Книга - Her Ardent Sheikh

Her Ardent Sheikh
KRISTI GOLD


As long as you are with me, no harm will come to you. So Sheikh Ben Rassad promised to beauty-in-jeopardy Jamie Morris, who aroused his need to protect. Though he reminded himself she was as innocent as he was jaded, their passion soon ignited.When he discovered she carried his kingdom' s heir, Ben wished to make her his bride. Did he dare hope to convince Jamie she was the one woman who could understand the man beneath the prince?







This month, in

HER ARDENT SHEIKH

by Kristi Gold,

meet Sheikh Ben Rassad—prince of Amythra,

man of mystery. This tall, dark, exotic oil mogul

was never in want of anything…until he rescued the

lovely Jamie Morris from harm and knew his life

would never be the same!

SILHOUETTE DESIRE

IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE






Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members of

the state’s most exclusive club—set out to restore

the “Royal” jewels…and find true love.


Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!

Popular author Cait London offers you Gabriel’s Gift, this April’s MAN OF THE MONTH. We’re sure you’ll love this tale of lovers once separated who reunite eighteen years later and must overcome the past before they can begin their future together.

The riveting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS continues with Her Ardent Sheikh by Kristi Gold, in which a dashing sheikh must protect a free-spirited American woman from danger.

In Wife with Amnesia by Metsy Hingle, the estranged husband of an amnesiac woman seeks to win back her love…and to save her from a mysterious assailant. Watch for Metsy Hingle’s debut MIRA title, The Wager, in August 2001. Barbara McCauley’s hero “wins” a woman in a poker game in Reese’s Wild Wager, another tantalizing addition to her SECRETS! miniseries. Enjoy a contemporary “beauty and the beast” story with Amy J. Fetzer’s Taming the Beast. And Ryanne Corey brings you a runaway heiress who takes a walk on the wild side with the bodyguard who’s fallen head over heels for her in The Heiress & the Bodyguard.

Be sure to treat yourself this month, and read all six of these exhilarating Desire novels!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




Her Ardent Sheikh

Kristi Gold







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To the real “jewels” in this series:

Jennifer Greene, Sara Orwig, Cindy Gerard and Sheri WhiteFeather.

Thanks for taking me under your wings, and then letting me fly.

I couldn’t have done it without you.




KRISTI GOLD


began her romance-writing career at the tender age of twelve, when she and her sister spun romantic yarns involving a childhood friend and a popular talk-show host. Since that time, she’s given up celebrity heroes for her favorite types of men, doctors and cowboys, as her husband is both. An avid sports fan, she attends football and baseball games in her spare time. She resides on a small ranch in central Texas with her three children and retired neurosurgeon husband, along with various livestock ranging from Texas longhorn cattle to spoiled yet talented equines. At one time she competed in regional and national Appaloosa horse shows as a nonpro, but she gave up riding for writing and turned the “reins” over to her youngest daughter. She attributes much of her success to her sister, Kim, who encouraged her in her writing, even during the tough times. When she’s not in her office writing her current book, she’s dreaming about it. Readers may contact Kristi at P.O. Box 11292, Robinson, TX 76116.


“What’s Happening in Royal?”

NEWS FLASH, April—Sources have linked the enigmatic Sheikh Ben Rassad, prince of Amythra, to Royal’s own Jamie Morris. This mystery man is fairly new to Royal, and keeps to himself. The gossip mill claims he’s filthy rich! And being the latest member inducted into the exclusive Texas Cattleman’s Club gives him that extra cachet that’s so irresistible to women….

Jamie Morris deserves some good fortune. Last we heard, she was jilted—before she even got to the altar—by her mail-order patron. Plus she was nearly a hit-and-run victim right here in town. Who could have wished her harm? Witnesses say the dashing sheikh came to the rescue…and has yet to release her from his protection….

And do our gentlemen in the Cattleman’s Club wish to tell us about their secret meetings being held late into the night? More to come…




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten




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.




