“And this is little Ethan. Oh, His Highness was right! He’s a beautiful child.”
Rachel was surprised.
“Is that what he said?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. He told us the baby was—”
“Us?”
“Ah.” Mrs. Jensen wiped her hands on her apron and pressed a button on the wall phone. “Sorry, ma’am. Prince Karim asked me to be sure and introduce you to the others.”
“What others?”
“Why, the rest of the household staff. There’s me. And the housekeeper, Mrs. Lopez. The prince’s driver—well, you met him at the airport last night. And we’ve an addition. My granddaughter Roberta. She’ll be here within the hour. To help with the baby,” the cook added, when she saw the puzzled look on Rachel’s face.
“I don’t need any help with my baby,” Rachel said quickly, drawing Ethan closer.
“You’ll like Roberta, ma’am. She’s a professional nanny and she adores babies.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of Ethan myself.”
“Of course you are, Ms. Donnelly. But His Highness asked if my Roberta was available—just, you know, just to help you.”
“To keep an eye on me, you mean,” Rachel said coldly.
“No, ma’am. Certainly not. To help you, is all.” The cook’s tone was indignant. “He knows my Roberta’s an excellent nanny.”
Rachel’s voice turned frigid. “Oh, yes,” she said, the words heavy with sarcasm. “He’d surely know that.”
Mrs. Jensen eyed her with distaste.
“His Highness put Roberta through school, Ms. Donnelly. She’d floundered a bit and he paid for her to have a tutor, and then for her college tuition, until she decided she wanted to work with little ones, so he sent her to a school for nannies.”
“Because?”
“I don’t understand your question, ma’am.”
“Why would he do all that?”
“Because that’s how he is,” the cook said, her voice almost as chilly as Rachel’s. “He honors what he sees as his responsibilities.”
“He meddles in people’s lives, you mean.”
The cook’s expression hardened.
“You won’t find anyone here who would agree with that, ma’am,” she said stiffly.
Fortunately for both Rachel and the cook, the others had chosen that moment to enter the kitchen.
Rachel had been prepared to dislike the entire staff.
She couldn’t. How could she dislike people who adored Ethan?
After a couple of days Ethan, the sweet little traitor, adored them right back.
Roberta, in particular.
It was hard to resent her. She didn’t interfere at all, and simply gave Rachel a hand when permitted. Finally, Rachel decided it was foolish to take her anger out on a girl only a few years her junior who was a wonder with babies.
Her relationship with the others remained cool.
Surely it was because of whatever Karim had told them about her …
But it wasn’t.
One morning, coming down the stairs, she heard Mrs. Lopez and Mrs. Jensen talking in low voices.
“The Prince said she was a nice young woman,” Mrs. Jensen was saying, “and that she’s had some difficulty lately, but honestly, Miriam, I hate to say it, but I don’t think she’s nice at all.”
“Well,” Mrs. Lopez said, “she’s wonderful with her baby—anyone can see that. But it’s impossible to get a smile from her, isn’t it? If I didn’t know better, Amelia, I’d think she dislikes us—but why would she, when she hardly know us?”
Damn! Damn! Double damn!
Rachel eased back up the stairs.
Was it possible she’d been wrong about Karim’s staff?
Little by little, her dealings with them changed. She smiled; so did they. She said nice things; so did they. She had to admit it made life more pleasant.
As for Karim … She never saw him. What had happened to the meetings with his lawyers? Lab tests?
Rachel didn’t ask. Why rush the things she dreaded? Apparently His Sheikhiness was too busy with work to deal with anything else.
She wasn’t really surprised. Ethan’s welfare would always take second place.
Karim left for his office early in the morning. Not by car. When she asked the reason, strictly as a matter of curiosity—because why would a prince with a Mercedes and a man to drive it leave both behind—John, his driver, said that His Highness generally took the subway.
“Or he walks,” he added, and Rachel could almost hear the tsk-tsk in the words. “His Highness says it’s the best way to beat the traffic.”
Big deal, she thought. The mighty Sheikh joins the commoners.
He could travel by broomstick, for all she cared.
And he didn’t return until late at night. Very late, never in time for dinner. Their paths never crossed. Fine with her. Excellent, in fact …
And then, one morning, after another night spent walking the floor with Ethan, Rachel finally put him down for a nap. She was too tired to sleep, so went quietly downstairs for coffee.
It was very early. No one would be up and about yet. It meant, she thought, yawning as she stepped into the silent kitchen, that she could show up just as she was, in a long flannel nightgown, her hair loose and her feet bare, put up a pot of coffee and—
The kitchen lights came on.
Rachel gasped, whirled toward the door—
And saw Karim.
He was wearing gray sweatpants, a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and sneakers that had clearly seen better days. His face and muscled arms glistened with sweat; his hair was in his eyes; his jaw was dark with early-morning stubble …
He was absolutely beautiful.
“I’m sorry—”
“I’m sorry—”
They spoke at the same time. Flustered, Rachel started again.
