Her Ardent Sheikh
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Kristi Gold
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10
One
He had never seen anyone quite so beautiful, nor heard anything quite so intolerable.
Sheikh Ben Rassad pretended to peruse the antiques displayed behind the shop window as he watched the young woman walk away from the adjacent local dry cleaners.
She clutched a substantial garment covered in clear plastic—and sang in a pitch that could very well wake those who had long since returned to Allah. Ben would not be surprised if every hound residing in Royal, Texas—pedigreed or of questionable breeding—joined her in a canine chorus.
She sang with a vengeance, optimism apparent in her voice. She sang of the sun coming out tomorrow, although at the moment bright rays of light burnished her long blond hair blowing in the mild April breeze, turning it to gold. She sang as if tomorrow might not arrive unless she willed it so.
Ben smiled to himself. Her enthusiasm was almost contagious, had she been able to carry a decent tune.
As she strolled the downtown sidewalk, Ben followed a comfortable distance behind his charge while she searched various windows. Although she was small in stature, her faded jeans enhanced her curves, proving that she was, indeed, more woman than girl.
Ben had noticed many pleasing aspects about Jamie Morris in the weeks since he had been assigned to protect her covertly. His fellow Texas Cattleman’s Club members had originally requested that he guard her against two persistent men from the small European country of Asterland. The men had been sent to investigate after a plane en route to Asterland had crash-landed just outside Royal—a plane Jamie Morris had been on. She’d been bound for her arranged wedding to Asterland cabinet member Albert Payune, a man with questionable intentions and connections. Jamie had walked away from the crash without serious injury or further obligation to marry. Although the suspected anarchists had returned to their country, she was still not safe. The marriage had come with a price. Quite possibly Jamie’s life.
Because of Jamie’s ties to Payune, Ben had secretly memorized her habits in order to keep her safe, guarding her with the same tenacity he utilized in business. Though she was a magnificent creature to behold, duty came first, something he had learned from his upbringing in a country that starkly contrasted with America and its customs.
Now he must protect Jamie from Robert Klimt, a man believed to be Payune’s accomplice in planning a revolution in Asterland—a man Ben suspected to be a murderer and thief. Klimt had escaped not hours before from his hospital bed after languishing for weeks from injuries sustained in the crash. Obviously the club members had underestimated the man’s dangerous determination, and Ben despised the fact they had not been better prepared.
At the moment, he needed to question Jamie Morris about the crash. Make her aware that he would be her shadow for however long it took to apprehend Klimt. Ensure her safety at all costs. In order to accomplish his goal, she would have to come home with him.
Carefully he planned his approach so as not to frighten her. Yet, considering all that she had been through the past few weeks, he doubted she was easily intimidated. And he suspected she would not like what he was about to propose.
But the members of the club depended on him. Little did Jamie Morris know, so did she.
Jamie took two more steps, stopping at the Royal Confection Shoppe not far from her original location. The song she sang with such passion died on her lips. For that Ben was grateful.
She stared for a long moment at the display of candies with a wistful look of longing. Ben studied her delicate profile, her upturned nose, her full lips, but he had never quite discerned the color of her eyes. He suspected they were crystalline, like precious stones, reminding him of his family’s palace in Amythra, a place far removed from his thoughts more often than not in recent days. Reminding him of Royal’s missing legendary red diamond and trusted friend Riley Monroe’s murder. Reminding Ben of his mission: to find the missing red diamond and return it to its hiding place with two other precious stones. The jewels’ existence had been known only in legend, but they were very real. The Texas Cattleman’s Club members served as guardians over the heirlooms, as set out by the club’s founder, Tex Langley. No member took the duty lightly, including Ben. And he was as determined to protect Jamie Morris in the process of recovering the jewel.
Jamie turned away, but not before Ben caught another glimpse of her plaintive expression. Then she began to whistle as she moved to the curb toward her aged blue sedan parked across the downtown street. He must make his move now.
The squeal of tires heightened Ben’s awareness, the bitter taste of danger on his tongue. He glanced toward the grating noise to find that a car was headed in the direction of the sidewalk, aimed at an unsuspecting Jamie Morris.