Two


The soft moans thrust Ben to his feet. He had dozed on and off while keeping vigil at Jamie’s bedside but now found himself wide-awake, worried over her distressed state.

Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, he stroked her silky hair. “You are safe,” he said softly. “I am here. No one will do you harm.”

She continued to thrash and muttered, “Please.”

A fierce surge of protectiveness streaked through Ben. Without thought, he slipped into the bed beside her and cradled her in his arms. She curled into him, her back to his front, fitting perfectly against his body. Although the room was dim, washed only in moonlight, he could see that the sheer muslin gown Alima had dressed her in rode high up her thighs. With one hand he drew it down, contacting smooth warm flesh. He quickly covered her with the satin sheet.

Torture, Ben thought. Or perhaps a test of his strength. Yet he was only a man, not superhuman, and his body reacted as any man’s would. But he would not let her go until she had calmed. He’d simply think of other things aside from her petite body, her round breasts, her bottom only inches from treacherous territory.

He tried to recall his impending appointments. His investments. His upcoming summer trip to Amythra to visit his mother.

His mother.

She would most surely be shamed by his reaction to the helpless woman in his arms. She would expect him to be strong. Maintain a steel reserve. She was stronger than any woman he had known, except, perhaps, Jamie Morris.

Yet at the moment, Jamie seemed vulnerable. Quite different from the hellion who had tried to deliver a blow to his face earlier. The woman who had serenaded the population of downtown Royal without caring who might hear.

She was most definitely strong. Determined. And she would never fit into his culture for that reason. He had witnessed his European mother’s struggles with his native customs on many occasions. But she had loved her husband dearly, and had adjusted as best she could. Now she was left alone in a place that still remained foreign to her, even after forty years. For that reason, Ben must visit her soon. After he was assured that Jamie Morris was safe.

Jamie stirred again, interrupting Ben’s thoughts and driving him to the brink of insanity. Her firm buttocks wiggled against his very overheated manhood. As soon as she settled, he would leave her and return to the cold, empty chair, although that thought held no appeal.

Holding Jamie Morris did, and he cursed the fact that he had not been with a woman in quite some time. Surely this was the reason for his reaction. Weeks had passed since he had returned home. In his country, there were women readily available to care for his needs. Experienced women who considered taking him to their bed an honor because of his station. The couplings were without emotion and left him with a sated body and an emptiness deep in his soul. An emptiness he did not care to acknowledge.

Jamie Morris was different from those women. She aroused feelings in him that he had rarely experienced in his thirty-six years. Aroused his need to protect. To keep her safe. That desire lived so strong within him that he knew he would die before he let any harm come to her, if he could prevent it.

He had covertly watched her for several weeks, had memorized her habits. He knew she woke every morning at 6:00 a.m. and took her coffee and the newspaper onto her apartment’s small verandah. She returned to the same spot every evening and stayed with a book late into the night. She was still very young, and he was very jaded. She was an innocent; he was world-weary. Yet at times he had glimpsed loneliness in her expression, as if she craved companionship. He could relate.

But he could not consider his loneliness tonight. He must remember his duty. He was here to protect her, not to sample her luscious body.

Ben sent up a silent prayer of gratitude when Jamie stopped moving, her breathing now deep and steady. At least she slept.

Ben, however, would not for quite some time.



The dream was so nice, Jamie didn’t want it to end. The visions were so very real she could still feel her imaginary lover’s arms wrapped around her.

Unwelcome light penetrated her closed lids and the fragrant smell of coffee teased her senses. Resisting the distractions, she snuggled further into the heavenly bed.

Her mind still caught in a pleasant haze, she reached for a blanket to cover her head. She contacted something that didn’t feel the least bit like her grandmother’s handmade quilt.

Her eyes snapped open. What the heck was that? She didn’t own any pets. Her gaze traveled downward to discover exactly what she was clutching.