“I didn’t think—”
“I had no idea—”
Their words collided.
Karim grinned, took the towel looped around his neck and dried his face and arms.
Rachel bit her lip, then offered a hesitant smile.
“You first,” he said.
She swallowed hard.
“I was going to say that I didn’t think I’d be disturbing anyone if—”
“You’re not. Disturbing anyone. Disturbing me, I mean,” he said. “I just finished working out and I thought—”
“Working out?” she repeated foolishly, because she couldn’t seem to think straight. Well, who would? She hadn’t expected to see him …
To see him looking so male, so gorgeous, in such a non-princely outfit.
The thought made her laugh. She tried to swallow the laugh, but she wasn’t quick enough.
“What?” he said, with a little smile.
“Nothing. It’s just—I don’t know. I never imagined …”
“What?” he said again, his smile broadening as he looked at her. God, she was easy on the eyes. No make-up. Her hair a golden cloud. Her body hidden beneath the old-fashioned nightgown, just the sweet hint of breasts and hips …
“I, uh, I never thought of you working out.”
He grinned. Slapped his incredibly flat belly.
“Have to. Otherwise I’d weigh five hundred pounds.”
Rachel laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
He moved past her, opened the fridge, took out a container of orange juice.
“Yeah. Well, the truth is, I spend a lot of time behind a desk lately. Not much chance to play sports. And I always did, you know? I still run a little, but when I was in college I played football—”
“Football? Or soccer?”
He looked at her.
“Football. American-style.” He smiled. “So, you know they call soccer football everywhere but here in the States, huh?”
She nodded. “When Ethan had colic I used to take him for long drives to soothe him. He loved the motion of the car. Then I’d head home, but
I learned, fast that he might wake up if I put him straight into his crib so I’d plop down on the sofa, turn on the TV, and if it was the middle of the night—” she smiled “—which, of course, it almost always was—well, at two and three in the morning there’s nothing much on except soccer re-runs—”
“Goooal!” Karim said solemnly.
Rachel laughed. “Right. Oh, and infomercials.”
“Infomercials?”
“Yes. You know—men shouting as they try to sell you things you never heard of and never dreamed you needed.”
Karim took two glasses from a cabinet, filled them with juice and handed one to Rachel.
“Oh,” she said quickly, “no. No, thanks. I, ah, I should get out of your way—”
“You’re not in my way. Besides,” he said, his expression dead-pan, “if you order this glass of OJ right now, we’ll include a cup of coffee at no extra charge. You’ll just pay separate shipping and handling.”
She burst out laughing. It was as perfect an infomercial as any she’d ever seen.
Karim smiled. “Seriously, I make one heck of a cup of coffee. No shipping or handling charge at all. Okay?”
Not okay, her head told her …
“Okay,” she said, because, after all, what harm could there be in something so simple?
He made coffee.
She made toast.
He took his with strawberry jam. She took hers with cream cheese.
“Jam’s better,” he said.
She shook her head. “Too sweet first thing in the morning.”
“I like sweet tastes first thing in the morning,” he said, and though he hadn’t meant it as a double entendre she flushed, and he thought, just for a second, about leaning across the counter and kissing her …
But he didn’t.
Somehow this moment, this brief détente, was important.
So he cleared his throat, said the weather was unseasonably cool, and then they talked about this and that, the traffic, the newest plans for Central Park …
And then they fell silent.
What if he kisses me? Rachel thought.
I want to kiss her, Karim thought.
Her heartbeat quickened. So did his.
Their eyes met.
“Well …” he said.
“Well …” she said.
They got to their feet.
And moved in opposite directions.
“Got to get moving,” he said briskly.
Rachel nodded. “Me, too,” she said, just as briskly.
He told himself he was glad he hadn’t touched her.
She told herself the same thing.
But those easy moments in the quiet early-morning hours were all either of them thought of that entire day.
The early-morning meeting didn’t happen again.
Rachel made sure of that. She didn’t leave her room until she was certain Karim was gone.
Yes, she’d discovered her captor had a human side.
So what?
Days passed, and though he didn’t mention DNA tests or legal appointments eventually he would.
What would she do then?
Clearly she’d been wrong, thinking she’d be able to take Ethan and fade into the crowd.
She decided she had to confront him.
At the end of a long day—Ethan’s first tooth had come in, and he was cutting another—Rachel showered, put on a nightgown, tucked the baby into his crib and settled into the wing chair, pen and notepad in hand.
Time to get organized, she told herself, and began writing.
Contact Legal Aid. Or look up names of attorneys?
Qualifications? General law? Family law?
How to know if a lawyer is a good one?
Would a lawyer work on a payment plan?
Rachel yawned. She was exhausted. A nap. A brief one. And then—and then—
The pad and pen fell to the floor and she dropped into sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
HOURS later, Karim stepped from his private elevator.
The penthouse was silent; lamps glowed discreetly, just enough to chase away the gloom.
Rachel was always in her rooms by now.
And they hadn’t run into each other in the morning again.
