not like you, Sheri. We have to be gentle with her. We have to watch out for her.
Not for the first time, Sheridan wondered if maybe Annie would be tougher if everyone in her life hadn’t coddled her. If she’d had to stand up for herself, make her own friends, fight her own battles.
Sheridan clenched her hand into a fist and sat there as still as a statue for what seemed the longest time. Even now, she felt like she should be calling Annie to ask how she was instead of worrying about her own situation.
She looked up to see yet more men arriving in her room. They chattered in fast, musical Arabic, dragging out measuring tapes and writing things down on paper. Then they disappeared.
Everything transpired quickly and efficiently over the next couple of hours. Sheridan didn’t see the new glass going in because by that time she was in her bedchamber—seriously, it was a chamber, not a bedroom—with three seamstresses, several bolts of fabric and ready-made samples hanging from a portable rack. A young woman who spoke English had come along to translate.
“This one, miss?”
Sheridan looked at the satiny peach fabric and felt a rush of pleasure. “Definitely.”
The clothing the women wore was beautiful. Sheridan felt another wash of heat roll through her as she thought about her preconceived notions. She’d expected they would wear black burkas covering them from head to foot, but that was not at all the case.
The garments these women wore were colorful, lightweight and beautiful. They were long, modestly fitted dresses with embroidery and beading on the necks and bodices. The hijab, or head covering, was optional. Two of the women wore them and two did not.
But the possibilities there were beautiful, as well. The fabric was gossamer, colorful and draped in such a way that it created a sense of mystery and beauty.
The women worked quickly, draping bolts of fabric over her body, slipping pins inside and pulling the fabric away only to replace it with a new bolt. Sheridan tried on two dresses they had on the rack—one a gorgeous coral and the other a pretty shade of lavender that brought out the color of her eyes. The seamstress in charge promised they could have those two ready in a matter of hours once they returned to their shop and got to work. The others would take a full day.
Sheridan didn’t want to imagine that she needed many dresses for her stay, but how could she know for certain?
The women packed everything up and left just as two men came in with Fatima. They were carrying a box with a flat-screen television in it and they proceeded to set it up on one of the credenzas nearest the bed.
Sheridan wandered into the living area of the suite and found a new television there, too, as well as a state-of-the-art computer and a newly installed telephone. The new glass was set into the casement and the men were sweeping up.
Her throat grew tight. Rashid had done what he’d promised. Thus far. He’d seemed surprised she’d had no television or computer, and he’d worked fast to correct it. But, as nice as this was, she’d wanted more from him. She’d wanted his time, wanted to understand more about this man who might just be the father of her baby. He could not be wholly unlikable, could he?
But he seemed determined not to give it to her.
She picked up the remote and flipped on the television. The one in the living area was mounted to the wall, and it was huge—it was almost like having a movie screen when all the colors suddenly came to life and filled the surface. It didn’t take too long to figure out how the satellite worked—and her throat tightened again as she landed on CNN International and English conversation filled her ears.
It was nice to hear, but it only brought home how alone she was here. How would she get through a week of this? Nine months of this?
Rashid had said she could come and go, but only with an escort and only when she had the proper clothing. Since she still didn’t, she wouldn’t attempt to leave her quarters yet. She’d already behaved abominably.
She could still see him standing there, looking at her with the most furious expression on his face. He’d also, for a moment, seemed not fearful...but, well, something besides angry. Maybe wary was the word. Like he didn’t want to be in the same room with her, but knew he had to be.
It hit her then that not only was he not attracted to her, but she also revolted him. He was tall and handsome and kingly, and she was a short blond woman who organized parties for people. She was pale and slight compared to him. He was the Lion of Kyr, or some such thing like that, and she was an ordinary house cat.
Who might just be pregnant with the next king of the jungle.
She would have laughed if it wasn’t so serious. Sheridan went over to where Fatima had set a fresh pot of tea and some pastries and poured a cup. Despite the nausea, which came and went, she decided to try a pastry and see if it stayed down. After she’d made an impulsive decision to throw the tray at the window, she’d not eaten any of the food that she’d carefully set aside to get to the tray. Things had happened so quickly after that and she hadn’t had time.
Sheridan frowned as she nibbled on a pastry. Rashid was repulsed by her. It made sense, in a way, and it certainly explained the way he acted.
But then she thought of their kiss again, of the way it had slid down into her skin and made her want things she’d almost forgotten existed. Even now, the memory of it made her tremble. He’d slid his tongue into her mouth and she’d practically devoured him.
How embarrassing.
But she’d thought, dammit, at least for a minute anyway, that he’d been equally affected. He’d kissed her with such hunger, such passion, that she’d been swept up in the moment.
Yes, swept up enough so that he could carry her to the car before she managed to make a peep. Sheridan set the pastry down with disgust. He’d certainly known what he was doing. And she’d been just sensation deprived enough to let him.
“Miss?”
Sheridan looked up to find Fatima standing over her. The two men were leaving, carting the remnants of television and computer boxes with them.
“Yes?”
“Do you require anything else?”
That was a loaded question if ever she heard one. “Your English is good, Fatima.”
“Thank you, miss. I studied in school.”
“Have you worked in the palace long?”
“A few months.”
“Do you know the king well?”
She shook her head. “No, miss. King Rashid, may Allah bless him, has come home again after many years away. We will prosper under his benevolent reign.”
Sheridan wasn’t going to laugh over that benevolent reign remark, though she wanted to. But she also felt a spark of curiosity. “Many years away?”
Fatima looked a little worried then. “I have heard this in the palace. I do not know for certain. If you will excuse me, miss. Unless you need something?” she added, her eyes wide and almost pleading with Sheridan not to ask anything more about
