Free The Sheikh's Secret Son by Kasey Michaels Page B

invited you to the ranch? Why? Where was I when this was happening?”
    â€œHe invited me because I expressed an interest in locating some more diverse stock for my stables and he believes I could satisfy my wishes at the Double Crown. As for the where of it? You were sitting across from us at the table, Eden, very much in shock and lost inside your own thoughts, I amafraid. Which, again, is why I cannot allow you to drive yourself to the ranch. Now, Eden, perhaps you will be so gracious as to invite me into your house while you pack your suitcases?”
    â€œI—I can’t…that is, the place is a mess. I mean, the housekeeper is…she’s having minor surgery this week, and I’ve been working such long hours over the oil and gas deal. The house is a shambles. A shambles, really. I couldn’t invite you in.”
    â€œEden,” Ben said firmly, “I am beginning to believe you are trying to get rid of me. I thought we had gotten beyond our misunderstandings of the past. Can you really not forgive me? Can you refuse my offer of friendship, even if I have rashly frightened you with my hopes for something deeper than friendship?”
    Eden looked to the open door, to the driver patiently standing outside, pretending not to listen to their conversation. “I must be losing my mind,” she said, dropping her head into her hands, admitting defeat. “Give me ten minutes, Ben, to pick up the worst of it, and then you can come in, all right?”
    He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss in her palm. “Thank you, Eden,” he said simply. She quickly exited the limousine, fearful that she would throw herself into his arms, beg for his comfort.
    His understanding. His forgiveness.
    His love?
    Her hands trembling, Eden searched in her handbag for her keys, then wasted precious moments trying to fit the key in the dead bolt.
    Once inside, she flattened herself against the closed door, took several deep breaths, then began her race through the house, picking up Lego construction toys and pictures and a purple stuffed dinosaur.
    She removed a dozen Disney videos from the open cabinet in the family room and stuffed them beneath one of the couches.
    A drawing of she and Sawyer holding Easter baskets was slammed inside the refrigerator, along with a list of telephone numbers for backup baby-sitters and Sawyer’s play school schedule for April and May.
    It was all she could do, besides quickly closing all the drapes at the back of the house to hide the existence of the jungle gym and Sawyer’s small tri-cycle that sat beside the bright green covered sand-box in the shape of a turtle.
    She made one last sweep through the downstairs of the two-story Colonial, then skidded to a halt in the flagstone foyer once more, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the hall table.
    She looked like a wild woman, her eyes wide, her cheeks pale as a white cotton sheet, her hair all buttumbling free of the French twist after her run-in with the sofa skirt.
    She nearly jumped out of her shoes when the doorbell rang and she could see Ben standing on the front porch, the outline of his body visible through the narrow window at the side of the front door.
    Taking yet another deep breath—she felt as if she’d just run a record marathon—she threw open the door and plastered a smile on her face. “Thanks for indulging me, Ben. Come on in. You can wait for me in the living room. Can I get you something to drink?”
    She winced inwardly at her last statement, knowing she’d gone too far. Because she had already been planning to go to her mother’s on Friday evening, the refrigerator was nearly empty. The only thing she could offer him besides ice water was a juice drink in a paper carton with the picture of a cartoon character on it.
    â€œI would not wish to inconvenience you further,” Ben said, walking into the living room, looking toward the formal