Her Ardent Sheikh Page 4

  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 movemen
t 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.

  He was probably in Vegas now, blowing the money he’d earned for selling his daughter into marriage instead of taking that money and trying to salvage the farm. At least Payune had been gracious enough to let them keep the marriage funds for her “inconvenience and mental anguish,” after he’d decided to void the contract.

  She didn’t consider an emergency plane landing a mere inconvenience or simple mental anguish. It had been terrifying. Although she was grateful that the wedding had never happened, she didn’t have a dime to show for all her trouble. Her daddy had taken every last cent.

  Burying the anger as she had for the past few months, Jamie glanced at Ben again, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. His features were angular, his nose sharp but not overly big. And oh, that kiss-me-quick mouth.

  A classically handsome man. A man many women would want, not only for his good looks, but also for his wealth. She wondered why a good-looking prince with lots of money had never married. Then it occurred to her. Maybe he was married. To some woman back in his country. Maybe to several women. Did they still do that? Someday she’d find out more from Alima. But if the housekeeper was anything like her employer, Jamie realized that might never happen. So she might as well jump at the chance to find out for herself while the opportunity existed.

  “Are you married, Ben?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “No.”

  A man of few words when it came to his personal life, she decided. “You don’t have a woman waiting for you back home in your country?”

  “No, I have no one waiting for me there.”

  “A girlfriend here?”

  This time he smiled. “No, not here, either.”

  For some reason, that fact relieved Jamie. And her relief annoyed her. She wasn’t about to play the role of his girlfriend while he insisted on handing out demands and trying to control her life. Like he’d really want her, plain old Jamie Morris from the country. “Don’t you need some kind of heir? I mean, don’t people who have royal blood need that?”

  “My older brother, Kalib, has taken over the rule of Amythra since my father’s death. He has five sons. Enough to supply Amythra with all the heirs my country will ever need.”

  “So while you were at home and your brother was having kids, what did you do?”

  He fiddled with the radio and tuned it in to a station playing light jazz. “Before I came here to complete my education, I served as a commander in my country’s military.”

  “Oh. So that’s why you’re so into this protection thing.”

  “I have been taught to protect those who cannot help themselves. Helpless women and children.”

  That made Jamie sit up straight and grit her teeth. “So you think all women are helpless?”

  “Not all,” he said, looking straight ahead.

  “Good, because we aren’t all frail little creatures waiting to be rescued.”

  “I would not assume that about you, Miss Morris. I believe there are times when you can take care of yourself.” He glanced at her for a brief moment. “And times you cannot.”

  “And you can?”

  “Yes. Many things are done out of necessity. Defending what you believe in to the death. Resorting to whatever means necessary to protect those in your care.”

  He said the words with such conviction, Jamie was determined to find out more about this overwhelming need he had to save everyone. “What do you mean by ‘whatever means necessary?’ Hurt someone? Maybe even kill someone?”

  He shot another look in her direction then brought his eyes back to the road. “Yes. If necessary.”

  The admission hung over the car like a shroud. The images bouncing around Jamie’s head were anything but pleasant. She deplored violence of any kind. But she found it hard to believe, considering his kindness to her that Ben could hurt anyone. “Have you had to do that? Hurt someone?”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel as if he had them around an imaginary neck. “Whatever I have or have not done in the past does not matter now. What matters is that I keep you safe.
”

  The hard set of Ben’s jaw told Jamie not to press, but she wondered if, in fact, he had hurt someone. Maybe even killed someone. Someday she’d ask again, but not now. Considering the way he continued to white-knuckle the steering wheel, obviously she’d already said too much.

  Riding in silence, they passed through town on the way to Jamie’s apartment. A few tourists, mostly antique enthusiasts, occupied the afternoon streets. Retired folks who’d blazed the unbeaten path that took them to the small community of Royal, a place rich in oil, folklore and legend, and rich in rich people. Home to up-and-coming businessmen and women. Jamie’s hometown that had changed and grown to suit the times. But she hadn’t changed all that much. Not as much as she’d wanted. And now the prospect of returning to college to get her nursing degree seemed as far away as Ben’s homeland.

  When they passed the cleaners, Jamie suddenly remembered Sadie. “Where’s my car?” She stared out the window and saw only an empty space where she had last parked. “Oh, heavens, they probably towed it. I can’t afford to get my car out of the city lot—”

  “Your car is safe.”

  Jamie leveled her gaze on Ben. “How do you know?”

  “I have it stored in a garage at my ranch. One of my workers retrieved it at my request.”

  The man had considered everything. Taken care of everything. “Thanks.” It was all she could think to say.

  Once they pulled into the drive at the Royal Court Complex, Jamie quickly slid out of the car. But before she could make her way up the stairs, Ben grabbed her arm and stopped her progress.

  “Wait,” he said. “I must go first. Stay behind me.”

  Jamie opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it shut. She might as well let him have his way. His mother-hen attitude was something she’d have to learn to live with for the time being. She didn’t have to like it, though.

  Jamie let him pass and followed him up the stairs and into the hall, surprised that he went straight to 3C, her apartment. He withdrew her keys from his trouser pocket and held them up for her to indicate the correct one. She probably should be surprised he knew where she lived, that he even had her keys, but she wasn’t. Nothing he did from this point on would shock her. In fact, she figured after everything that had happened—the stupid marriage agreement, the plane crash, the almost-hit-and-run, nothing would ever shock her again.