His heart rate accelerated. Sheer instinct and military training thrust him forward, in slow motion it seemed. Protect her! screamed out from his brain.
As he reached Jamie, the vehicle’s right front wheel swerved onto the sidewalk. Ben shoved her aside, out of danger, sending her backward onto the concrete in a heap. Her head hit the pavement with a sickening thud. The car sped away.
Ben knelt at her side, his belly knotted with fear—fear that he may have caused her more harm in his efforts to save her. “Miss Morris? Are you all right?”
When Jamie attempted to stand, Ben took her arm and helped her to her feet, relieved that she seemed to be without injury.
She grabbed up the bag from where it had landed next to a weathered light pole, brushing one small hand lovingly over the plastic. “I’m okay.”
Concerned over her condition, he grasped her elbow to steady her when she swayed. “Perhaps we should have you examined by a doctor.”
She stared at him with a slightly unfocused gaze and as he had suspected, her eyes were light in color, verdant, clear as an oasis pool. A smile tipped the corner of her full lips as she touched the kaffiyeh covering his head. “White Sale in progress at Murphy’s today?” With that, her eyes drifted shut, and she collapsed into Ben’s arms.
He lifted her up, noting how small she felt against him. Fragile. Helpless. Had he failed to protect her after all? If so, he would never forgive himself.
Lowering his ear to her mouth, he felt her warm breath fan his face. He laid his cheek against her left breast and felt the steady beat of her heart. A wave of welcome relief washed over him, and so did an intense need to shelter her.
A small crowd of Saturday-morning shoppers began to gather. Sounds of concern echoed in Ben’s ears. “Is that little Jamie Morris?” someone inquired. “Is she dead?” another questioned. An older gentleman asked if he should dial 911.
“No,” Ben stated firmly. “I shall find her proper medical attention.”
Her injuries must be worse than they appeared, but at the moment he needed to get her away from the open street. Away from imminent danger. Although he had not seen the culprit, he knew who had been behind the wheel—Klimt—yet he did not know where he had gone.
Tightening his hold on Jamie, Ben crossed the street and headed for his car. She still clutched the bag, but her body lay limp against his chest.
Thankful that she was small, he laid her across the bench seat of his sedan and tossed the bag into the back. He quickly rounded the car and slid into the driver’s side, grabbing for the cellular phone and hitting the speed dial to access Justin Webb’s private number as he pulled away from the curb.
“Yeah,” Webb answered, the noted physician sounding suspiciously as if he had recently crawled from bed. Ben suspected that either his new child or his new wife, had kept him up all night. He believed it to be the latter.
“We have a serious problem, Sadíiq. Someone has tried to run down Miss Morris in a car, then escaped.”
“Is she okay?”
Ben studied Jamie’s face resting near his thigh. Her eyes fluttered open, and she mumbled something he did not understand. “I pushed her away before he could do serious damage. She stood on her own before fainting, but she has struck her head on the pavement. At the moment, she is in and out of consciousness.”
“Is she bleeding?”
Ben searched for signs of blood with one quick glance over Jamie’s curled form. Blessedly, he saw none. “Not that I see.”
“Can you rouse her?”
Ben shook her shoulder. “Miss Morris?”
She curled her knees farther into her body and her hands against her breasts. She smiled up at him for a moment before drifting off again.
“Yes. But she falls back to sleep. I will take her to the hospital.”
“Don’t,” Justin said firmly. “If Klimt did this, then he could be waiting for you there. Take her to your place. Talk to her. Try to get her to stay awake. I’m on my way.”
Ben clicked off the cell phone and tossed it onto the floor. He shook Jamie’s frail shoulder again. “Miss Morris?”
“Hmmm…?” Her eyes fluttered open.
“Where are you injured?”
“I’m fine, just fine,” she muttered, then inched closer to him and rested her head on his thigh, facing the dashboard, one hand cupping his knee beneath his djellaba.
She stroked delicate fingers up and down his silk trouser leg and mumbled, “Nice.”
