The Sheikh's Secret Son (17 page)

Ben was more than happy to agree with the woman's suggestion, suddenly feeling what he wanted most at this moment was a long shower that would rid him of her touch, her cloying perfume. “I was happy to be of assistance, and am sorry I interfered, as you say you do not need my help,” he said, giving her a very slight bow of his head, then walking back to pick up his packages he'd left in the hallway.

As he loaded the packages into his arms, he heard Clint groan once more, and then listened as the woman crooned to him. “Ah, poor Clint,” she was saying. “Here, sweetheart, let me help you up, you poor thing. Oh, look at that bruise! How dare that nasty man take you by surprise like that? You would have blackened both his eyes, if he hadn't jumped you, wouldn't you? Well, Sophia will just have to kiss you all better. I can think of at least fifty places
where I can kiss you all better, better than new. You want to come up to my suite now, don't you, sweetheart. Clint! Here? You can't want to take me here…where anybody could see us? Hmm…yes, that does feel good. That feels
so
good…
so
naughty…
so
exciting. No wonder I keep you….”

Ben shook his head and walked away, definitely planning on a shower. It would probably take him two bars of soap before he felt clean again.

 

Eden heard the receiver being picked up, followed shortly by a few clipped words in Arabic.

“Haskim? Is that you?”

“Miss Eden Fortune? Is that you? This is Haskim, yes.”

“Yes, yes, Haskim. It's me. Would it be possible for me to speak with Ben—I mean, with His Highness?”

Eden heard Haskim speaking to someone in the background, then another voice came onto the line. A deeper voice, one tinged with disdain even as the words spoken were openly gracious. “Miss Fortune? I am Yusuf Nadim, Chief Advisor to His Highness. May I please be of assistance? This has to do with the business deal so recently closed with the help of your place of employment?”

Eden began to pace her small office, wondering if Nadim was giving her the brush-off on his own,
or on Ben's orders. “Well, no, actually, sir, this is a personal matter. I—I really do need to speak with His Highness. Is he there?”

“We do not, as a rule, divulge such information to casual acquaintances, Miss Fortune,” Nadim responded, all traces of cordiality fading under the weight of disdain. “You can, I am sure, understand the security reasons behind such a response.”

“Oh, okay, you're right. Forgive me,” Eden said, nodding, feeling foolish for nodding, for apologizing. “But is it possible to give him a message? Because I really, really do need to speak with him today. I can give you the number of my cell phone, as I'm leaving the office now.”

“Your location does not concern me, Miss Fortune,” Nadim told her shortly. “And I do not
take
messages. Haskim will assist you.”

Eden pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it for a moment, then placed it against her ear once more in time to hear that Haskim was back on the line.

“My most profound apologies, Miss Fortune, that this should have happened, but His Excellency asked that I give the phone over to him,” Haskim said sincerely. “His Highness has gone missing today, deliberately stealing out of the hotel to be on his own, and His Excellency is not pleased. But I will give His Highness your message as soon as he
returns. We, of course, are already aware of every phone number where you might be reached.”

“Gone—gone
missing?
Haskim, where did he go? Is he safe?”

“His Highness is most assuredly safe, Miss Eden Fortune. He knows where his possible enemy is, and he is not on the streets of your city. He has left with me the written message that, should you phone, he would be pleased if you were to meet him in the lobby of this hotel at six of the clock this evening, at which point he promises he will also allow me, his servant, to once again perform his duties of protector, for which I am grateful. Now, please, I must go. There are ears and eyes where I do not wish them.”

 

Eden was a mass of apprehension and tangled nerves by the time she arrived at the Palace Lights Hotel, stepping in out of the bright sunlight and removing her sunglasses, immediately searching the lobby for some sign of Ben, of Haskim.

Nothing.

She looked at her watch, swore under her breath when she saw she was ten minutes early. Ten minutes, a lifetime…they seemed equally lengthy at this point.

And then she saw him. Ben was entering the lobby from the smaller side lobby that led to the
atrium and the elevator to the penthouse suites. He was walking swiftly, smiling, having already seen her.

He didn't look like a man who was angry with her, disappointed in her. He looked like a man in love.

Eden felt her limbs turn into noodles, barely able to support her.

It was all right. Everything was going to be all right. It just had to be!