A hairy arm. A large hairy arm that certainly didn’t belong to her—unless she’d grown a spare during the night. Definitely male, she decided, after surveying the golden skin laced with prominent veins, the large square fingers attached to the end of a hand. A nice hand. Very nice.

Nope, she knew where her arms were. Connected to her shoulders, not to her hip.

Coming fully awake, she sat up with a jolt and yanked the sheets to her chin. It was all coming back now, one frame at a time, like a slide show. She wasn’t in her own bed, and she wasn’t alone.

Who had relieved her of her senses? How could someone have crawled into her bed without her knowledge?

“What is going on?” she hissed, then cried “Ouch!” when she pushed farther back and her sore skull bumped the headboard behind her.

Only then did she realize that the arm was an extension of a real live half-naked man whom she didn’t recognize, until she met his dark gray eyes now staring up at her through a fringe of sinfully long lashes. The man who had occupied her dreams.

Prince Ben, savior sheikh.

He slowly ran a hand through his thick mussed hair—hair as dark as the Texas crude that had made Royal so prosperous. “Did you sleep well?”

Now suffering from sexy sheikh shock, Jamie couldn’t force herself to utter one word.

When she continued to stare at him, his mouth curled up in a smile that revealed deep grooves framing his mouth and enhanced fine lines around his eyes. A smile that would melt an iron washtub. Dark whiskers scattered above his well-defined lips and granite jaw made him look a bit on the sinister side. Sensually sinister. She figured he probably had to shave twice a day. A beard like that would definitely promote whisker burn during long kisses. She’d just bet he could kiss the bloomers off Betty Mays, Royal’s spinster county clerk.

And he was in bed with her. Jamie Morris, who didn’t even kiss on the first date.

“Well?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy.

“Well what?”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” She had found her voice, but where was her brain? This was no time for pleasantries. “No! I mean…why are you in bed with me?”

He rolled onto his back and stacked his hands behind his head, giving her an intimate view of the tuft of hair under his arm. Jamie looked away and contacted his bare chest. Her gaze followed the path of dark hair that began as a silken mat between his pecs then thinned to a stream over his abdomen before disappearing into the waistband of a pair of striped pajamas. And just below that…

Oh, my.

Like someone viewing a horror film, Jamie didn’t exactly want to look, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the hypnotic sight, even if her life depended on it.

Suddenly realizing he was speaking, she pulled her gaze back to his face. His grin deepened, causing her cheeks to fire up like Manny’s grill at the Royal Diner.

“You were having bad dreams. I worried you might hurt yourself if you thrashed about too much.”

She didn’t remember a single bad dream. A very good dream, yes. “Oh.”

“So I took the liberty of holding you until you calmed. I apologize if my presence in your bed has alarmed you.”

“I wasn’t alarmed exactly. Just a bit unnerved.” Jamie was still unnerved, but she wasn’t suffering from fear, as he’d assumed. She was more afraid that her dreams had been real, and he wasn’t telling the absolute truth.

She chewed her lip for a moment, trying to decide how to broach the subject. Asking point-blank seemed like the sensible solution. “Did we…” How could she ask him that?

He impaled her with his night-sky eyes. “Did we what?”

Do the wild thing. Make whoopee. Shuffle the sheets.

She couldn’t force herself to say any of those things.

He had the nerve to smile again. “I am waiting.”

Jamie got the distinct feeling he enjoyed watching her squirm like a night crawler on the end of a hook. “You know…you and me…together. In the bed.”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a dark, sensual expression even more disarming. “Did we make love?”

“Yeah. Did we do that?”

“Why would you assume this?”

She didn’t mind mentioning the dream, but she refused to reveal that he was the prime subject. “Well, because I was out of my head. And you are in bed with me. And then I had these images of hands…and things.” Lots of things.

“Someone hurting you?”

“No. Just the opposite.”