Ben’s flesh quaked beneath her random touch. His thigh muscles contracted, not in protest but in pleasure. He did not find her proximity nice at all. He found it intoxicating, as was the scent of roses filtering through his nostrils. And his thoughts at the moment were anything but nice.
“Mother.”
Ben briefly took his gaze from the road and looked down on her innocent face and half-closed eyes. “What about your mother?”
She tried to raise her head then let it drop back into his lap. “Dress. Mother’s dress.”
Obviously she referred to the garment she had retrieved earlier. It must hold great sentimental value, the reason why she had made haste in reclaiming it from the sidewalk.
Ben laid a hand on her silky hair and stroked it gently. “Do not worry. It is here, safe from harm.”
Looking somewhat satisfied, she turned her face and nuzzled her nose against him.
Precisely against the crease of his thigh, a place no female of good conscience would ever rest her face on a red-blooded Amythrarian male who had not been with a woman in a while. To Ben’s misfortune, Jamie Morris was not thinking of his celibacy at the moment. She simply was not thinking at all.
He inched to his left. Jamie followed. He could go no farther without exiting the car. It seemed this predicament had forced him between a rock and a hard door.
Staring straight ahead, Ben commanded his desires to remain at bay. He attempted to concentrate on driving. Concentrate on getting her to safety. Concentrate on anything but Jamie Morris’s face in his lap.
On the outskirts of town, where city dwellings and pristine lawns gave way to flat desert-like terrain, every curve of the rural road brought Jamie’s face closer to dangerous territory—and Ben’s tenuous control closer to snapping. He silently scolded himself several times. Scolded his weakness for this woman when he should be thinking of her well-being, not his stubborn male urges.
The white pipe-fence gates to the Flying Longhorn Ranch, his Texas home, could not have welcomed him any sooner. Fortunately, Justin Webb’s sports car was parked in the drive, its owner standing on the porch leaning back against the Austin-stone facade, awaiting their arrival.
Gently moving Jamie’s head aside, Ben slipped out and rounded the car to lift her into his arms. He strode quickly to where Webb was standing.
Once he was on the porch, Justin told him, “Take her inside.”
Ben complied, carrying her into his guest room with Justin close on his heels. Inside the room, he carefully laid Jamie on the silk brocade spread covering the bed.
Justin pushed past Ben and perched on the edge of the mattress. Raising Jamie’s blouse, he unsnapped her jeans and touched her abdomen in several places. “Her belly’s still soft.”
Ben imagined it was. Soft as the feather mattress beneath her. “Is that favorable?”
“Yeah. She’s not flinching. No apparent tenderness.”
Jamie tried to brush Webb’s hands away and mumbled, “Leave me alone. I’m tired.”
“I’ve got to do this, Jamie. Just hang on.” Justin continued kneading her belly, examining her ribcage. He regarded Ben over one shoulder. “Help me get these jeans off. I want to check her limbs for possible broken bones.”
Not normally reluctant to undress a woman, Ben found his own hesitation surprising, to say the least. “She stood after the accident. I believe that would indicate nothing is broken.”
“That was adrenaline working,” Justin said. “She might have some swelling that could say otherwise. If so, we’ll need to take her to the hospital.”
Ben felt as though invisible hands prevented him from moving forward. “I shall summon my housekeeper to assist you.”
Justin looked back with a frown. “Come on, Ben. I know you’ve seen half-naked women before. And I know you were guilty of getting them that way.”
Ben was without a response. His friend did not realize that, under different circumstances, undressing Jamie Morris would give him much pleasure. But he must resist the tempting thoughts. Now and in the future. If he desired to keep her safe, he could not allow the distraction.
While Justin slipped the denim down her narrow hips, Ben forced himself forward to remove her running shoes and tugged the jeans away from her slim legs. Immediately he averted his gaze from the thin scrap of white lace covering her womanly secrets. He cursed the carnal urges trying to surface. Cursed his sudden weakness where this woman was concerned.
Stepping away from the bed, Ben busied himself with folding the jeans in order not to stare at Jamie’s lush body. After what she had unknowingly done to him in the car, the last thing he needed was to view Jamie Morris naked as a babe.