Haskim walked behind Ben, dressed in his exotic robes, looking to his left, to his right, obviously taking his role of bodyguard very seriously. Eden was now so relaxed she could even smile at Haskim's severe countenance. The man obviously knew his business, and his business was protecting Ben.

Even so, Haskim was taken unawares when a man—Eden couldn't see his face—moved out from behind one of the massive marble pillars and planted himself right in front of Ben, blocking his way.

Haskim's hand went to his waist even as Eden saw Ben gesture with one hand that the servant was to stay where he was, that he could handle this large man who looked angry enough to spit nails…or snap Ben's neck.

Eden broke into as near to a run as she thought she could get away with without slipping on the floor tiles in her high heels, or bumping into several
groups of people who all seemed to have been disgorged at once from the large bank of elevators.

All her earlier nervousness evaporated, her worries over what she and Ben would say to each other, how they would act—to be immediately replaced by her intention of protecting Ben from attack. By the time she reached him, however, he and Haskim were speaking to each other in Arabic. Ben was speaking quietly, and Haskim was smiling broadly—and the threatening man was nowhere in sight.

“What—what happened?”

“And a good evening to you, Eden,” Ben said, lifting her hand, placing a kiss against her nerveless fingers. The look in his dark eyes spoke volumes, the seductive movement of his thumb against her palm told her that he didn't hate her. Wasn't even close to hating her for what she'd said last night.

Why that made her angry, she'd never know. But how dare he stand there, acting as though he hadn't almost been involved in a fist fight.

“Never mind that,” she said angrily, pulling her hand free. “Who was that crazy guy going after you as if he wanted to rearrange your face? What happened?”

Ben took Eden's arm and walked her through the lobby, toward the doors leading to the street. “What happened? Well, it seems I interrupted a lovers' quarrel earlier today in the atrium garden. I had been
enjoying your city for a few hours, and was just returning to my rooms.”

Eden skipped to keep up with him, as he seemed in a hurry to be shed of the hotel. “Lovers' quarrel? Interrupted? How?”

“By knocking that man into a bank of small shrubs, actually,” Ben said as Haskim ran ahead, opened the door to the limousine that was waiting at the curb. “I do not appreciate men who hit their women.”

Eden watched as Ben settled himself beside her in the limousine, as Haskim took up his place in the front seat, beside the driver.

Then she sat forward. “Now, tell me how you got rid of him? I only saw his back, his clenched fists, but he looked ready to tear you into pieces.”

“I merely apologized for my error in involving myself in what I now believe to have been a highly private affair,” Ben told her as the limousine slowed in front of a small, exclusive restaurant a few blocks from the hotel. “That seemed to satisfy him, although I imagine Haskim's rather ferocious growl may have helped to make him feel amenable to accepting my apology. Ah, here we are. I do believe, Eden, that I owe you a dinner, since last night's was left…uneaten.”

Eden forced a smile, suddenly nervous once more, apprehensive once more.

She took refuge in silliness. “Oh, yes, last night's dinner. I have to tell you, Ben, you haven't lived until you've smelled escargot left out all night. I nearly broke the disposal, cleaning up everything before the caterers came to pick up their equipment this morning. But is that all you're going to say? That you owe me a dinner? Don't you want to talk about…about what happened between us last night?”

He cocked an eyebrow, looked at her with some concern. “Do you wish to speak of last night, Eden?”

She bent her head, wet her dry lips. “No, no I don't.” She raised her head once more, looked at him as tears pricked at her eyes. “But we should, Ben. We should talk about it. Shouldn't we?”

He traced the line of her cheek with a single fingertip. “I believe we both understand what happened last night, Eden, and why. A postmortem seems unnecessary. What I wish to speak of this evening is what will happen in the future.”

Eden nodded, greatly relieved that he didn't insist on a postmortem, that he understood how she felt, that she knew how he felt. “All right, I'll agree to that, if you agree to explain something to me. Why would Haskim believe you have enemies, when you told me you didn't? Are you safe here, Ben? Is Sawyer safe here? And why did I get the idea that your
enemies, if you have them, traveled with you here to Texas, are in your penthouse with you? Nadim. It's Yusuf Nadim, your father-in-law. Am I right? Is he why you asked that I meet you in the lobby? He is, isn't he?”

“You ask questions like a lawyer, Eden. And I forgive you, because you are a lawyer. Now, come, Haskim is holding the door open for us. We will discuss all of this inside, over our meal.”

