Sheikh Without a Heart

by Sandra Marton

  Could that be disorienting? Could it explain …

  No. There’d been no plane, no soaring through the sky that first time the Sheikh had kissed her.

  Nothing but the man himself. The taste of him. The feel of him. The heat and hardness of his body.

  It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t into what Suki called “hooking up.”

  It drove Suki crazy

  “My sister, the saint,” she’d sneered when Rachel had caught her drinking Southern Comfort after she knew she was pregnant. “Such a good girl. Always flosses. Always eats her veggies. Never gets laid.”

  Rachel had snatched the bottle from Suki’s hand and dumped the whiskey into the sink.

  “A little screwing would make you more human,” Suki had yelled after her.

  No, Rachel had thought, it wouldn’t. It would just mark her as her mother’s daughter.

  Sex had been her mother’s addiction. Her sister’s.

  Not hers.

  Sex was a trap. It robbed you of common sense, and for what? A few minutes of pleasure, or so she’d heard women say. She had no idea if that was true or not. She’d tried being with a man once or twice and all she’d ended up feeling was even more alone.

  She didn’t need men, didn’t need sex, didn’t need anything or anyone. Well, except for Ethan. Other than the baby, she was content to be alone.

  She was a cool-headed woman who thought things through. A pragmatist. A survivor.

  And that was why she’d defeat the Sheikh at this game.

  She was not handing control of her life to him.

  She was not giving up her baby.

  Rachel rose to her feet.

  Half a dozen steps took her to the alcove where Ethan slept in his carrier. The flight attendant was sleeping, too; she sensed Rachel’s presence and jerked awake.

  “What can I get you, miss?” she said quickly. “Something to eat, perhaps? There are sandwiches, fruit, coffee—”

  “Nothing, thank you. I just wanted to see how my baby’s doing.”

  “Oh. He’s fine. I changed him a while ago, fed him—”

  “Yes. That’s great. I’m just going to take him back to my seat with me.”

  Rachel picked up the carrier, took it down the aisle. It was impossible not to see Karim but her gaze swept over him without their eyes making contact.

  He didn’t even know she was there.

  He was talking on his cell phone. She heard a couple of words. “Suite.” “Accommodations for an infant.” Nothing more than that.

  She sat down, put Ethan’s carrier on the seat next to hers, took a soft throw blanket from another seat and draped it over her lap.

  She was cold. And, yes, she was hungry. But she didn’t want the Sheikh’s food.

  What she wanted was to know his next move.

  A stop at a law office or a laboratory, at this hour of the night?

  She didn’t think so.

  She thought about what she’d heard him say. “Suite.” “Accommodations for an infant.”

  He was making hotel arrangements.

  A suite for Ethan and her. A gilded cage where he could keep them prisoner while he arranged for that damned DNA test.

  Until this minute she hadn’t had time to think about the test. Or tests. What would testing involve?

  Some of Rami’s DNA, obviously. Easy enough to come by a strand of hair, she supposed, for a brother.

  What if he wanted a DNA sample from her? She couldn’t imagine why he would. He’d never questioned whether or not she was Ethan’s mother, but what if he did? She knew little about DNA tests, only what she’d picked up from television and movies. Was her DNA the same as Suki’s? Was it at least similar enough to establish the baby as hers?

  What if it wasn’t?

  Bad enough that the test would confirm Rami as his father, but if it didn’t confirm her as his mother—

  She couldn’t wait to find out.

  She had to run. She’d failed the first time. But she wouldn’t fail again.

  She’d be as devious as her enemy.

  He was putting her in a hotel. He wouldn’t leave her on her own; he’d leave her with watchers. Flunkies to make sure she stayed put like an obedient dog.

  Oh, she could read him like a book. But she had the one thing he didn’t.

  Street-smarts.

  If he left a guy in her suite, she’d put on an act of desperation.

  I need diapers right away, she’d say. The baby’s made an awful mess!

  That would get her watcher out the door.

  And she’d take Ethan and run. Not to the lobby, because the Sheikh might have somebody there, too.

  No problem. She’d worked in enough hotels to know there were other ways out. Fire exits. Delivery entrances. Basements.

  When the Sheikh came for Ethan and her in the morning, all he’d find was an empty suite. And a note.

  For the first time in hours Rachel almost smiled.

  Goodbye notes were a Donnelly family tradition.

  Several rows back, Karim watched Rachel through narrowed eyes.

  He was good at reading body language. Years in the stuffy formality of the palace, followed by years of negotiating multi-million-dollar deals with some of the world’s toughest opponents, had given him that ability.

  For the past hour he’d been reading hers.

  For a long time she’d sat stiffly in her seat, her body almost quivering with anger.

  She hated him for that kiss.

  At first he’d been a heartbeat away from marching up the aisle, hauling her into his arms and carrying her to the small private bedroom in the rear of the cabin.

  Two minutes alone and he’d damned well show her that he had not forced that kiss on her, that whatever dark and dangerous thing was happening between them involved her as much as him.