He rolled to his side and faced her again with his elbow bent, one palm bracing his cheek, his eyes darkened by something Jamie couldn’t quite name. “Do you mean hands touching you? Perhaps a mouth on you, kissing every inch of your body until you writhed with pleasure? Someone making love to you until you could not breathe, yet you wanted more, until you found yourself begging for the very thing you feared, giving everything over to sensation until you were lost, body and soul?”

He spoke in a low steady tone that made Jamie shiver and sweat, all at the same time.

She somehow managed to speak, with effort. “Yes, something like that.”

His smile crept in once again, slowly, and only halfway. “No, Miss Morris. That did not happen between us. If it had, you would know. And you would not so easily forget.”

Without further comment, he pushed himself up and left the bed with graceful movements, like a panther progressively stalking its prey. And Jamie sat with her mouth gaping like a sprung screen door, feeling as boneless as putty, her body immersed in heat and her head reeling from his words.

As he walked to the chair across the room, Jamie couldn’t help but notice the way his pajamas tightened with each stride, revealing a bottom that would best be described as a true work of art. He picked up a heavy blue robe and slipped it on, covering his artful bottom, much to Jamie’s disappointment.

He faced her again, this time his expression all-business, unreadable. “You must be hungry. I will have my housekeeper bring you a tray so that you may regain your strength.”

She would need all the strength she could get to fight his control over her. Her desire to know him. All of him.

Shaking off the covers and the stupid thoughts, Jamie scooted to the end of the bed and touched her toes to the luxuriously carpeted floor. She needed to get out of here. Away from him. The danger she might face outside was nothing compared to the danger this man posed to her sanity and her sudden urges. “Yes, I’m starved. But I can eat after you take me back to my apartment.”

“I am afraid that is not possible.”

“Why not?”

“You must remain with me until we find the man who is attempting to do you harm.”

Jamie stiffened her frame and tried to stand. She felt weak as a newborn, every inch of her crying out in protest. One giant total body ache. Bracing her hand on the bedpost, she steadied herself to keep from falling in front of the man. She refused to let him believe that she couldn’t take care of herself.

“Look, Prince Ben, I’ll be fine. If anything happens, I’ll call the police.” Her spongy knees didn’t want to support her.

He stepped toward the bed and caught her elbow when she leaned a bit. “You cannot do that. We cannot involve the police at this time.”

This guy had too many rules, none of which she understood. He also radiated a sensuality that wasn’t easy to ignore.

She stared up at him, only then realizing he was tall. Very tall. Intimidating-to-the-max tall. “Care to explain why I can’t call the cops?”

“Trust me, Miss Morris, this is for your sake. The less you know, the better that will be.”

Jamie decided he was sorely mistaken, and his determination to keep her in the dark grated on her already raw nerves.

Oh, well. She’d play along for now. She was too tired to argue. “Since I can’t go home just yet, mind if I use your facilities?”

His dark brows drew down with confusion. “Facilities?”

“Bathroom? I’d like to freshen up.”

“Of course. I thought you might want to bathe, so I had my housekeeper set out some things for you. This way.”

He held on to her arm as he guided her to the room across the hall. Once they reached the door, she expected him to leave. He didn’t.

With her hand on the knob, she gave him her best sugar-sweet smile. “Am I allowed to have some privacy?”

“I thought you might wish me to draw your bath.”

“So you can watch?” Jamie cringed. She sounded like she wanted him to watch.

He smiled and Jamie felt it down to her size-five feet. “However tempting that might be, I will allow you your privacy after I help you prepare.”

“I’ll manage. I’m feeling much stronger.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“As you wish. If you find you do need help, there is an intercom near the tub—”

“I can handle this. I promise.”

She backed into the room and slammed the door in his face. Slammed the door on those mysterious eyes and all that out-there sexuality. Turning, she leaned back against the wooden surface for support. But it wasn’t the lump on her head making her feel like an overcooked noodle. He made her weak knees weaker and her shaky body shakier.