He made to move, to leave the limousine, but stopped as Eden placed a restraining hand on his forearm. “Is Sawyer safe, Ben? I have to know. Is my son safe?”

Ben placed his hand over her grasping fingers, squeezed them reassuringly. “Our son is safe, Eden. I would not have it any other way.”

She refused to let him go. “A very clever answer, Ben, but you're leaving something out, aren't you? And are you safe, Ben? Should I be asking that, as well?”

“We are not going to eat dinner again tonight, are we, Eden?” Ben asked, his sigh more theatrical than chagrined. “Haskim,” he said, speaking to his servant, “go inside, if you will, and recompense our hosts for the meal we will not be enjoying, then tell the driver to proceed to Miss Fortune's house.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Did you see that, Eden?” Ben asked as Haskim
bowed, then went to do his bidding. “No questions asked, no explanations necessary. I give an order, make a suggestion, and someone is always eager to please me. I am accustomed to that. Absolute obedience. It has probably spoiled me these past years, since I assumed the throne. But you are taking care of that possible arrogance, are you not? Now I seem to explain, and to apologize, at every turn. Does this please you?”

Eden tipped her head to one side, slowly smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it does. So, Ben, do you like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? They're Sawyer's favorite.”

“C
reamy or chunky?” Eden asked, holding up two jars of peanut butter as Ben sat at one of the kitchen stools, enjoying himself as he watched her work.

“Which is our son's favorite?” he asked, as Eden had already told him that peanut butter and jelly sandwiches actually were her son's second most favorite food, running a close second to tacos.

“It's a toss-up, actually,” Eden answered, retrieving the grape jelly from the door of the refrigerator. “But we'll go with creamy tonight, because I've got more of it, all right? And then, before your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth and you can't talk, you're going to tell me what you did today. Starting with how you ran away from poor Haskim, and ending with why you felt we had to meet in the lobby.”

“You are feeling comfortable with me again, are you not, Eden?” he asked, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her work, building two thick sandwiches for them. “That is probably because you now believe that I worship you with my whole heart,
my entire body. And you are enjoying this feeling of superiority, I am sure.”

She bent her head over her task, but not before Ben could see the attractive flush of color invade her cheeks. “If you mean, do I believe you love me, then, yes, Ben, I do believe it.” Then she looked at him, saw his grin, and brandished the kitchen knife at him. “God, you're arrogant! Even when you try to act the supplicant, or whatever it is you're doing.”

“And you love me?”

She sliced the two sandwiches, then carried the jelly jar back to the refrigerator, opening and closing the door with some force. “Don't push me, Ben. Love is the answer—that's what the poets say. But that's not true. Love is the question. The first question, to be followed shortly by, ‘Now what the devil do we do?'”

Ben knew what Eden meant. Yes, they loved each other. If they had come together last night in mutual need, they had also come together in love, even without either of them saying the words.

But was love enough? Could he ask her to give up her life here in Texas? Did she love him enough to do this? Did he love her enough not to ask her to do this?

“I will tell you about my day as we eat this delicious dinner,” he declared, and her shoulders re
laxed slightly, telling him that she was more than willing to drop such a volatile subject for something more mundane.

“You ran away from Haskim,” she said, coming around the breakfast bar and sitting beside him. “That's a naughty, naughty sheikh. The poor guy was frantic when I spoke with him this afternoon.”

“A panic for which I apologized,” Ben told her as he reached for his glass of cold milk. “Haskim was, of course, appalled that his sheikh should so debase himself, and offered to leave my service if he displeased me so greatly. Do you see how it works, Eden? What seems reasonable in one culture, is not so in another. So,” he said, grinning at her, “I gave him one of the Garth Brooks compact disks I had bought, and he is happy again, if still wondering if His Highness has perhaps slipped a gear or two since arriving in Texas.”

Eden laughed, the sound happy, joyful. “Garth Brooks? Is that what you were doing, Ben? Shopping for Garth Brooks's CDs?”

He nodded. “And visiting with a very nice man named Bobby-Tom, and a barmaid who told me to call her Sugar. All in all, Eden, it was a very pleasant afternoon. After which,” he added, knowing it was time, “I had a rather more solemn discussion with Nadim, a conversation concerning you and Sawyer.”

Eden put down the second half of her sandwich, pushed the plate away from her. “You…you did?”

