28
“That’s what you call a cabin?” Irene asked when the house finally came into view at the end of a long, winding, terribly overgrown path. “Um, that’s not a cabin. That’s a mansion. Holy smokes.”
“Well, I am a billionaire king, you know,” said the Sheikh, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped towards the large hardwood door and began looking around outside it. “Now where did I hide that damned key?”
Irene laughed. “So we just walked for three days, almost got eaten by a bear, and now that we’re finally here, we can’t get in? Can’t we just break one of the windows? Isn’t there a back door?”
The Sheikh turned to her with a frown. “This place was designed to be rather hard to break into.” He rubbed his neck again. “Perhaps I should have considered that before . . . ah, here we go! Thank Allah for small mercies!”
He pulled away a thick green creeper from the base of the wood post to the left of the front door, digging into the soil with his strong fingers. Grimacing, he pulled out a steel lockbox from under the earth, smiling as held up the dirt-covered object like it was buried treasure.
The lockbox had a combination dial on it, and the Sheikh stared at the dial and then looked up at Irene. “Now if only I could remember the damned combination,” he said, his green eyes wide like a child’s.
Irene wasn’t sure whether to faint or take off one of her shoes and hurl it at his oafish smile. But as she considered those options, she saw the grin break full on his face.
“I had you,” he said through that grin as she clenched her teeth and shook her head.
“I was about to throw my son at your head,” she growled. “Don’t mess with a woman who’s been three days without a shower when she’s so close to a real bathroom.”
The Sheikh lost the grin and took on that innocent, oopsy-daisy expression again. “Shower? Real bathroom? My dear, this is a rustic log cabin, not the Four Seasons. We bathe in the rain, and we do our business in the woods.”
But he wasn’t getting her this time. “This place is big enough to have an indoor pool and two tennis courts,” she said smugly. “I’ll concede that you have some mountain man skills, but you ain’t building your secret hideaway without a Jacuzzi and a five-speed massaging shower. For crying out loud, I see two satellite dishes on top of . . . what is that, the third floor in your rustic log cabin?”
“Second mezzanine. And I will have you know, I need two satellite dishes because of the curvature of the Earth this far north.”
“Oh, boo hoo. The Earth is too curvy for you to get your Middle-Eastern TV shows! Oh, the hardship!” Irene raised a hand to her forehead and pretended to stagger, but she underestimated how worn out she was after the stress of the past few days, and she really did stagger.
The Sheikh dropped the lockbox and ran to her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close along with Sage. She gasped as she held on to him, her head spinning when she realized how demanding the last few days had been.
“It is you who are too curvy,” he whispered with a grin as he held her tight until he was sure she could stand. Then he picked up the lockbox and quickly turned the dial three times and popped the lid. Inside was a single key in a shining gold keyring. He pulled it out with a flourish, going down on one knee and looking up at her. “Will you take this keyring and be my mountain-woman forever?”
She flashed an exhausted but genuine smile at him. “You never stop, do you? It’s all fun and games. It’s all a joke.”
“On the contrary, I am not known for joking. You seem to bring it out in me,” he said, standing up and walking past her to unlock the door. He pushed it open and peered inside, taking a breath and exhaling quickly. “A bit musty, but it will air out. There is a bathroom right past the foyer. Watch out for frogs. They tend to come through the pipes and take up residence in there.”
Irene brushed past the Sheikh, only now letting that gesture of him down on one knee get to her. Her heart pounded as she headed for the bathroom, stopping outside the door and then turning back to him. Sage was asleep in her arms, and she watched as the Sheikh, without being asked, came close and took the child carefully from her.
“Thank you,” she said, her heart still pounding. It had been three days since he’d come back into her life, and already the idea of marrying him seemed . . .
No! Stop with the lunacy! So you bore his child. And you made love to him again—and again—the past two days. But these are unusual circumstances. People do desperate things in extreme situations. Don’t lose your center, your balance, your focus.
But what is your center, she asked herself as she checked for frogs and then turned on the faucet and let the water run. It was thick and brown at first, but soon it turned clear with the purified spring water that the Sheikh had explained was run through all the pipes in this royal Arabian version of a Canadian log cabin.
Sage is your center. Your child is your center, she told herself as she looked at her face, into her own eyes after what seemed like forever. She was startled by what she saw: Instead of a tired, traumatized face, weather-worn and sunburned, she saw herself looking healthy and vibrant, her skin smooth and well-oiled, no sunburn but just a radiant glow. What the hell?
Then she realized that she felt the way she looked: healthy, alive, complete. What was different? What had changed? What was in her life that wasn’t there before?
Him.
The Sheikh.
The father of her son.
Now the tears came again, and for the first time she allowed herself to admit that she wanted him in her life. Perhaps she wanted him in her life three years ago, but she pushed him away when she sensed the conflict in his eyes that night—the conflict which she now understood was because of what Dan had asked of him. Or perhaps it had simply felt wrong at the time, like she’d be betraying her duties as a wife.
“But you’re not a wife,” she whispered. “And you weren’t a wife when you first slept with him. You were a widow. You are a widow. You’ve been a widow all this time. Hasn’t it been long enough? Haven’t you done your penance? Paid for whatever you think you need to pay for? Isn’t it time to—”
“Irene?” came his voice from the other side of the door.
“I’m OK,” she said hurriedly, hoping to God he hadn’t heard her talking to herself.
“Yes, but I am not OK,” he said hesitantly.
Irene cocked her head at herself in the mirror, then quickly turned and opened the door. Now what, came the thought as panic started to rise in her. But she just laughed when she saw the Sheikh holding Sage away from his body, her son all smiles, the Sheikh's shirt showing a distinct wet patch that most certainly wasn't sweat.
“He’s just marking his territory,” she said, laughing as she took the boy from Bilaal and brought him into the bathroom with her.
Then as she closed the door, she caught a glimpse of the Sheikh looking right at her, himself all smiles just like Sage when the little scamp had marked his territory. Bilaal had the strangest look in his eye, something between melancholy and mischief. And the last thing she saw before the door closed was his thick, dark red lips curling into a smile—a smile of what seemed like triumph, an almost-cocky satisfaction.
It was only a few minutes later, when she undressed and groaned at how stiff her thighs, butt, and body were—not all of it from the walking—did she understand that look on the Sheikh’s face. It was the look of a king who’s just claimed a new land, a new empire, a new territory.
A new family.
Oh God, she thought as a shiver ran down her naked back. I am his territory, and he’s marked me, hasn’t he. Outside and inside.
Yes, outside, she thought as she ruffled their son’s matted hair.
And inside, she wondered as she touched the round of her belly and thought back to how many times he’d come inside her over the past two days, deep and hard, emptying his seed again and again into her womb.
Again and again.