“No broken bones, as far as I can tell,” Justin said. “She doesn’t appear to be in any pain when I touch her. She does have an ugly bruise starting to surface above her hip.”
“My fault, I imagine,” Ben said, keeping his eyes focused on a painting across the room as he laid the jeans on a nearby chair. “I pushed her harder than I’d intended.”
“You saved her life, Ben. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Ben finally turned his attention back to the bed, grateful the physician had covered Jamie’s lower body with the spread.
Justin rummaged through the black bag he had brought with him and removed a stethoscope. He slipped it beneath the woman’s blouse to listen to her heart. He then returned to the bag and drew out a small light, opening one of Jamie’s eyelids, then the other, and shone the thin ray into each eye.
“Hey, are you in there, kiddo?” he asked.
Jamie opened her eyes, recognition dawning in their green depths. “Dr. Webb?”
“Yeah. The one and only. Can you tell me where you hurt?”
“My head hurts like a son of a gun,” she muttered.
Justin raised her head up and examined her skull. “A nasty knot you got there.”
“I’m just so sleepy.” Jamie yawned and closed her eyes again.
Justin rose from the bed and faced Ben. “Her pupils are reactive, so she probably just has a slight concussion. You can let her sleep, but be sure to wake her periodically. Call me if she has any other symptoms, more pain, severe vomiting, or if you can’t get her to wake up. I’m going to see what I can find out about Klimt.”
Ben fought down the sudden panic. “You wish me to remain with her? Alone?”
Justin gave him a good-natured slap on the back. “Yeah. You can do it. I’m only a call away. If you even suspect her condition has worsened, then dial 911. The paramedics will be here in no time. But I’d bet she’ll just sleep it off.”
Ben respected his fellow Texas Cattleman’s Club member and would prefer not to insult him. However, he still had questions. “Do you know this for certain? Forgive me, but you are a doctor who fixes imperfections.”
“Believe me, Ben, before I took up plastic surgery and went into private practice, I saw my share of all kinds of trauma overseas. You have to learn to assess injuries on a moment’s notice. Jamie will be fine. She’s a tough kid. She’s been through a lot lately. Probably exhausted on top of everything else.”
Ben felt somewhat reassured. “Yes, I believe you are right. She stays up very late into the night, I have noticed.”
Justin sent him a lecherous grin. “You’ve been taking this protection stuff pretty seriously, haven’t you?”
Stiffening, Ben raised his chin, hoping to hide his guilt. “I was charged with protecting Miss Morris. I have been watching her, as you and the club members agreed I should.” He would not admit that it had been his pleasure.
“Well, just keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll check back now and then throughout the evening.”
As soon as Ben and Justin said their goodbyes, Ben quickly made his way into the kitchen to summon Alima. The housekeeper stood at the stove wearing stereo headphones, a habit she had recently adopted during most of her domestic activities. He doubted she even realized they had a guest.
Ben allowed her this concession, knowing it was futile to argue that she might miss the doorbell or phone if she could not hear due to the country-and-western music blaring through the portable CD player. At times he cursed buying her the gift for her sixtieth birthday. But he would do anything for her. She had been with him since his birth, and she was his only connection in America to his culture. He could not function without her care. Not unless he chose to have dinner at Claire’s Bistro every day, or live in squalor.
Perhaps that was why he hadn’t concerned himself with finding a wife. Alima provided for all his needs—except one. His thoughts turned to Jamie Morris and how she had reminded him that those needs had been neglected in recent months.
Wanting to get back to Jamie, Ben tapped his housekeeper’s plump shoulder. “Alima.”
She slipped the headphones away from her ears and released an impatient sigh. “Yes, Hasim. Lunch will be ready soon.”
“That is not what I need at the moment. I need you to come to the guest room with me.”
She favored him with a bright smile. “Is someone coming to visit?”
Alima enjoyed visitors, and lately there had been none, something she had mentioned often to Ben. He considered that as long as Jamie Morris was in his care, she could provide company for the older woman. “Someone is already here. Come.” He gestured her forward and followed her to the room.
Alima’s mouth dropped open once she saw the young woman lying in the bed in a tangle of sheets. The feminine attributes Ben had tried to avoid viewing were again exposed.