Ben picked up his napkin, dabbed at a small fleck of grape jelly that kissed the corner of Eden's mouth. Then he stood, took her hand in his, and led her out of the kitchen and to the couch in the family room.

“Ben?” she asked as she sat, as she looked up at him apprehensively. “Nadim is your enemy, isn't he? Haskim hinted—not that he would ever betray your confidence—but he did hint that your enemy was in your suite, not walking the streets of San Antonio.”

“Haskim worries like an old woman,” Ben said, joining her on the couch. “Nadim is not my enemy, not in the way you would believe. I am in no physical danger from him, Eden. But he is also an old man whose ambitions have been thwarted throughout his life. He is not above bringing me low in the eyes of our people to feel his life has been of some use.”

She shook her head. “I don't understand, Ben. You're not worried Nadim might mount a coup, try to take over as sheikh?”

“Nadim might have hoped as much, many years ago, when my father was alive,” Ben explained, taking her hand in his, stroking the soft skin on the back of her hand, her wrist. “This is why my father
always kept him close, why I have kept Nadim close. But now he is old, his fangs no longer sharp, and his one hope to rule died when Leila—his daughter, my wife—died without bearing an heir to the throne. All Nadim can hope for now is to do mischief, as only young children and old men can.”

Eden covered Ben's hand with her own. “And Nadim could make a considerable amount of mischief if he knew about Sawyer, about me, before you could find a way to tell your subjects about our existence?”

“He certainly would have tried,” Ben agreed, “which makes me doubly glad that I did not share with him, with anyone, my belief that I would come to Texas and find that you were the Eden Fortune of my heart.”

“He
would
have tried, Ben?” she asked, shifting on the couch, looking at him carefully. “He isn't going to try? Why? What did you do? Ben, you didn't do anything terrible, did you? He's an old man.”

“And Sawyer is my son,” Ben said firmly. He stood and moved to stand in front of the fireplace, looking at Eden as he carefully chose his next words.

“Leila was Nadim's only child, and her memory is dear to him. I understand this, Nadim understands this. He knows what it is to protect his child, to want
nothing but what is best for his child. And that is how I approached him, father to father.”

“You asked him to help Sawyer because he's also a father, and would have to understand how you felt, how you'd want Sawyer protected from the sort of gossip, even condemnation, that could come once you'd acknowledged him? And Nadim agreed?”

Ben smiled, shook his head. “I should say yes now, Eden, and that would make you happy. But I cannot lie to you. If we are to have the future I would hope, we should never again lie to each other.”

He picked up a photograph of Sawyer that sat on the mantel, smiled at it. “Everyone will love him. In time, even Nadim.”

“Ben…” Eden persisted.

He replaced the photograph. “Leila died, as I have told you, but I have not told you how, or where,” he began, then sighed. “She died in Rome, Eden, overcome by smoke in a rather small house fire.” He looked at her levelly. “She died in bed, while sleeping in the arms of another man.”

“Oh, Ben, I'm so sorry!”

“I am sorry for her death, the way of it, the how of it. But we did not love each other. I only wish she might have found happiness, but she had not. She had only met this man that same evening. Leila very much liked men, liked a variety of men.”

He walked back over to the couch, took Eden's hands in his, pulled her to her feet. “Nadim came to me, nearly mad in his grief. He fell to the floor in front of me, begging that I help him hide the truth of Leila's death so that she might have the burial of a princess. So that her memory would live on, unsullied. I agreed, arrangements were made, and we never spoke of the matter again.”

He was walking her toward the stairs, toward her bedroom, but now Eden halted, pulling at his hands. “And now you've blackmailed Nadim, haven't you? You've threatened to expose his poor dead daughter for what she was, to protect Sawyer?”

“No, Eden,” he said quietly, leading her toward the stairs once more. “I would not do that to an old man, to Leila's memory. What I did was to remind him that happiness is to be grasped with both hands when the chance to hold it close is given to us. I reminded him of his love for his daughter, told him of my love for my son, and for my son's mother. And then I most respectfully asked for his help.”

He could see Eden relax, see the worry lines fade from her forehead. “Then…then Sawyer will be all right? If…if you were to acknowledge him, if he were to go to…if he were to visit Kharmistan? He'd be all right?”

“If you were both to come to Kharmistan, you would both be, as you have said,
all right,
” Ben
told her, nuzzling her neck as, side by side, they moved up the staircase. “Nadim is, at the bottom of it, an honorable man.”

