The Sheik's Son

Katharine was particularly fond of elm trees. The willow tree branches dipped low, almost to the ground, and she stepped inside one. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were shaking. She closed her eyes and remembered his goatee as his mouth touched hers. She remembered his hands on her, inside of her, and taking her that night after the party.

The air was cold, and her breath foamed out as she exhaled. The willow tree branches encircled her and protected her as she sighed. She must let it go. She must forget him. This can only drive me mad, she told herself for the thousandth time.

She touched the diamonds at her throat and tried to calm herself. Silly, she said to herself. She breathed out and turned to go back to the party.

But then, her quick intake of breath and the pounding of her heart inside her chest happened instantaneously. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

"You aren't real," she breathed out in disbelief, her breath foaming in the cold air.

"Oh, I'm real enough," he mocked her.

His clothes were European as she had seen in the ballroom and his hair was pulled back without a wig. But his golden body belied the fact that he was not European and never would be. He would never fit in and would never want to. He had come here for one reason.

"I don't understand. How are you here?" Katharine asked him, as her fantasy and nightmare collided together. She pressed a hand to her exposed chest as her heart raced.

"The horse, your Arabian, was my Arabian. I bred and sold him to your father," Mohammed explained.

"Did you know when you sold it to him that it was for me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. His dark eyes met her blue ones.

Mohammed watched her intake of breath, which caused her breasts to swell over her neckline.

He had watched her that night, not able to take his eyes from her. He had many dealings with Europeans because of the Arabian horses he bred. The horses were renowned for their beautiful bone structure and stamina, but he had never accompanied the horses once they were sold. He had always dealt with the foreigners, accepted their money and had his men transport the horses. This time was different, however. This time everything was different.

Her father had written to Mohammed, inquiring upon the price of an Arabian stallion. Edward wrote in detail about his spirited daughter, explaining that the horse must be the same, intelligent and spirited. Mohammed had accompanied the horse to England to bring back what was his by Arab law.

He had watched her stand near the English dandies at the ball and smile into their faces. He had watched a young blonde dandy rest his hand on Katharine's waist and clenched his own fist in anger. She had used her body well to trap men into wanting what they couldn't have. Poor Majeed had found out the hard way. His own brother was enchanted by the little falcon! Majeed should have known better.

And now, after coming across the sea, he was here to claim her again. There would be no negotiations and no bargains; she would be his.

Unaware of his thoughts, Katharine shook her head, confused. Her diamond earrings glistened in the dark.

"Why are you here?"

Mohammed stepped toward her.

"You know exactly why I'm here. I'm here to take back what's mine," he told her.

He closed the small gap between them and jerked her into his arms.

"No," was all she managed to say before his mouth took hers. He was clean-shaven and well-groomed, which only made him more dangerous. She knew what was underneath the fancy clothes.