Carrying the Sheikh's Baby Read online

  His face hardened, a muscle in his cheek clenching so violently she was surprised he didn’t dislocate his jaw. His eyes darkened to black, and his gaze swept over her, the heat in those deep blue eyes enough to incinerate every one of her nerve endings and make her pulse points pound.

  Unbearable awareness rippled over her skin. His rich, enticing scent—soap and horse and musty male sweat—filled her senses, and desire shot through her, making her thighs loosen beneath the gossamer fabric of the robe.

  Shock came first, followed by horrified confusion at her body’s reaction.

  What was happening? How could she be aroused by his outrageous behaviour? They were having an argument, for goodness’ sake?

  But then she saw the matching passion in his eyes, the brutal knowledge—and her confusion turned to panic. Could he sense her body’s response?

  ‘This isn’t over,’ he snarled, then bent and lifted her into his arms.

  She gasped and had to grab his neck as he hoisted her up as if she weighed nothing at all and dumped her onto the horse’s saddle. She grasped the pommel, the robe riding up to her knees as she straddled the wide leather, trying to prevent herself from slipping off the other side.

  Her heart was hammering so hard now, she couldn’t hear anything. The horse jolted and she squeezed her knees together, clinging on.

  A large hand landed on the saddle in front of hers and Zane leapt up behind her in one fluid movement, landing at her back, his long legs and that enticing scent engulfing her.

  The horse bucked and Cat let out a yelp.

  ‘Easy, Pegasus,’ he crooned, his breath hot at her earlobe as he banded his forearm around her waist, jerking her firmly into his lap.

  Reaching around her, he grabbed the reins with the other hand and she became brutally aware of everywhere their bodies touched. His chest was a solid wall of muscle against her back, his thighs gripped her hips, keeping her anchored in place, and his groin pressed intimately against her bottom.

  His size and strength felt overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as the brutal arousal that had sprung from nowhere—and which she seemed incapable of controlling. She watched in a trance as he yelled an order in Narabi and one of his men reached down to lift Kasia onto the back of his mount.

  Suddenly Pegasus jerked forward and then launched into a gallop. Her bottom bounced against the saddle, her heavy breasts pressed against Zane’s forearm as he bent them low over the horse’s neck and controlled the stallion with one hand. Her fingers gripped the Arabian saddle so hard she was sure she must be scoring the leather.

  They shot upwards, climbing out of the marketplace. The enormous horse was surprisingly surefooted on the scrabble of sand and rock as they crested the rise and took the desert track back towards the palace, the walls looming like a great golden edifice in the distance.

  Her world seemed to shrink to the pounding of the horse’s hooves and the patient rise and fall of Zane’s breathing and the jerky spasms of her own lungs as she tried to draw in a coherent breath. The desert track raced past so fast it felt as if they were flying, her body bombarded with sensation as every place he touched her burned hotter than the midday sun.

  And the husky statement before he’d lifted her onto his horse began to play through her dazed and disorientated mind on a loop.

  This isn’t over.

  While her confused, overloaded body tried to figure out why the snarled words seemed more like a promise than a threat.

  * * *

  Zane was so angry by the time they reached the stables he could barely breathe, let alone think. And the few tortured breaths he could drag into his lungs were filled with the clean, refreshing scent of chamomile and honey.

  He’d bullied and belittled her, and she’d called him out on it. But damn it, he had been terrified—that something might have happened to her. Thoughts of his mother and all the ways he’d failed her had been snapping at his heels as he’d ridden to the marketplace to find her.

  And maybe he’d overreacted. But as they’d ridden back through the desert, her ripe curves bouncing in his arms, that provocative scent invading his senses, the struggle to bank his fear had become something a great deal more volatile.

  Pegasus clattered to a stop in the yard, and one of the stable boys rushed forward to grab the reins. Zane disentangled himself from his passenger and dismounted. Holding her around the waist, he dragged her off the stallion. His temper spiked as he noticed the long robe, the hood dropping back to reveal her wild hair, which had been ruthlessly tied back to disguise her appearance from the guards, but was beginning to escape in tantalising tendrils.

  Blood rushed to his groin and he cursed the effect she had on him.

  The irrational fear got the better of him again.

  She’d put herself in danger. Had deliberately disobeyed his orders. And then had the temerity to defy him when he’d arrived to see her safely back to the palace.

  She clasped her arms around her waist, her gaze wary but direct as she watched him. As if waiting for him to explode again.

  That she looked so wary but determined not to show it only infuriated him more.

  He snagged her wrist, still too upset to speak, and hauled her out of the yard towards his private quarters.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she said, leaning back, trying to slow his steps.

  He carried on walking. ‘Somewhere private,’ he managed around the huge boulder of barely suppressed fury, and something else, in his throat. He wasn’t even sure any more if he was angry with her, or with himself.

  At last they reached the doors to his quarters. He dismissed the guards outside.

  He slammed the door behind them, his breathing so laboured he was surprised he didn’t pass out. The effort to hold back his fear and his fury—and the dark tide of arousal—was almost more than he could bear.