Determined to drive him out of her mind, Jamie concentrated on the huge room. A room big enough to house Sadie, her trusty blue sedan. An opulent bath straight out of her fantasies of what a bath should be.

Several black marble steps led to a mammoth whirlpool tub, a huge arched window its backdrop. The matching marble vanity top was graced with gold fixtures and two basins complimented by jeweled soap dispensers and toothbrush holders. And laid out near one sink—for her benefit, she presumed—was a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste and two velvety black towels with a matching washcloth. On a freestanding gold rack near the toilet hung a lush red velvet robe and underwear. Her underwear.

Her underwear?

She reached back and planted both hands on her butt. No lines. No underwear. She wore nothing more than a too-large sheer ecru gown. The armholes, big enough to drive a truck through, hung all the way down to her waist. No wonder she was shivering.

Who had relieved her of her white lace drawers? And why had she just now noticed?

She’d been barely coherent, that’s why. And obviously, the cad had undressed her. Bared her bod and taken liberties.

No way. He hadn’t done anything lewd to her person. No doubt about it. Like he’d said, she would know.

Recalling his suggestive words, the thought of him undressing her again caused shock to course through her already shocked body. And it annoyingly excited her.

Regardless, she planned to have a serious talk with the sheikh. Planned to inform him that, at the very least, undressing her without her permission was ungentlemanly. She valued her privacy, and although she wasn’t all that modest, she did have high standards and certain expectations. If someone was going to get her naked for the first time, then she darn sure better be conscious during the process.

A wave of nausea hit her like a raging bull. She slumped onto the step and considered the intercom.

No. She could do this.

With stilted motions, she managed to draw a bath and slip into the tub without passing out. The warm water soothed her sore limbs and made her feel a bit more human.

After luxuriating for a while, then attending to all her toiletries, Jamie felt halfway decent again. Now all she needed was some food, and to convince the sheikh that she needed to go home. But how could she do that in just a robe and underwear? Where had he hidden her jeans and shirt? Okay, so maybe he hadn’t hidden them, but she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he had. No clothes, no escape. Obviously he was determined to keep her here against her will.

Well, Prince Ben was wrong if he really believed he could do that.

She slipped on her underwear and the robe, then opened the door and tried to gauge where she should begin in order to find him. Starting down the hall, she peered into several rooms, all bedrooms decorated in more bright colors, but she didn’t come upon the man with many names, and probably many talents.

At the end of the corridor, wonderful smells drew her forward. The kitchen must be close, and maybe she would find him there. But before she reached her destination, she came to a den. It gave new meaning to the term great room.

The place was a combination of luxury and comfort. Old West meets Middle East. A set of horns hung near the vaulted ceiling over the massive white-rock fireplace, and, draped below, a purple tapestry with rainbow colors woven throughout traveled down the stone wall to the top of the hearth.

Jamie moved farther into the room and noted another opening and a hallway that seemed to go on for miles. In the immediate area, several chairs and rugs were set out in various locations across the gleaming hardwood floors, all in elegant dark colors. The whole place was velvet and marble, a sprawling ranch house most would only dream of, and something she’d not been exposed to in her twenty-two years. She had always appreciated simple. She liked simple. Not that she couldn’t get used to luxurious.

Scanning the area, she honed in on a huge suede caramel-colored sofa set to one side of the fireplace. And in the middle of that sofa sat a man, reclining against thick cushions, reading a newspaper, his long legs stretched out before him, booted heels propped on the heavy oak coffee table. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. Threadbare jeans. Tight T-shirt.

Considering his lazy posture, his common ranch-hand clothes, he could be just any sexy-as-sin cowboy. But when he looked up, nailing Jamie with those iron-gray eyes, there was no mistaking his identity.

Prince Ben as Bad-Boy Cowboy.



