with a gesture. “You might have felt better if you’d put on one of the robes in the closet. They’re much cooler than what you have on.”
She sat back in her chair, her arms foldedand 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 thefaint, 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 wouldnot 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 shouldmake 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 inhis hands. “You are very forthright in your views, Miss Cartwright.”
She colored a little. “Having an opinion
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