  Thank God, sanity had prevailed.

  He’d calmed down. So had she. Her shoulders had relaxed, if only a little, and then she’d gone to collect the child.

  He’d watched her come down the aisle again, head up, eyes cold as they raked over his face.

  Do not even think of touching me, that look had said, but he wouldn’t have anyway.

  The sight of the baby had reminded him of what this was about—that taking her to New York had nothing to do with her or him; it had to do with Rami.

  If the child was his brother’s, then it was also his.

  He owed it to the boy.

  Maybe he owed it to Rami, too.

  What he’d thought about earlier, that maybe, just maybe, he’d missed the opportunity to help his brother turn his life around, had set him thinking.

  Doing right by Rami’s son would go a long way toward doing right by Rami. It would leave a far better legacy than all those bills and chits.

  That it would also strip the Donnelly woman of her son was secondary. The boy would obviously be better off in a new life. He could explain that to her.

  If she truly loved the child …

  He was a second away from heading up the aisle to try and explain that to her when he noticed that she no longer looked tense.

  That was when he knew she was planning something.

  So much for explaining anything.

  He’d kept her from making a break for freedom. And she was going to try again. Not that her trying to get away made any more sense now than before.

  What did she have to gain by running?

  And yet, had he not been waiting outside that miserable building in which she lived, she’d have disappeared by now.

  Did she figure she could get more money out of him if he had to waste time searching for her?

  The truth was, he didn’t give a damn what it would cost to gain custody of the boy. He’d threatened her with legal proceedings but going to court would be a last resort. Most of his clients abhorred publicity.

  As for the effect back home …

  The eyes of the world would fix on the scandal. His father
would be devastated.

  Karim shut his eyes.

  He didn’t want to think about it. Not yet. Not until he absolutely had the test results in hand.

  Which he would, tomorrow.

  He’d made the necessary calls. First he’d phoned the Vegas hotels where Rami had owed money and arranged for payment to them all. With that out of the way, he’d contacted his attorney. His physician. His chief of staff. They were the only people he could trust right now. He’d given instructions to each of them and now all he had to do was make sure the woman didn’t slip away with the child.

  He still couldn’t imagine why she would want to. That was a puzzle, but then, so was she.

  She seemed to really care about the boy. That, alone, was hard to comprehend. She was clearly broke, and having a baby to worry about surely only made her financial situation more difficult.

  And then there were her other traits.

  She was stubborn. Defiant. Outspoken. The worst qualities of modern women, all in one package.

  Women, modern or not, should not be like that.

  Women were supposed to be … perhaps compliant was too strong a word.

  He had never dealt with a woman like this before.

  “Of course you’re right, sir,” they’d say in business, because he was, after all, not only a sheikh but head of a multibillion-dollar investment fund.

  If the relationship was intimate, a woman would leave off the “sir”, but both he and she knew who was in charge.

  His last mistress had been spectacularly beautiful and, supposedly, incredibly intelligent—but she’d never argued with him over anything.

  He liked it that way …

  Then how come, after a while, he’d had the grim feeling that if he’d said something like, Alanna, how about walking on coals to amuse me? she’d have smiled prettily and said, Just let me get a match.

  He scowled, pushed aside the papers he’d been pretending to read, and folded his arms.

  He knew how Rachel would react if he said something like that to her.

  Angry as he was—at his brother, at her, at the situation the two of them had left for him to deal with—he wanted to laugh.

  She’d begin with You can go to hell and work up exponentially from there.

  He knew, too, what his response would be.

  He’d pull her into his arms, whisper what she could do to please him, and that look of indignation would be replaced by one of hot desire.

  She’d rise on her toes and bring her mouth to his and he would ease her down on his bed, undress her, bare her to his mouth, his hands …

  Dammit!

  He was hard as a rock.

  An intelligent man didn’t mix business with pleasure, and this was strictly business.

  Yes, she was attractive.

  All right.

  She was beautiful.

  And she surely would know how to pleasure a man.

  That was a given.

  For one thing, Rami had never been interested in innocence. And then a man had only to see her in that costume to know that, whatever her work might be, she was a sexual sophisticate.

  Still, when you came down to it, she was just a woman. Not that he held women in low esteem or anything, but she wasn’t special—not to a man who’d always had his pick of them.

  His mother’s genes, his father’s royal lineage, his own success … Add all that together and he’d always had his share of desirable lovers.

  More than his share, to be brutally honest.

  Then why all this schoolboy nonsense?

  Karim frowned.

  Because he’d been living like a monk, that was why. He’d been so busy cleaning up after Rami instead of living his own life that he had not been with a woman in weeks.

  Well, he’d remedy that soon enough.

  Karim glanced at his watch.

  They’d be in New York in a couple of hours. His driver would meet them at the airport. It would be early evening by the time they reached his penthouse; he’d given orders to ready one of the guest suites for the woman and the child.

