Dana Marton – The Black Sheep Sheik (страница 3)

“Have you heard anything about the royals at the Wind River Ranch and Resort?” He needed to call Stefan, Efraim and the others. They were probably searching for him. His disappearance must have messed up the negotiations between the United States and their Coalition of Island Nations, COIN.

She put the soup on the table, looking at home in the small kitchen. “All over the news, according to the nurses. They can’t even stop talking about it when I call into the hospital to check in on the patients I had to hand off because of the maternity leave. It’s been like the Wild West returned over at the resort with all those princes. Never a dull moment, apparently.”

His muscles clenched. “Has anyone been harmed?” Those four men were like brothers to him, even closer to his heart than his recently found half brother, Wade, who was yet another reason for his being in Wyoming. A quest that would now have to wait.

“Someone was shot, but not one of the royals.”

A confused second passed before he remembered that she didn’t know his true identity. Their two passionate days together had been pure fantasy, strangers acting out a scene from the tales of the Thousand and One Nights. And now…with danger all around and him as weak as he was…probably not the best time to tell her. He needed to regain his strength and orient himself much better before he trusted anyone.

“We eat, and then we leave,” was all he told her. He needed to know for certain who his friends were and who his enemies were.

The phone threat texted to Stefan and the letters to him had to be connected. He’d received those letters back in Jamala. And Stefan received the text message before they even landed here. His instincts said whomever was behind the threats was from the islands and was not an American.

The miserable old king of Saruk came to mind, head of a larger neighboring country that wanted all the undersea oil rights, among other things. Five years ago he would have been the first person Amir would have looked at. But Prince Darek was taking over more and more of his father’s duties, making most, if not all, of the important decisions, and Darek was a good man, a friend. Amir trusted him.

So where did the threat originate? He had opponents back at home, of course. The summit had opponents, too. He cracked his knuckles. Either way, his enemy was either here now or used American accomplices. Someone had put a bomb on that limousine.

“Food is ready.” Isabelle was putting plates on the table, a picture of domestic femininity even with that tension he didn’t understand still in her shoulders. “You stay put. I’ll bring you a tray.”

He pushed to his feet, succeeding this time. “I’ll never regain my strength if all I do is sit around.”

And he needed his strength back desperately. Whoever had sent those threatening notes had taken things to the next level with the bomb in the car. He’d made his first kill, even if the driver had been an unintended victim. But the attacker was clearly committed to his goal, set on his course. He wasn’t going to give up until he accomplished whatever he was after.

His friends and he were in danger. And Isabelle was in danger by simply being with him. That last bit bothered him the most. She had nothing to do with politics. Her only crime was saving him.

But he would protect her with his life, if needed. “We should hurry.”

He pushed forward, his progress embarrassingly slow, a contrast to his words. When he made it to the table, he sank onto the chair with relief. He watched with appreciation as she ladled rich vegetable soup onto his plate. The aroma filled the one-room cabin, instantly making the strange place seem more welcoming.

He had pictured their reunion a dozen times in the past few months, but never under these circumstances. She sat across the table from him, unable to pull up her chair all the way due to her swollen belly. Her skin glowed; her black hair was lustrous and shiny. Pregnancy became her. He couldn’t say he had contemplated pregnant women all that much in the past, but she was both desirable and fascinating.

“Since you’ve been here, taking care of me all this time, I’m guessing the father of the baby is no longer in the picture.”

He had mixed feelings about that. Outrage that the bastard had abandoned her, and relief that he didn’t have to see her with another man, the thought of which was enough to make him clench his teeth and fist his hands on the table. There was a part of him that had thought of her all these months as his.

Sheer idiocy. Of course others wanted her, courted her. The thought was like a thousand daggers cutting his skin.

She opened a bag of bread, pulled the butter away from him. Avoided his gaze. “You should eat light for the next couple of days. Your stomach hasn’t seen solid food in a while.”

“Do you not want to talk to me about the father? The shame is his for abandoning his responsibilities, not yours.” He shook his head. “American men these days, they grow up on television and video games, having too much, without a real man’s sense of what duty is.”

But he was here now. As soon as their stomachs were filled, he was going to take her to safety. He was going to protect her and her unborn baby.

“American men are fine.” She drew a slow breath, no longer bothering to disguise the anger and resentment in her tone. “You’re the father, okay?”

Chapter Two

Somewhere in the city of Dumont, Wyoming, a telephone rang in a dark, abandoned warehouse, the sound bouncing off the empty walls and filling the space. Long seconds ticked by before anyone responded.

“I think we know where he is,” the caller said when the line was finally picked up.

“Do we have confirmation?”

“Not yet.”

“How soon?”

“Within the hour.”

“Get the men ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more mistakes.”

“No, sir. Should we bring him to you when we have him?”

“Yes, but not here. I’ll be changing locations. I’ll call you from the new place and give directions when I get there.”

“Yes, sir. And if he has anyone with him?”

A moment of silence, then, “You know who I want. Everyone else is expendable.”

The line went dead as the call ended.

ISABELLE WATCHED AMIR from under hooded eyelids. Yep, she should have definitely waited with her big surprise.

He’d just come out of a coma. He should still be in bed. Not that she would ever be able to get him back in there now. He had stubborn written all over him. He had walked to the table, for heaven’s sake. He seemed determined to pretend that there was nothing wrong with him. Men and their foolish pride. Someone needed to invent a pill for that. If only.

“You need rest. We can talk about this later.” Or not at all. “You need to get back to your family and a physical therapist who can help you regain your strength. I have to get back home and get ready for the baby’s birth.”

She had a week left, at most. If he hadn’t awakened in a day or two, she would have had to make the difficult decision of what to do with him. She could no longer stay with him at the cabin, and she couldn’t have left him here alone, either, not without medical assistance.

Yes, she was mad at him for manipulating her the night they first met, but she was a doctor. She would never be mad enough at anyone to provide less than the best medical assistance she was capable of. Not even if the lying weasel bastard had tricked her into his bed and left her pregnant.

The worst part was that after all that, she was still attracted to him. She had to be stupider than shipping peanuts. Seriously. Any other woman would have strangled the man by now. Not her, she’d carefully taken care of him.

His tumultuous dark gaze was fixed on her belly, his gaze like a physical touch on her skin. “Are you certain about paternity?”

Oh, that was rich. He was questioning her word? She bit her lower lip, then let it go, pulled her aching spine straight. “I am. And I’m not going to be offended by the question, because you don’t really know me, but this is the only pass you’re going to get on the subject.”

He raised his gaze to her, sharp now like a hawk’s. His shoulders tensed. His voice was cold as he asked, “What do you want from me?”

She shouldn’t have been disappointed. This was exactly what she’d expected in the unlikely case that the prince of Persia ever returned.

“How about your name, for starters?” After evading the truth so skillfully when they’d first met, now that the question was put to him straight, would he lie about his identity?

Nine months ago they’d met at the hospital’s annual charity ball, a masquerade. She’d been Isabelle the Harem Flower. All six of the women from general surgery were decked out to the nines in belly-dancing outfits—Janie’s idea since she’d been taking lessons to revive her marriage.

He’d worn the costume of a Persian prince to the charity ball, a flowing, colorful robe. His midnight eyes called her from across the room. He’d walked straight to her without noticing any of the women who gaped at him. They’d discussed health care, of all things, which still needed improvement in his home country, Jamala, he’d told her in the most charming accent. His intelligence had seduced her as much as his rich voice and the way his dark gaze drank her in.