LITMIR.BIZ

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from being outdoors, but she’d put it on anyway and belted it tight.

      Then he’d escorted her back to her quarters because he hadn’t been certain she could find her way alone. She hadn’t spoken on the walk back down the corridors. He’d stopped in front of the door to the women’s quarters, vowing to himself to station a guard there at night in the future instead of outside the entrance to the private wing.

      There was another way to her rooms, through his own, but he’d refused to use it. It would be too easy to go through that entry again if he started now, so he simply didn’t.

      She’d hesitated at the door as if she wanted to say something to him, but he’d put his hands in her hair and held her face up for his kiss. To silence her. To end any awkwardness.

      When she’d been rubbery and clinging to him, when his body was beginning to respond with fresh heat that he knew would ignite into a fire at any moment, he’d let her go, striding away without another word.

      Her reaction had been a very resounding door slam. But it was for the best, really. He had too much to do, too many things to worry about, and no time to navigate the mire of repeatedly bedding a woman who might be carrying his heir. A woman who might soon be his wife.

      If she was angry with him, so much the better. He’d intended to be nice to her, but he’d gone way overboard. And now he would have to stay away from her, as he’d intended in the first place.

      * * *

      Sheridan didn’t believe that Rashid would come to see her that day. After the confusing—and paradigm changing—previous night, she didn’t really think his decision to talk to her would stand.

      And of course she was right. As the day wore into night, there was no sign of Rashid. She was allowed to wander the palace, as he’d promised, but she did not bump into him anywhere. She wore one of the dresses from the dressmaker, along with a hijab that covered her hair, and then she spent fascinating hours walking through the palace and studying the architecture.

      But in spite of her enjoyment of everything the palace had to offer, she remained preoccupied with Rashid. With last night. She couldn’t think of it without blushing. She’d had sex with him—hot, wild, crazy, passionate sex—after knowing him for two days.

      Worse, she wanted more. She knew it wasn’t going to happen—that it shouldn’t happen—but she couldn’t help but imagine Rashid coming to her room in the night. He would peel her clothing away, and then use that magical mouth of his to drive her insane with wild need.

      Sheridan fanned herself absently with her hand. The guard who strode silently along wherever she went didn’t bat an eyelash. She’d tried to talk to him about mundane things, but he remained silent.

      When she ventured out to the stables after dinner, he followed. But when she tried to touch one of the horses, just to pet its velvety nose, he stopped her.

      “His Majesty would not want you to get bitten, miss.”

      “I’ve been around horses before,” she said, more than a little surprised that he spoke English. She’d started to think he was ignoring her because he didn’t speak her language. “I think I can tell when they’re going to bite.”

      Still, she strolled along until they came to a room at the end of the stable. She looked over the top of the door and practically melted.

      “Puppies!” She turned to her guard. “What kind of dogs are they?”

      He seemed to hesitate, as if he didn’t want to engage in conversation, but then he relented. “They are Canaan dogs, miss. A hardy and ancient breed.”

      The puppies were small and squat, and had curled tails. They almost looked like huskies, except they weren’t gray and didn’t have thick fur. The mother dog was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

      “They’re precious.”

      Sheridan stood and watched the puppies wiggling happily, playing and yipping, and wished she could go in and sit down and let them climb all over her. But she knew her guard wouldn’t approve of that. Eventually, the sound of approaching hoofbeats made her turn her head. A man in desert robes sat astride a beautiful bay horse as it trotted toward the stable. When they reached the building, he swung down and handed the reins to a groom, who had appeared out of nowhere.

      And then the man turned his head until dark glittering eyes met hers, boring into her with that combination of heat and anger that seemed unique to Rashid. Her belly clenched at the primal recognition that stirred to life inside her.

      Beside her, her guard had dropped into a low bow. Sheridan, not quite knowing what to do, decided to curtsy. Oh, she was plenty angry with Rashid, but she would not create trouble by refusing to acknowledge his power over his subjects. She wasn’t stupid and she knew it was important to have her guard’s respect.

      Rashid’s eyes narrowed—and then he came toward her. His gaze raked over her, taking in the hijab and dress—which she’d realized weren’t strictly necessary since she’d seen women in his palace dressed in Western business attire—before landing on her face again.

      “Miss Sloane, isn’t it a bit late to be touring the stables?”

      Miss Sloane. As if he hadn’t been inside her just a few hours ago. She lifted her chin. “I believe I already established that I’m still on a different sleep schedule than Kyr. Though it isn’t quite eight o’clock here yet, which I would consider early even were I acclimated to your time zone.”

      Her heart thundered relentlessly in her breast as she stared at him. He was no longer quite the stranger he’d been before last night’s passionate encounter, and it disconcerted her.

      He turned his attention to the guard. “Leave us.”

      The guard rose and melted into the night. Sheridan felt a hot wash of anger move through her.

      “I realize you’re a king, but do you have to talk to people like that?”

      His brows drew down. “Like what? I told him what he needed to know. Do you prefer I ask him politely to go?”

      “It might be nice, but no, I don’t really expect that out of you.”

      “You sound like my brother.”

      She blinked. “Do I? Is he a nice, sensible man?”

      “Nicer than I am.”

      “So you admit you aren’t very nice.”

      “I’m not trying to be.” He shrugged. “I am who I am. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.”

      She dropped her gaze. It was an odd conversation in some respects. Odd because of what they’d done the night before, and odd because she could feel that fire beneath the surface. It was only waiting for ignition.

      “After last night, I really didn’t expect an explanation.”

      Oh, wow, had she really said that? She wanted to bite her tongue.

      He searched her features. “You are upset because I did not allow you to stay in my bed.”

      “Allow?” She resisted the urge to poke him in the chest, but only barely. “What makes you think I wanted to stay? We were finished and it would have been awkward to stay. You don’t strike me as the type for small talk, and I’d rather not have to attempt it. It was better that I left.”

      His dark eyes flashed with some unidentifiable emotion. “You continually surprise me. I thought you would be upset. Regretful. Wringing your hands and wishing you could undo the things we did together.”

      She shrugged as if casual sex was her thing when it really wasn’t. “Why would I want to undo it? It was nice.”

      “Nice?” His voice was a growl and she suddenly wanted to laugh. Even superior kings had fragile egos when it came to their performance in bed. Hint that you were less than satisfied and you found yourself faced with a

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