  A hot shower. A night’s sleep. Then, in the morning, a meeting with his attorney, a stop at the lab his doctor had recommended, a bit of serious negotiating with the woman, and custody would be his.

  With any luck at all, this would be settled in a couple of days, after which he’d take out his BlackBerry, choose a name and number, and put an end to these weeks of celibacy.

  Talk about tying up loose ends, Karim thought with a tight smile.

  That would surely do it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “MISS?”

  Rachel’s eyes flew open. The flight attendant smiled at her.

  “We’ll be landing within the hour. I thought you might have changed your mind about eating something, or that you’d like some coffee or juice while we still have time.”

  “Coffee would be—” Rachel cleared her throat. “Coffee would be fine, thank you.”

  “I’ll bring it right away.”

  Rachel nodded. Her throat wasn’t the only thing needed clearing. Her brain did, too. She was groggier than before she’d fallen asleep …

  Where was Ethan?

  Her heart thudded.

  He’d been in his carrier, right next to her.

  “Moira?”

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Where’s my baby?”

  “Oh, I brought him up front with me. He woke up and he seemed hungry—”

  Rachel sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, miss. He’s a very sweet little boy.”

  Rachel smiled. “He’s teething, you know, and—”

  “I figured as much. I remember my own children at that age. I chilled one of the teething rings you had in the diaper bag and gave it to him. It seemed to make him happy. He’s sound asleep now, though. Why don’t I keep him with me? That way, we won’t risk waking him and he might sleep through the landing. Descents, the change in pressure, can make some babies uncomfortable.”

  “Yes. That’s fine. Thanks again.”

  “My pleasure, miss. I’ll get that coffee now.”

  “Black, please.”

  “Black it is.”

  Rachel brought her seat upright and looked out the window. Were they as high over the earth as they’d been before? It was hard to tell. The long flight, the change in time zones … all of it was disorienting—though not as disorienting as being plucked out of your own life at the command of a prince.

  Was he still seated in the middle of the plane? She wanted to turn around and look but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  What was he doing? Was he asleep? Was he working on those papers he’d taken from his attaché case? Was he staring out the window the way she was while he planned his next move?

  She could find out.

  She didn’t have to make a point of looking at him. All she had to do was rise from her seat and walk to the lavatory in the rear of the plane.

  She needed to do that, anyway, sheikh or no sheikh.

  Quickly, before she could change her mind, Rachel rose to her feet.

  He was still seated where he’d been all along. His seat was halfway reclined; he looked completely relaxed, long legs stretched out, big shoulders pressed against the leather seat-back, hands folded loosely in his lap.

  And his face …

  Her breath caught.

  It was an incredible face.

  His eyes were shut; his lashes, so thick and dark a woman would kill for them, lay arced against his chiseled cheekbones. Stubble smudged his jaw.

  He was—there was no other word for it—beautiful.

  Dark. Sleek. A magnificent predatory animal.

  A panther.

  His eyes flew open and met hers. His pupils contracted; she saw his mouth thin.

  Heat flared in her belly.

  She stared at his mouth, remembered the silken feel of it against hers …

  Stop it!

  She wa
nted to run, but you didn’t try to escape from a panther. You stood your ground.

  Head up, eyes straight ahead, she walked briskly past him to the lavatory, shut the door—

  And fell back against it, heart at full gallop.

  This had to stop.

  He was the enemy. He was a very dangerous enemy. There was no reason for her to be attracted to him. She’d never been drawn to bad boys at the age some girls were, and she’d certainly never been drawn to the grown-up version.

  Bad boys were Suki territory, not hers.

  Okay. A couple of deep breaths. A couple of slow exhalations. Then she stepped away from the door.

  The bathroom held a marble sink and vanity, a glass-enclosed shower, a toilet and glass-fronted cabinets neatly stocked with folded towels, packaged soaps, toothbrushes and pretty much everything anyone could want.

  Rachel gave the shower a look of longing but, no, she wasn’t going to use it. The thought of stripping naked with only the door between the Sheikh and her brought back the memory of what had happened this morning. Or yesterday morning. Or, dammit, whatever day this was and that had been …

  What did the day matter?

  It was what had happened that counted.

  Karim, his eyes going dark as he looked at her naked body. His hands cupping her breasts, his fingers feathering over her suddenly erect nipples, the liquid heat gathering low in her belly …

  A moan rose in her throat.

  She bit it back and stared at herself in the mirror.

  “He caught you by surprise,” she said.

  Her reflection returned the stare. Really? it said in a sly voice. So what are you saying, hmm? That you’ve never been caught by surprise before?

  Rachel blinked.

  Why was she wasting time and energy over this? What happened next was all that mattered. She had to be prepared to deal with it.

  But not looking like this.

  Looks were important. Another Mama-ism, like the one about first impressions and, again, true enough. Look weak, people saw you as weak. Look tough, they figured that you were.

  Right now, she looked pitiful.

  Red-rimmed eyes. The pallor that came of exhaustion. Hair that was half in, half out of a ponytail.