Ben stared up at Jamie now looming over him dressed in an oversized robe, her eyes flashing anger, her delicate jaw set tight. He suspected she would soon demand more answers from him. Answers he was not at liberty to give her.

Tossing the paper aside, he dropped his feet from the table and straightened. “You are looking much better. Refreshed.” With her damp hair falling just below her slender shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed, she was all softness and innocence. A celestial being.

“How dare you!”

She no longer looked angelic. She looked as angry as Alima when a tennis championship interrupted her American soap operas.

What had he done now? “I do not understand.”

She clenched her fists and Ben braced for another swing, but fortunately it did not come. “How dare you undress me and put me in that see-through gown. I have never in my life—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—met a man who thought—”

“Miss Morris—”

“—he could get away with taking off my clothes without me knowing it and—” She put a hand to head and looked as though she might faint.

He vaulted off the couch and circled his arms around her to prevent her from falling. “Miss Morris, you must calm down. You are still not well.”

She looked up at him but did not push him away, or try to punch him. Instead, she leaned into him. “I’m fine, thank you very much!”

She did not seem fine. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and she looked as though she might buckle. “I think not.” He tightened his hold on her.

“I want to go home,” she said willfully, belying her fragile state.

“I told you that is not possible.”

She locked into his gaze, her chin raised up in determination. “You can’t keep me here.”

“I am hoping you will see that it is necessary in order to ensure your safety.”

“I’ll tell you what’s necessary. I need to find a job.” She grasped the front of his shirt. “I’m running out of money. My rent’s due right now. Then the car payment.” She sounded desperate, her voice pleading.

He rubbed her back to comfort her, all too aware of her breasts pressed against him. The way she smelled, fresh and clean. Womanly. He held her closer to anchor himself. “I will provide for you until the time you can return to your apartment. I will arrange to pay your debts and see to it that you are comfortable in my home for now.”

She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t need your charity. I can take care of myself.”

Her attitude was the very reason he had never been involved with an American woman. Although he admired her independence, he did not always understand it, just as he did not understand his mother at times. Pride would not keep her safe, but he could. He would. “We will consider it a gift.”

“A loan,” she corrected, seeming to give in.

A strong sense of satisfaction settled over Ben at the prospect she would agree to stay with him, at least for now. “We shall discuss your financial situation later.”

She relaxed somewhat. “Can I at least go home and get some clothes?”

“I will find you appropriate clothing.”

“I have to feed…uh…my fish.”

He took her arm and led her to the sofa, then brought her down next to him. It seemed best to put some distance between them. Simply holding her again resurrected more unwanted feelings within Ben. Feelings he did not welcome but could not seem to stop. Yet he must halt them. Remember his duty to her.

He sighed. “I will take you to your apartment where you can feed your pets and gather some clothes. But you must agree to come back with me.”

Her smile traveled all the way to her jewel-like eyes, causing Ben’s pulse to race out of control. “Okay. Then it’s a deal?”

“Yes, but first you must eat.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m all that hungry.”

He was, but not necessarily for food. He stood before he lost his head, his control. “You can eat something. I shall summon Alima.”

She slumped back onto the sofa. “Alima?”

“My housekeeper.” And oftentimes thorn in his side.

Jamie shrugged again. “Okay. Does she do hot dogs? I’m really craving a hot dog.”

Ben smiled in response. “I will see what I can do.”

He then departed for the nearby kitchen to seek out Alima, glancing toward the sofa in the event Miss Morris should change her mind and try to escape. He hated holding her captive, and had he been less honorable, he might have led her to believe he was her captor, and she his slave. But honor was something his parents had instilled in him from birth, therefore he had no choice but to tell her the truth. As much of the truth as he could allow.

Alima was opening the oven door, removing fresh-baked bread. She turned around and tossed the pan onto the stove, then slipped the headphones away from her ears. “Is our guest awake now?”

“Yes. And she needs nourishment.”