  ‘Don’t ever leave the palace like that again,’ he said, keeping his voice low so he didn’t shout at her.

  She flinched, but instead of backing down, instead of finally figuring out that this was no time to defy him, she did what she had done in the marketplace. She lifted her head, straightened her spine and thrust out her chin, the outline of her breasts heaving under the robe.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you are a woman alone in a strange country, and it’s not safe. I would have thought that was obvious,’ he said, his temper rising again. He rarely if ever had to explain himself. And he had no desire to explain himself now.

  ‘I’m an academic. I have to be able to do the necessary research. And I wasn’t alone. I was interviewing a seventy-year-old woman, with Kasia’s help. How could that possibly be dangerous?’

  The bright flags of colour on her pale cheeks and the defiance in her eyes only made her more stunning.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her pulse battering her collarbone in hard heavy thuds. And he had the urge to place his lips against the pulse point and suck.

  Focus, damn it.

  ‘You are vulnerable. You should never have gone to the market with Kasia when you have no means of protecting yourself. You know nothing of our customs. Our culture.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ she said, her voice measured but firm, inflaming his already inflammatory temper even more. ‘You brought me here to do a job but you won’t let me do it.’

  ‘I have arranged for you to see what you need to see,’ he ground out, annoyed by the tiny note of defensiveness in his voice. ‘With the proper protection.’

  ‘No, you haven’t, you’ve tried to micromanage what I see, and you’ve consistently refused to give me the access I need to your people. And even to yourself.’ She hauled in a shaky breath. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re trying to hide something from me. That you never intended for me to write the truth.’

  Because the accusation was astute and far too intuitive,
damn her, he was forced to change his tack.

  ‘The truth?’ he snarled, his control snapping like a dry twig crushed under his boot. Desire pumped through his veins like wildfire. ‘You’re far too sheltered and naive to handle the truth about me and what I’ve been dreaming of doing to you for two solid weeks.’

  The flush on her face rose to her hairline but instead of being cowed or appalled or disgusted with his revelation, as she should have been, her eyes darkened, the pupils dilating to black. And he had all the proof he needed that she was as fiercely aroused as he. Lust snapped and sizzled in the air around them, like a forest fire threatening to spark out of control.

  ‘You’ve been dreaming about me?’ she said, her voice a husky murmur of shock, which shouldn’t have been at all provocative... But somehow it was, the curiosity in her tone as captivating as the artless arousal shadowing those wide caramel eyes.

  ‘Yes, damn it,’ he said, his own voice dropping to a broken hiss, ripe with the longing he could no longer disguise.

  Heat seared Cat’s insides. She shouldn’t have asked him about his dreams; she shouldn’t even want to know the answer... But her body—besieged by the pheromones that had brought it to wild vibrant life on the ride back from the marketplace—was in control now.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d been having them too.’ She stumbled over the words.

  He cursed softly, but then he gripped her arm and drew her against him. She felt the weight of his arousal pressing into her belly and passion flushed through her system. The musky male aroma of soap and the light, refreshing hint of cedarwood surrounded her. His knuckle touched her chin, and he lifted her gaze to his.

  ‘And now you do,’ he said.

  She nodded, too overwhelmed by all the emotions and sensations bombarding her to speak. She’d surprised herself, by standing up to him, by letting him know how appalled she was by his behaviour in the marketplace.

  But she didn’t feel appalled any more. Not even close. She felt excited, exhilarated and impossibly turned on.

  The gossamer silk of her robe was like a straitjacket, her overloaded body yearning to tear it off and feel his touch on her naked flesh. No one had ever looked at her with such yearning. Such passion.

  His thumb skimmed down the side of her cheek. ‘I dreamt your skin was as soft as it looks,’ he murmured. ‘And I was right.’

  His pupils darkened, filling the impossible blue of his irises. And the dangerous drawing sensation at her core dampened her panties. Her nipples drew into tight, aching peaks, her breath straining in her lungs.

  He threaded his fingers into her hair and lifted her head. His lips brushed her mouth, but he didn’t make the final move. And her dazed brain realised he was waiting, for her to make the choice.

  All the reasons why she shouldn’t kiss him flitted through her mind. But nothing could deny the hunger pulsing at her core.

  Lifting on tiptoe, she clasped his waist and brought her lips to his.

  His nostrils flared, like a stallion sensing its mate. He said something under his breath in Narabi, the hoarse guttural murmur rasped across the swollen folds of her sex and then his tongue probed, licking across the seam of her mouth, demanding entry. Her breath gushed out as she opened to him.

  It was all the permission he needed to take control of the kiss. His tongue thrust deep, exploiting her mouth in devastating, demanding strokes. She delved back, tasting him, tentative at first, but then finding a dangerous rhythm of thrust and counter-thrust. The burgeoning heat built into an inferno.

  He ripped his lips away first, his breathing rasping in her ears, as his thumbs stroked her neck and he pressed his forehead to hers. Her back bumped against the carved wood of the chamber door.

  ‘This isn’t happening...’ He groaned.