Did Eden understand what he was saying to her? Did she believe him?

“But,” he continued as they moved down the hallway, into the bedroom, “I would rather present my people with my son and my wife when I return to Kharmistan. Will I be able to do that, Eden? Will you marry me? Will you come home with me, bring Sawyer to his home?”

She stiffened under his hands, even as he was carefully lowering the zipper of her sundress. “I— I can't,” she said, her hands still on his shoulders, her body with him, her mind fighting him every inch of the way. “I just can't.”

“But you love me, Eden,” he whispered against her ear, guiding them both to the bed, lying down beside her, looking deeply into her eyes. “Would you turn away from that love because you are fearful that Sawyer will not be happy in Kharmistan, with his father?”

Her bottom lip trembled as she raised a hand, stroked it down the side of his cheek. “I love you, Ben,” she told him, her voice low, thick with emotion. “But you're asking me to jump blindly off a cliff, my son in my arms. How…how can I take him away from the only home he's ever known, his fam
ily—
my
family? Yours is a different world, a different culture…even a different language, different clothing, different foods…”

“I will promise to have both creamy and chunky peanut butter flown to the capital every month,” he told her, trying to make a joke, knowing he had failed badly.

“Oh, God…” Eden buried her head against his chest, wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I need more time to think about all of this, Ben. I need to talk with my mother, my brothers. With Sawyer.”

“I am not asking that you travel to the moon, Eden,” Ben said, stroking her hair, removing the pins that held her warm curls so tightly confined. “We can visit often, and your family will always be welcome in our home. I cannot stay here, Eden, you have to know that. But how can you ask me to live without you, without Sawyer?”

Eden slowly turned onto her back, probably not even realizing that the bodice of her sundress now resided closer to her waist, that Ben was removing his own shirt so that he might be closer to her, feel her warm skin against his.

“I can't win, can I?” she asked quietly. “I can't ask Sawyer to give you up, now that he knows you exist. I can't rob him of his heritage, or his future. But at the same time, I will be asking him to give up so much here in Texas.” She buried her head
against his chest. “Oh, Ben, why couldn't you have been a plumber from Dallas?”

He chuckled low in his throat as she held on to him, as he deftly removed the rest of their clothing.

He had told her what he'd done, how he had secured Nadim's cooperation. He had told her he loved her. He had asked her to be his wife. Now it was time to prove that he loved her, and he knew that the next minutes would be bittersweet. As he loved her. As he prepared to let her go.

He kissed her hair, her creamy throat. He murmured words of love to her in his own language, the language of poets who had written of love for centuries before most of the world had formed alphabets.

He loved her slowly, gently, replacing the needs and wants of last night with a languid loving that made silent promises he had every intention of keeping, if she would only allow them.

He worshiped her body, every creamy inch of it, with his hands, with his mouth. He brought her to climax once, twice, before even considering his own pleasure, his own release.

She was his, all his, as she melted beneath his touch, as she reformed into a living fire, as she held him, surrendered to him, made him a willing slave to the desire that fed them both, that lifted them, together, higher and higher.

She was silk, she was satin, she was the velvet night and the warmth of the sun. She was his food, his water, his reason for living, his only hope to ever feel alive.

He told her all of this in his native Arabic, soothing her with his words, setting new fires inside her most secret parts with his caressing fingers, his seeking tongue.

And then she became the aggressor. Without a word, she eased herself away from him, urged him onto his back as she leaned over him, her dark curls falling across her face as she looked at him, as her eyes spoke volumes no poet could ever successfully write.

She took, as he had taken. She gave, as he had given. Loving him, tracing her hands and lips along the length of his body, branding him hers forever.

If time could stop, if the world could grant them the gift of standing still, there would have been no shadow over their lovemaking.

And for a while, the world cooperated.

They came together at last, two halves of the same whole, the past remembered, the past forgiven and forgotten…the future too far away to be considered. Too far away to intrude, to hurt them with the reality that awaited them once the loving was over.

Eden cried out as Ben spilled himself inside her,
holding on to him tightly, saving him as he felt himself spinning, spinning out of control.

He held her in return as her body shuddered beneath him, cherishing her, protecting her, sheltering her from the almost agonizing pleasure that had gripped them both, tossed them about in an intense emotional storm like two small corks lost in a dark, velvety sea.