She lifted the lid from a heavy black pot on the stove. “I have prepared simich in a very hearty stew.”

The wonderful bouquet made Ben’s mouth water. “She does not want fish stew. She has requested a hot dog.”

Alima narrowed her dark eyes. “I do not prepare hot dogs.”

“You will prepare something like it. She is our guest.”

She slapped the lid back on the boiling pot. “I will prepare something American, but I do no hot dogs.”

There was no sense in arguing with her. With Alima, he chose his battles carefully. He would need her assistance with Jamie in the future. No matter how stubborn Alima could be at times, she was a kind woman. She had a way with people, able to soothe them during dire moments. Jamie would need Alima’s kindness, for if she caused more trouble, put herself in more danger, then he would not be able to be kind.

“Bring the food into the living room on a tray,” he said. “We will dine there.”

“Do you wish the stew, Prince Hasim, or do you prefer the Texas food?” Her tone implied once again that she didn’t approve of his burgeoning American tastes even though she was guilty of the same.

“I will have what Miss Morris is having.”

Alima strolled to the refrigerator, muttering in Arabic under her breath as she yanked open the door and peered inside.

Ben returned to the living room to find Jamie curled up on the sofa, her eyes closed. But when he approached her, she quickly came awake and sat up. “I’m sorry. I just can’t shake this sleepiness.”

He still worried over her condition even though he had spoken with Justin several times by phone since the day before. The doctor had assured him that Jamie would be weak for a few days, but not to worry. Ben did worry, although perhaps he should be thankful she wasn’t quite recovered. The potential for her to fight him would increase with her strength.

He joined her on the sofa. “Alima will bring you something satisfactory. I am afraid we have no hot dogs.”

Jamie yawned. “That’s okay. Right now I think I could eat just about anything if it stood still long enough.”

“Then your appetite is returning. This is good.”

She smiled. A pretty smile that withered Ben’s insides like blades of grass in the sweltering Texas heat. “Yep. I’m feeling better,” she said. “And right after lunch, you can take me to my place.”

He should expect her persistence in this matter. She was not one to give up easily. “All right.”

She smiled. “You promise?”

At the moment, he would promise her anything. “You have my word.”

With her head lowered, Alima scurried into the room carrying a tray full of meats, cheeses and breads. She slipped it onto the table before them but did not raise her eyes to Jamie until Ben said, “Alima, this is Miss Morris.”

Jamie held out her small hand to Alima. “You can call me Jamie.”

Alima did not take the hand Jamie offered, as that would be disrespectful, but she did afford Jamie a smile. “I am pleased to have you in Prince Hasim’s home, Miss Morris. If you wish anything, please let me know.” She turned to address Ben. “Would Miss Morris be more comfortable dining at the table instead of here in the mayaalis, with the dead animals?” She gestured toward the cowhide rug draped on the floor in front of the hearth.

Ben repressed a chuckle. Jamie did not.

“I believe Miss Morris and I are quite comfortable here.” He regarded Jamie. “I am afraid Alima has never approved of informality. She believes that my mother spoiled me by letting me run the palace, doing as I pleased.”

Alima departed, muttering in her native tongue all the way to the kitchen.

“What did she just say?” Jamie asked.

“The monkey is a gazelle in the eyes of his mother. An Arabic proverb.”

Jamie laughed, a rich vibrant sound that made Ben want to laugh with her. “I have to remember that. Maybe while we’re stuck here together, you can teach me some Arabic.”

There were many things he would like to teach her, the least of which involved his native tongue. Or perhaps it would involve his tongue. And his hands, his body…

Thrusting the thoughts away, he said, “Arabic is best learned in an atmosphere where it is readily spoken. I only speak it with Alima on occasion and when I return home.”

She took some meat from the tray and shredded it, then nibbled a few bits. “Where is home?”

“Amythra. A small country near Oman.”

She took another bite and spoke around it. “Well, I’m not good at geography, so I’ll take your word for it.”

