Desert Hearts

The Sheikh nodded.

“Fine. I want to get airborne ASAP.”

“Yes sir.”

One man went for the bags. The other made his way to the cockpit. Karim carried Rachel through what might easily have passed as someone’s handsome living room.

“Don’t they click their heels?” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

She pulled back as far as she could in his hard, encircling arms.

“I said, don’t they click their heels?”

“They do,” he said, “but only on state occasions.”

Her eyes went to his. Okay. It was a joke; she could tell by the look on his face. At least there was something human about him.

“You can put me down now.”

“Can I?”

“Put-me-down!”

His mouth twitched. “I heard you.”

“Then, dammit, put me—”

“That isn’t a very ladylike way of speaking.”

“I’m not a very ladylike lady. And I want you to—”

His arms tightened around her as the plane lifted into the sky.

“I know what you want,” he said gruffly, and he bent his head and kissed her.

She made a little sound of protest and he asked himself what in hell he was doing.

And then she made another little sound that had nothing to do with protest.

Karim traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue. He sank onto a leather loveseat, Rachel still in his arms. One hand swept into her hair; the other found the sweet swell of her breast. Her taut nipple pressed into his palm through her cotton T-shirt, and he shuddered.

“Rachel,” he whispered.

She moaned and her lips parted, giving him access to the honeyed sweetness of her mouth.

He drew her closer. Swept his hand under her shirt. Cupped her breast.

She put her arms around his neck.

He brought his hand to her face, cupped her jaw, rested his thumb in the delicate hollow of her throat. Her pulse leaped under his touch.

What in hell was he doing?

It was wrong. It was madness. And yet he wanted this, wanted her—

The plane hit an air pocket. It jumped, and so did Rachel. She jerked back in his arms, face pale, eyes wide and blurred. He blinked and let go of her.

She sprang to her feet.

“Do not,” she breathed, “do not ever touch me again you—you vile, arrogant, heartless, manipulative bastard! Do you always ignore the truth of what other people feel?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. A good thing, he thought as she stumbled to a seat far from his, because he didn’t have one.

Was she right?

Had he ignored what might have been Rami’s unspoken cries for help? Could he have saved him from his path of self-destruction? Could he have somehow turned his brother’s wasted life around?

And this.

What he’d just done.

Kissing Rachel. Forcing his kisses on her. An ugly way to describe it, but wasn’t that what he’d done? Kissed her until she’d kissed him back, until her sighs, the sweetness of her mouth were proof that she was in danger of succumbing to the same hot darkness that threatened him?

Only one thing was certain.

It was too late to do anything about Rami.

But he could do something about the child. Raise him to be the man Rami might have been.

And he could do something about Rami’s woman.

He could never touch her again.

Never, Karim told himself, and he turned his face to the window as the plane gained speed and altitude until, at last, the glittering lights far below were no more substantial than a mirage.

CHAPTER SIX

RACHEL was shaking with anger.

Bad enough the Sheikh had walked into her life and seized control of it.

Ordering her around. Making assumptions.

And this. Man-handling her as if—as if she existed for his pleasure.

She knew what he thought of her.

Rami had treated Suki like a slave. Bring me this, hand me that, don’t argue when I say something …

He’d tried that with her, too, but it hadn’t worked.

“Maybe that’s how men deal with women where you come from,” she’d told him, “but this is America.”

America. Where a woman like her wore a costume that made her look like a whore because management said she had to. Where a man judged her by the damned costume, or maybe by the belief that she’d been his brother’s mistress.

She’d told him she hadn’t been Rami’s mistress. He hadn’t believed her. Now she wanted to tell him she hadn’t been his lover, either.

She wanted to say, I’d sooner have lived on the streets than have slept with your horrible brother.

But she couldn’t say it. She had to play out this charade because all that mattered was Ethan.

Okay. She had to calm down. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Take another …

“Goddammit,” she said.

How could she calm down? How?

“You gotta go with the flow,” Mama had always said.

Mama hadn’t just gone with the flow, she’d ridden it like a surfer on a wave.

Rachel snorted.

Mama used to say a lot of things. Folksy crap. Stupid nonsense.

Not so stupid anymore.

Go with the flow. And that other old bromide.

“First impressions count.”