  She wanted to contradict him, wanted to demand more—but as she clutched his shirt, her sex clenching and releasing with the desire to feel that massive erection inside her, all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this came flooding back.

  She jerked out of his embrace, the shame and stupidity of what she’d done dousing her heated body like a bucket of icy water.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t...’ She stumbled to a stop, the futile excuses choking her.

  She’d always assumed she was nothing like her mother, that she would never be ruled by her desires, never do anything foolish or reckless or selfish, simply to satisfy a physical urge. But now she’d done all three of those things and there was no excuse.

  ‘I stepped over a line,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have...’

  ‘Shhh...’ That treacherous thumb touched her cheek again, cutting her garbled excuses off at the knees. ‘You didn’t step over that line alone.’

  Stepping away from her, he scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘You should go.’

  She nodded, understanding completely. She’d made a terrible mistake, and now she had to take responsibility for her actions...

  ‘The p-project...?’ she stuttered, distraught at the realisation she might have sacrificed her wonderful adventure for the fleeting pursuit of a hunger she didn’t even understand.

  ‘We can discuss it tomorrow,’ he said. The dismissal was clear and unequivocal. His tone strained.

  A part of her knew she should be grateful.

  He was allowing her to leave with her dignity intact. And when he tore up her contract tomorrow and sent her back to Cambridge, she would be able to kid herself at least some of her professional integrity was intact too. But as she fled back to the women’s quarters she didn’t feel grateful; all she felt was lost and confused, as the unrequited yearning continued to throb like a wound at her core.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘I UNDERSTAND YOU asked to see me?’ Cat said, all too aware of the hammer blows of her heartbeat as the door to the Sheikh’s private office closed behind her.

  Zane’s gaze fixed on her, his devastatingly handsome face illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the window. His broad shoulders stretched the traditional tunic as he leaned back in his chair.

  Potent, provocative and powerfully arousing, the sight of him reminded Cat far too forcefully of what they had shared only the day before.

  Her breathing sounded loud in the strained silence. Too loud. Her thighs trembled. The proof that their one kiss still tormented her—as it had throughout the night—only made her more ashamed.

  ‘You wanted an interview with me,’ he said. ‘I’ve decided to grant it.’

  ‘You... What?’ It was the very last thing she had expected him to say. She had spent the night fearing all the things he would say to her today. All the things he could accuse her of after sacrificing her principles and her objectivity the day before.

  It had always been so easy for her to maintain her professional detachment before. But right from the start this project had been different. She’d become emotionally engaged, and now she was physically engaged too.

  By the time Ravi had arrived to escort her to see Zane, she had been convinced she was coming here to get her matching orders.

  ‘Y-you...’ She stuttered to a halt, her emotions in turmoil. Again. ‘You’re going to give me the interview? Now, after... After what happened yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But... But why?’

  ‘Why not?’ he said.

  She pressed her hands to her sides, rubbing her sweating palms on the fabric of the robe, and forced herself to say it. ‘Because we... We kissed each other.’

  ‘I know we did.’ His lips quirked, the sensual smile making her hammering heartbeat plunge into her abdomen. ‘Did you think I’d forgotten?’

  She crossed her arms over her chest, then uncrossed them again, the reminder of how tender her breasts were not making her feel any less out of her depth. Any less compromised.

  How could he be so nonchalant about this?

>   ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s just... I didn’t think you’d want me to continue with the project.’

  ‘Why not?’ he said again, his pragmatism astounding her.

  ‘For the project to have any credibility I have to be an objective observer,’ she said. ‘And now I’m not sure I can be. By kissing you I’ve compromised everything I—’

  ‘Stop.’ He held up his hand, cutting off her explanation with the arrogance of a man who had been born to make the rules, not to follow them. ‘You’re overreacting.’

  ‘I... I am?’ she asked, the blush burning her neck.

  ‘It was a kiss, Catherine,’ he said, as if he were describing something of no significance whatsoever. ‘Nothing more. And it won’t happen again. Of course you can still be objective. Now, do you want to continue with the project or not?’

  ‘I...’ She struggled, not sure what to say now. Or what to think. She’d convinced herself the answer should be no. But now he’d given her an option she hadn’t expected she couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

  ‘Well?’ he said, prodding her.

  ‘Yes, I do want to continue with it,’ she blurted out. ‘I want to continue with it very much.’

  Narabia’s story would be a fascinating one to tell, and she already felt invested in being the person to tell it. But as he nodded, then swept out his hand to indicate the seat in front of his desk, she knew that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to stay in Narabia. It wasn’t just the mysteries of this beautiful country she wanted to uncover, but also the secrets of the man who ruled it.

  ‘Then sit down and let’s continue with it,’ he said.

  She forced herself to walk forward and take the seat he had indicated, trying to figure out if the line they’d crossed yesterday could now be uncrossed.

  Perhaps her panic yesterday, all the shame and recriminations she had tortured herself with throughout the night, were simply a result of her chronic inexperience. She’d never been kissed by a man like that before, never felt that hunger, that depth of desire. But Zane obviously didn’t think it was that big a deal.