They couldn’t; he’d taken to skipping his workouts. He left even earlier than before.
It was safer that way.
Otherwise, he thought grimly as he loosened his tie and went quietly up the stairs, otherwise he’d—
What?
Take Rachel in his arms? No way. That could only lead to disaster. He was going to take custody of the child. The last thing he needed was to sleep with that child’s mother.
Right.
Then, why hadn’t he started the ball rolling? Why had he not yet called his lawyer or the DNA lab?
A better question was, why did he walk quietly down the corridor each night, pause outside Rachel’s always-closed door, feel his pulse quicken as he imagined himself opening that door, going to her, waking her by taking her in his arms …?
Dammit.
He’d been over this ground before. Hadn’t he just thought the same thing again? The complications if he did such a crazy thing? Even the nasty possibility that her responses to him had been deliberate because she figured she could divert him from his plan?
His body tightened.
Or maybe, like him, she needed to get this impossible hunger out of her system.
Maybe this was the night to do it. Maybe—
What was that?
A sound. A whimper.
It was the baby.
Karim hesitated. He thought of the last time he’d heard the child crying, how he’d found him awake and Rachel asleep …
He stepped forward and opened the door.
It was the same. The dark sitting room. The soft light glowing through the partly open door of the nursery. And Rachel, asleep in the big wing chair, her hair loose and shining against the ivory fabric of one of those old-fashioned nightgowns he’d never known any other woman to wear.
His mistresses wore silk. Or lace. Sexy stuff, meant to turn up the heat …
And never getting it half as high as Rachel did in throat-to-toe cotton.
He wanted to kneel beside her, take her in his arms, draw her down to the floor with him. Kiss her, taste her, make her moan with hunger.
The baby. Concentrate on the baby.
Ethan was in the crib, wide awake, kicking those little arms and legs like a marathon runner and smiling from ear to ear.
Karim smiled back.
“Hey, pal,” he whispered.
He moved forward. Stepped on something. A pen and, under it, a notebook. He picked it up, glanced at the page. Rachel had scrawled a “To Do” list. None of his business what it was …
Except he could see it was about keeping Ethan.
He felt a quick tug of guilt. Which was ridiculous.
He had no reason to feel guilty. The baby was a prince’s son. He owed it to his brother’s memory, his king and his people, to see to it he was raised as a prince.
“Gaa gaa?”
Karim put the pad and pen on a table, scooped the baby into his arms and tiptoed from the room.
It was close to dawn when something drew Rachel from sleep.
A noise. A stir of sound somewhere in the vast apartment.
“Mmm,” she murmured, stretching her arms high over her head.
Falling asleep in this big chair had become something of a habit. It was surprisingly comfortable; she awoke feeling rested and—
“Ethan?”
The crib was empty.
Rachel shot to her feet.
Had he awakened and started to cry and she’d slept through it?
She told herself to calm down.
Ethan was fine. He was somewhere in the apartment and he was fine. But when she found the person who’d taken him instead of waking her—
Barefoot, she made her way down the silent corridor, down the
stairs, through the dark rooms …
And ended her search by following the pale flow of light into the big living room, where she found her little boy and her captor.
They were fast asleep.
Rachel’s throat constricted.
The room reflected the life and wealth of its owner. White walls. White furniture highlighted by touches of deepest black. It was a sophisticated setting for a sophisticated man …
A man who lay sprawled on one of the long white sofas, shoes, suit coat and tie tossed aside, with Ethan lying spread-eagled against his chest—Ethan so small and sweet in the powerful arms of the powerful man who, except for that first night, behaved as if he didn’t exist.
The baby sighed into the tiny damp spot his sore gums had left on what was surely a hand-made white shirt.
Karim drew him closer and, in his sleep, stroked a big hand down Ethan’s back.
The baby snuggled in.
Something hot and dangerous flooded Rachel’s heart.
No. No, she was not going to let this scene affect her. She knew better, knew what men were, knew what this man was …
Knew that he could be hard as well as tender, not just when he held a baby but when he held her.
She must have made a sound, perhaps a sigh like the baby’s, because Karim’s dark, thick lashes fluttered, then rose.
His eyes, still blurry with sleep, met hers.
“Ethan was crying.” His voice was late-night hoarse. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want him to wake you.” He paused. Why was she looking at him as if she’d never seen him before? Karim cleared his throat. “So I brought him down here with me.”
He fell silent. His heart was racing.
How could she be so beautiful? Such an insignificant word to describe her but it was the only one he had.
She was beautiful.
Her soft, rosy mouth. Her sleep-tousled hair.
And all the rest.
Her breasts, pressing against the thin cotton of her gown. Her long legs, outlined by the soft fabric.
Only the weight of the child against his chest kept him sane, enabled him to raise his eyes to Rachel’s without embarrassing them both.
“I’ll …” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take him upstairs.”
“Thank you. For taking care of him.”
Karim smiled. “He’s a nice little boy.”
“Yes. Yes, he is.” She swallowed dryly. “I’ll take him up.”
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