Ire turned Alima’s eyes darker than moonless midnight. “Hasim! What have you been doing with this bint?”
“She is not a girl. She is a grown woman.” Even to his own ears, Ben sounded defensive, as if he had engaged in disreputable acts with Jamie Morris. Admittedly, he had imagined a few in the car.
With a sigh, he turned his attention to Alima. “It is not what you think. She’s been injured. Dr. Webb has examined her, and I am to make sure she is all right until she wakes. I believe she will be more comfortable if you undress her.”
“It appears, Hasim, that you have already done that.”
Ben clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth, his patience now a slender thread on the verge of severing. “I did not undress her. Dr. Webb saw to that for the examination. Find something for her to wear, then put it on her.” He pointed to the door. “ruuHi! Now.”
Alima left the room, muttering a litany of Arabic curses followed by a prayer for Hasim bin Abbas kadir Jamal Rassad’s wicked soul.
Jamie flailed about, twisting, turning, trying to escape the terrifying images.
The plane crash. The fire. Debris. Lady Helena’s cries.
No. Not the plane.
A car coming at her. Flying through the air. Falling. Falling.
A stranger’s arms around her.
She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Someone held her down.
Fighting for her life, she balled her fist and struck out at the unknown assailant. An iron grip caught her wrist.
“Shhh, little one. You are safe now.”
The voice wasn’t threatening. More like soothing. A lover’s voice.
Jamie blinked several times to focus and stared into a face that would make Adonis hang his head in shame. A white cloth of some sort, secured by a thin gold band circling his forehead, covered his hair but framed a strong jaw shadowed by whiskers. Mysterious eyes regarded her, the color somewhere between rich earth and molten steel. She saw concern and compassion there, and something familiar. But she’d never met him before. She’d definitely remember that, even though at the moment her memories were nothing more than fragments.
“Where am I?” she asked, her voice weak.
He loosened the grip on her wrist but didn’t completely let her go. “You are safe.”
Jamie tore her gaze away and did a frantic visual search of her surroundings. The room was a kaleidoscope of color and texture, from the rich aqua bedspread covering her to the ornate vases on the nearby black-lacquer end table. Tapestries hung from the bright yellow walls and pillows of every conceivable color rested on a white chair to her right. Sheer mosquito netting flowed beside her from the top of the bed. Practical, she thought, considering the size of the pests in Texas. Was she still in Texas?
No way. This was an exotic place. Beautiful. Foreign.
“Miss Morris, there is no need to be afraid.”
He knew her name.
She stared at the stranger once again. Was this Payune? Had he had a change of heart and decided to marry her after all?
Not likely, and she certainly hoped not.
Payune was reportedly nearing fifty. This man was in his mid thirties at best. And his clothes would indicate that he wasn’t from a small European country. They didn’t wear robes and cover their heads in Asterland, did they? Of course not.
This dark, handsome stranger was Aladdin in his prime. Valentino reincarnate. A desert knight.
Oh, Lordy. She’d been sold into slavery.
A ridiculous concept, Jamie realized. But not as ridiculous as being sold like prime livestock into a marriage to a man she’d never met, arranged by her father for the sake of his failing farm. Had she been kidnapped by this stranger? Did he expect her to do his bidding, too?
Why not? He was practically lying on top of her, all hard, muscled male. Every inch of him, from his solid chest pressing into her breasts to his muscular thigh braced between her legs. Not to mention all points in between, some that were way too obvious not to notice.
Whoever he was, she intended to let him know up front that she didn’t like being manhandled by strangers who had designs on her body.
Still pinned beneath his substantial frame, his face only inches from hers, Jamie struggled to squirm out from under him. The more she squirmed, the tighter his grasp on her wrists, the more aware she became of his strength…and his undeniable maleness.
“Be still, Miss Morris,” he said, his warm breath drifting across her face, his low voice strained. “You will hurt yourself.”
At the moment, she wanted to hurt him. Sort of.
Clenching her jaw tight, she spoke through her teeth. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, buddy, but if you expect me to be your love slave, then think again.”
