Free The Black Sheep Sheik by Dana Marton Page A

the shoot-out at the cabin the day before, he had remained stoic, but now she could see fear flash across his face.
    “No.” She wanted to reassure him.
    Then again, she also owed him the truth. “Okay, maybe.”
    His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”
    “Let’s get rid of our company first,” she said as the black van reappeared in the rearview mirror once again. They had incredibly sucky timing. This was so not how she had pictured embarking on the great adventure of the miracle of childbirth. If that was what was happening.
    Amir took a sharp right.
    She had the door handle in a death grip. “How did they find us?”
    “They either followed one of us or left a man to watch your car. They could have expected us to return for it. They saw it being towed.” He shook his head. “I checked before I snuck in. Nobody was around then.”
    “They must have gotten here after you already made it in.” Just in time for her. Peachy. “Does this happen to you a lot? This is very stressful. How do you live like this?”
    “Assassination attempts? Hardly ever.”
    Once was too many for her. “How many times so far?”
    “Twice,” he said without the least emotion on his face. “And the second one might have been just a misunderstanding.”
    “How can an assassination attempt be a misunderstanding?”
    “Long story. There are plenty of misunderstandings in politics. Along with misinformation that’s spread maliciously. People have agendas. They spread lies. Others are looking for a cause to take those lies up as banners, whether or not they understand what’s going on. I was shot at once when I took the throne, based on the rumor that I would raise taxes. I had no intention of doing that. Still don’t.”
    “How can you take this so stoically?”
    He executed another hair-raising turn, then looked at her. “I’m the sheik. Not every decision I make for my country will be popular. When you rule, you must sometimes decide between a course of action that will make you popular and a course of action that will be best for your people in the long term, even if in the short term they won’t like you for it.”
    Another small glimpse into his life, she thought. So yes, he was overbearing and bossy beyond belief, but there were also things that she admired about him. He did have strength of character, and honor. And courage.
    Snap out of it.
    “I hate politics.” She forced herself to look at the road ahead instead of at him. She was so not falling under the spell of the dashing sheik of Jamala. Absolutely not.
    He whipped her car into a gap between two buildings, jumped out and pushed one of those big community trash containers in front to block the sight of them from the busy street.
    A shed blocked the other end of the alley. If they were found, the car would be trapped here. They would have to escape on foot, and she wouldn’t make it far that way. She got out, wanting to at least give herself a running advantage.
    He came around to her side. “How do you feel?”
    “Fine.” The cramps had gone away, almost as if her body had been scared straight by the chase.
    She watched through the gap between the container and the wall, holding her breath, as the black van sped by. When she did breathe, the stench of rotten food threatened to turn her stomach inside out. She backed away.
    “You would like Jamala,” Amir said out of the blue. “It’s all clear skies and endless sea. We were always at the crossroads of history. We have Egyptian ruins and remains of Roman forts. Turkish invasion left its mark, too. We belonged to the Ottoman Empire during Suleiman the Great. We have olive groves on the west side of the island and orange groves on the east.” His tone was wistful.
    Standing in the dank alley with the stench of garbage all around, she could see why. An orange grove on some jewel of a Mediterranean island sounded pretty good at the moment, even she had to admit.