Desert Hearts: Sheikh Without a Heart / Heart of the Desert / The Sheikh's Destiny. Carol Marinelli
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stared at him. His face was taut with anger. At Rami, she realized, not at her.
It made her feel guilty about the lies she’d told him, the one enormous lie, and wasn’t that ridiculous?
“Did he walk out? Did he at least tell you he was leaving?”
Rachel shook her head.
“No,” she said softly. That, at least, was true.
There was a silence.
“But he cared for you,” Karim finally said.
Rachel didn’t answer. A couple of seconds went by. Then he cleared his throat.
“I know it won’t change things but you should know that he was not always so—so uncaring. Our childhoods were—difficult. The things we experienced changed him.”
“And they didn’t change you?”
“I am sure they did, but we chose different ways of dealing with those experiences.” A shrug of those wide, masculine shoulders. “Who can explain why one sibling takes one approach to life and the other—”
“No one can explain it,” Rachel heard herself say.
“That’s kind of you, but—”
“It isn’t kind at all. It’s just a fact. I have—I have a sister. And—and I have better memories of her when we were little than I do of the years after.”
Karim nodded. “She is not like you,” he said quietly.
“No. We’ve always been very different.”
“And she would not fight me to keep her child, as you surely will, even though I will raise him as a prince.”
“No,” Rachel said quickly, “I don’t care that he’s a prince. He’s—he’s—”
She clamped her lips together, but it was too late.
Karim’s eyes were dark and unreadable, but there was a harshness in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“It is too late to deny it, Rachel. The boy is Rami’s.”
She stared at him. That was what this had been about. It hadn’t been a peace offering. It had been a clever way of getting her to confess that Rami had fathered her baby.
What a fool she’d been to think this man might truly have a heart, or to forget that he was the enemy.
Rachel put her cup and plate on the cart.
“You keep missing the one thing that matters,” she said coldly. “Ethan is mine.”
“He is a prince.”
“He is a little boy. And he has a name.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“You never use his name. You speak of him as if he were a—a thing. A commodity.”
Karim dumped his plate on the cart and shoved the cart away.
“This is ridiculous! Will it make you happy if I call him by the name my brother chose for him? Fine. I’ll do that. I’ll call him—”
Rachel shot to her feet.
“Your brother didn’t name Ethan. I did.”
Karim rose, too. If only he didn’t tower over her. She hated having to look up at him, to give him that seeming authority over her.
“In that case,” Karim said stiffly, “I apologize for him yet again. Apparently, he ignored all his responsibilities.”
“Dammit, stop apologizing for him!”
“It is my duty. I understand that he hurt you, but—”
“Hurt me?” Rachel slapped her hands on her hips. “I hated your brother!”
“And yet,” Karim said coldly, “you slept with him.”
Her cheeks heated.
“You let him put a child in your womb.”
She turned away from him and started up the aisle. Karim went after her, caught her by the shoulder and swung her toward him.
“What kind of woman are you? You hated him. But you slept with him. You let him give you a child.”
Her mouth trembled. If ever she’d wanted to tell the truth, it was now. But she couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—
“Things—things happen,” she said, knowing just how ugly the answer sounded.
Karim’s mouth twisted with distaste.
“Is that what you say when you give yourself to a man? That things happen?”
“It wasn’t—it wasn’t the way you make it sound.”
“I’ll bet it wasn’t.” He caught her chin, forced her to look into his eyes. “Was he flush with winnings when he first bedded you?”
Rachel’s hand shot up. He caught it, caught both her wrists and imprisoned them against his chest.
“How much did you cost him? How much did it take to overcome your hatred, habibi?”
“You bastard! You miserable bastard! You don’t know anything about me. Not a damned thing—do you understand? Not one single damned—”
His mouth closed over hers.
She fought him. Struggled. And then, as before, the earth tilted beneath her feet and her mind emptied of everything but the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his arms closed around her.
He lifted her off the floor, his mouth angling over hers, plundering hers, and she tunneled her fingers into his hair as he drew her hard against him.
“I hate you,” she whispered against his mouth even as she kissed him, even as she gasped at the feel of his hands cupping her bottom. “I hate you, Karim, I hate you …”
A bell rang. It rang again, and then the pilot’s disembodied voice announced that they’d be landing in five minutes.
Karim set her on her feet. His face was all planes and angles; his eyes were dark.
Her own eyes stung with tears.
“If you ever do anything like that again …” she said, and then she clamped her lips together.
She was as much to blame as he. He’d started the kiss but she had fallen into it.
Tears of rage stung her eyes. At him? At herself? It didn’t matter. This wouldn’t happen again.
She wouldn’t let it.
She spun away, took a seat and belted herself in. The wheels kissed the runway. As soon as the plane came to a stop she undid her seat belt and got to her feet, but not in time to prevent the Sheikh from clasping her shoulder and pulling her to him.
“Welcome to New York, habibi,” he growled. “And do not make promises you won’t be able to keep.”
He bent his head to hers. Captured her mouth. She groaned, felt her body flush with heat …
And she bit him.
Bit his bottom lip hard enough to make him jerk back and let her go.
A spot of crimson bloomed against his flesh. He touched his finger to it, looked at her, and then his eyes narrowed.
“If you want to play games,” he said softly, “I’ll be happy to accommodate you.”
She wanted to respond, to make some clever remark, but her brain refused to function.
Karim kept his eyes on hers as he lowered his head again, kissed her again, a slow, lingering kiss. She tasted the salt of his blood, the heat of his hunger. She