Ben placed some of the fare on his plate and opted to use a fork, unlike Jamie who used her fingers, licking them on occasion, causing a rising heat to stir low in Ben’s belly.

He ate in silence while watching Jamie put her all into the meal. She ate as if ravenous. As if it were her last bite.

He suspected she approached most everything with heart and soul and unyielding determination. He imagined she would approach lovemaking the same way.

Again his body stirred, and he cursed the fact he had not dressed in his djellaba. American jeans could not hide his sins should he lose control over baser urges.

Crossing one leg over the other, he pushed his plate aside and leaned back against the sofa. Jamie did the same.

“That was wonderful,” she said, rubbing her belly.

Ben visually followed the movement of her hand, imagining his own hand there.

He looked away, questioning his wisdom. How could he not touch her if she lived under his roof? How could he continue to ignore his desires if she was with him every waking moment?

He must. He would call on all his strength and avoid situations that might threaten his control. At one time he had not been in control, and his own father had paid the price. He had vowed then that never would he let anyone harm a defenseless human being, especially one he cared about. And he was beginning to see Jamie in that category, no matter how inadvisable that might be.

Needing to get away, he rose from the sofa. “Are you finished, Miss Morris?”

She stood. “Yes. And if you’ll point me in the direction of my clothes, I’ll change and we can head to my apartment.”

“You will find your clothes in the top drawer of the bureau in your room. Alima has laundered them for you.”

Again she smiled. “How nice. Remind me to thank her.”

“Yes, and I will change, too.”

When she stood, the robe gaped open, revealing the valley between her breasts. “Change into what?” she asked.

Into a madman if she did not close the robe. “My traditional dress.” He reached for the robe and she stepped back. “I am trying to cover you.”

She looked down. “Oh. This thing is too big.”

He suddenly realized that not only would she be more comfortable in her own clothes, he would be more comfortable if she was wearing them. At least somewhat.

She crossed her arms over her breasts, much to Ben’s relief—and disappointment. “Don’t get me wrong, Ben, but wouldn’t you be a little less obvious if you stayed in what you’re wearing now? I mean, you’re trying to protect me. When in Rome and all that jazz.”

He bristled at the jab, although he believed she meant nothing by it. “It is expected of me,” he explained. “Both in the business world and in my country. I have promised my mother that I will keep this connection to my birthright.”

She looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No offense taken. There are many things about my culture that most Americans do not comprehend.”

She locked into his gaze and he saw true sincerity in the green depths of her eyes. “I’d like to understand.”

In that moment, he had no doubt she would.

All their differences seemed to melt away, and Ben wondered if she would be the kind of woman who would understand him. Understand his ways. Understand the man beneath the prince.

Impossible dreams.




Three


Jamie relished the feel of the warm April sun filtering through the car’s tinted window, the lush leather seat beneath her. The black sedan was the ultimate in luxury. Masculine, sleek, like its owner.

She regarded Ben with a sideways glance. “I like your wheels. But wouldn’t a truck be more practical on a ranch?”

“I own two trucks. I travel in this because it’s safer.”

“Safer?”

“Bulletproof.”

Bulletproof? Did he have a price on his head, too?

Jamie took in a deep breath and pulled a leg underneath her. She turned toward him as much as the seat belt allowed. “Why on earth do you need a bulletproof car?”

“Because of my family’s influence, there are people who exist for the sole purpose of doing us harm. But since I’ve been in America, I have encountered no trouble. I have sent most of my bodyguards back to Amythra for that reason.”

Bodyguards and bulletproof cars. Obviously Prince Ben was important. A somebody. Royal, Texas, was full of somebodys. As a fourth-generation Royal native, Jamie’s father had once been a respected farmer. But Caleb Morris had squandered that respect with frequent gambling and drinking binges since his wife’s death. Jamie missed her mother, too, but her father still hadn’t come to terms with his loss.





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