He looked altogether confused. “I am here to protect you. I need your promise you will not attempt to run away. Only then will I let you go and explain.”
Whether or not she tried to run away would depend on his explanation. Still, she thought it best to agree. Considering how her luck had gone lately, she was prepared for anything. “Okay. You can get up now. I’ll stay put like a good girl.”
With a guarded expression, he unclasped her wrists and sat up but remained seated on the edge of the bed, leaving little distance between them. “I am Sheikh Hasim bin Abbas kadir Jamal Rassad, Prince of Amythra, currently residing in the city of Royal, in the state of Texas. You may call me Ben.”
Thank heavens. No way could she remember all those names in her current state of mind. But now she remembered him. Or at least remembered hearing about him. The gossip mill claimed he was filthy rich. A mystery man relatively new to Royal, who kept to himself. A member of the exclusive Texas Cattleman’s Club. But no one had bothered to mention his good looks. If you went for the tall, dark, exotic type.
“So tell me, Prince Ben, where am I?” she asked.
“You are in my house.”
“And how, pray tell, did I get here?”
He rubbed his chin. “You do not remember the car?”
She searched her brain, an effort in pain thanks to her throbbing head. “I remember I’d just picked up the dress.” Her mother’s dress. She tried not to panic. “Where is the dress now? I have to know.”
He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s hanging in the closet over there.” He indicated two double doors across the room. “It is safe.”
She felt somewhat better. At least the dress had survived. And so had she, for now. “I remember someone pushing me. Then falling.”
“I’m afraid I was the one who pushed you to the ground. That is how you struck your head.”
That explained her mother of all headaches. “Why?”
“To avoid the car coming at you.” His face turned suddenly serious. “You are in grave danger, Miss Morris.”
As if she couldn’t figure that one out herself. “And what, exactly, does this have to do with you?”
“It was decided by the Cattleman’s Club members that I should protect you. Your connection with Albert Payune has put you in a precarious position.”
How much more bizarre could her life get? “Connection? We didn’t have a connection! I’ve never even met the man.”
“Once you are feeling better, I will explain further.”
“I feel fine!” Jamie sat up in a rush only to encounter a pounding pain in her skull and a wave of dizziness. She lowered her head back onto the pillow. “Okay, maybe not that fine.”
Concern was reflected in his dark eyes. “Dr. Webb has examined you. He believes you suffer from a slight concussion. He ordered me to make sure you rest.”
So she hadn’t dreamed Dr. Webb’s appearance after all. “He was here?”
“Yes. He checked you thoroughly and said you need to ‘sleep it off.”’
Her eyes felt as heavy as two-by-fours. The same two-by-fours pounding her temples. “That’s a good idea. Think I’ll take another little nap.”
The sheikh stood in one graceful move and hovered above Jamie, straight and strong and gorgeous beyond the legal limit. “I will be nearby. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call for me.”
Jamie felt a little woozy, but she didn’t know if it was from the bump on her head, or the man standing above her. “Sure.”
He studied her for another moment, sucking her in with those dark eyes, as if he were a human vacuum and she a tiny speck of dust. “I will make sure you are safe. As long as you are with me, no harm will come to you.”
With that, he left the room.
Jamie stared at the door long after it closed, wondering how the heck she’d gotten into this predicament. Her father, of course. If he hadn’t agreed to the blasted marriage arrangement, complete with a hefty reward, she would have lived the rest of her life never knowing anything about Albert Payune or Asterland. Or Sheikh Ben Rassad.
Okay, so maybe meeting the prince was a high point in all this mess. She had to admit he was definitely easy on the eye. A little too macho, maybe. But he had seemed genuinely concerned for her safety. Regardless, he still had lots of questions to answer, and soon.
Jamie yawned again. Too tired to think about anything but sleep at the moment, she closed her eyes and snuggled down into the soft bed, Prince Ben’s words echoing in her ears.
As long as you are with me, no harm will come to you.
Amazingly, she did feel safe. Secure. Protected.
After sleep again overtook her, Jamie dreamed pleasant dreams, not nightmarish images of doom. She had visions of desert sand, starlit nights…and her role as the love slave of a sexy sheikh named Ben.