That had always made Rachel cringe, because Mama had probably said it a hundred times, always in a cheery voice, always as she stood in front of a mirror primping for her first date with the latest jowly, sweaty-faced fool who’d come sniffing at her heels.

Turned out Mama had been right about that, too. First impressions did count. The Sheikh had judged her on how she’d looked. And she’d hadn’t helped the situation, letting him bark out commands—

Letting him kiss her in the bathroom and kiss her again, here on his plane. Sure, she’d fought back, but then—but then—

Come on, Rachel. Be honest, at least with yourself.

She’d fought about as hard as a poker player fought against ending up with a Royal Flush.

He’d kissed her.

And after a token kind of resistance she’d kissed him back.

That was the awful truth.

He was every miserable thing a man could be. Too rich, too good-looking, too egotistical to tolerate. Dammit, he was a man, and that was enough.

Until he’d kissed her and her brain had turned to mush.

How could such a thing have happened?

Yes, he was good-looking. Hell, what he was, was sexy.

But she wasn’t into sexy.

She wasn’t into sex.

She wasn’t into anything that might interfere with the life she wanted, the life she’d been planning ever since she woke up in a lumpy bed in a cheap room in Pocatello, Idaho, the morning of her seventeenth birthday. Sixteen-year-old Suki had been asleep next to her, mouth hanging open, each exhalation stinking of beer.

“Mama?” Rachel remembered saying, with a kind of awful premonition.

She’d sat up, pushed away the thin blanket—and had seen the birthday card propped on the table near the bed. A big, garish thing with purple and yellow balloons drawn all over it.

Happy Birthday! it said.

Inside were two crisp twenty dollar bills. And a note.

Gone for a little vacation with Lou! You girls be good until I send for you!

Luv you!

Lou had been Mama’s latest “beau.” That was what she always called her men-friends. She’d gone on “little vacations” before. A weekend. A few days. One scary time, when Rachel was ten and Suki was nine, she’d gone off for an entire week.

That morning in Pocatello Rachel had told herself that Mama would be back.

It never happened.

After three weeks she’d found a night job at Walmart but it hadn’t been enough to pay for their miserable room and put food in their bellies.

So she’d quit school.

One more year until she’d have had her diploma. It had killed her to walk away, but what choice had there been? She’d had to work to support herself and her sister.

“You stay in school, Suki,” she’d told her. “You hear me? One of us in going to graduate!”

In August, Rachel had moved the two of them to a bigger furnished room in a safer neighborhood. She’d used her Walmart discount for Suki’s school supplies and bought their clothes at Goodwill.

Suki wouldn’t wear them.

“Holy crap, how can you wear somebody’s old stuff?” she’d demanded. “And you’re wasting your money, buying me school stuff. I’m not going to go no more.”

When the first snow fell they got a card from Mama. She was in Hollywood. She knew someone who knew someone who was making a movie. She was going to get a part in it.

And then I’ll send for my girls!

More exclamation marks. More lies. They’d never heard from her again.

Or maybe they had. There was no way to know because by January Idaho was nothing but a memory.

Suki had taken off. No goodbyes, no explanations. Just a note.

See you, it said.

Just like Mama, except Mama had left those twenties. Suki had emptied the sugar bowl of the fifty bucks Rachel had kept in it.

Rachel moved to Bismarck, North Dakota. Took a job as a waitress. Moved to Minneapolis. Took another job wait-ressing. A couple more stops and she’d ended up in a Little Rock, Arkansas, diner.

Bad food, grungy customers, lousy tips.

“There’s got to be somewhere better than this,” she’d muttered one night, after a guy walked out without paying his bill, much less leaving a tip.

“Dallas is lots better,” the other girl working the night shift had said.

Right, Rachel thought now, swallowing a bitter laugh. And after Dallas came Albuquerque, and after that Phoenix.

Rachel had seen more than her share of the West.

Then Suki had called. Told her about Las Vegas.

In some ways Vegas had been an improvement. When customers were happy because they’d won at the slots they left decent tips. And once she’d swallowed her pride and taken the job she had now the tips had got even better.

She’d started taking classes at the university, planned a better life for herself, and then for herself and Ethan …

What time was it, anyway?

She wasn’t sure what time they’d left Las Vegas. Ten, eleven o’clock—something around there. They were moving fast but there was no feeling of motion, no sense that they were miles above the earth, going from one time zone to another.

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.”