Sheikh Without a Heart Page 3

  “Have you lost the ability to speak, Rachel Donnelly? I have no time to waste.”

  No time, Rachel thought, no time …

  Oh, God!

  She’d been so caught up in what was happening that she’d almost forgotten the hour.

  The wall clock read six-fifteen.

  She’d gotten off work two hours ago, same as always. Which meant that the reason she’d stayed in Vegas was going to turn up at the door in forty-five minutes.

  She’d never been sure what she was going to do if and when this moment came.

  She was sure now.

  She was sure of something else, too.

  Rami’s brother knew nothing.

  If he had, he’d have already demanded his rights to that which he surely would have seen as his.

  “Such a fuss over wanting to know my name.”

  Rachel looked up. The Sheikh stood with his arms folded, a big, hard-faced, hard-bodied, cold-as-ice piece of work who just happened to look like a god.

  Unfortunately for him she knew the truth: that he was a cold-hearted SOB who was an expert at manipulating people to see him as he wanted to be seen.

  “Such a fuss,” he said, his tone ripe with sarcasm, “and now you have nothing to say.”

  She squared her shoulders.

  The thing to do was face him down and get him out of here.

  “Actually, I just wanted to be sure. I’d already figured it out myself.”

  “Really?” he purred.

  “Rami described you pretty accurately. Self-important. Arrogant. A despot. Yes, he got it right.”

  A hit. She saw a flush rise over those high cheekbones.

  “You’re a sheikh, aren’t you? From Alashazam. Or Alcatraz. Something like that.”

  The imprints of color deepened. He took a step forward. Rachel fought the desire to retreat.

  “Something like that,” he said coldly.

  “Well, Rami isn’t here.”

  That brought a thin smile to his lips. Had she said something amusing?

  “But I’ll be sure and tell him you called. Now, Sheikh-Whatever-You’re-Called, I’m busy. And—”

  “I am called Prince Karim,” Karim said stiffly. “Or Your Highness. Or I am addressed as Sheikh.”

  Damn. Was he actually saying this stuff? If there was anything he despised, it was the use of these outmoded titles, but this Rachel Donnelly brought out the worst in him.

  “Yes, well, your Sheikhiness, I’ll give Rami your message. Anything else?”

  The way she’d combined his titles was an obviously deliberate insult. He wanted to grab her and shake her—

  Or grab her and wipe that little smirk off her lips in a very different way—one that would change her demeanor altogether.

  For all he knew, that was the reason she’d taunted him. A woman who looked like this would surely use sex to gain the upper hand.

  He wasn’t fool enough to let it happen.

  “No?” she said brightly. “Is that it? Well, in that case, goodbye, good luck, and on your way out don’t let the door slam you in the—”

  “Rami is dead.”

  He had not intended to give her the news that abruptly but, dammit, she’d driven him to it. Well, it was too late to call back his brusque words. He could only hope he’d assessed her correctly: that she was too tough to faint or—

  “Dead?”

  He’d guessed right. She wasn’t the fainting type. Evidently she wasn’t the weepy type, either. Her only reaction, as far as he could tell, was a slight widening of her eyes.

  He was willing to be generous.

  Perhaps she was in shock.

  Karim nodded. “Yes. He died last month. An accident in—”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He had not really had the time to consider all her possible reactions to his news, but if he had, this—this removed curiosity would not have been on the list.

  “That’s it? I tell you your lover is dead and all you can say is, ‘Why are you here?’”

  “My lover?”

  “The man who kept you,” he said coldly. “Is that a better way to put it?”

  “But Rami …”

  Her voice trailed away. He could see her reassessing. Of course. She was trying to process the situation, determine what would do her the most good now that Rami was gone.

  And he had been gone for a while.

  She hadn’t known he was dead but it had happened weeks ago, making that casual “I’ll be sure and tell him you called” remark an obvious lie.

  Why?

  “But Rami … what?” Karim said coldly.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I mean, I just— I just—”

  “He left you.”

  Rachel’s mind was whirling and that blunt statement of fact only added to her confusion.

  Rami was dead.

  Did that make things worse? Did it make them better?

  No. It changed nothing except to give her all the more reason to stay the course until she heard from Suki.

  She gasped as Karim’s hands closed on her arms.

  “Why lie to me, Ms. Donnelly? We both know that my brother left you weeks ago.”

  Rachel looked up. She had never seen eyes more filled with contempt.

  “Why ask me a question if you already know the answer?”

  “What I know,” Karim said, his mouth twisting, ‘is that you don’t give a damn that he’s dead.”

  “You’re hurting me!”

  “How long did it take you to find his successor?”

  She stared at him. “His—?”

  “Another fool who’d keep you. Pay your bills. Buy what you’re selling.”

  Her eyes flashed.

  “Get out of my home!”

  “Your home?” Karim raised her to her toes. “Rami paid the bills here. All you did was have the good fortune to warm his bed.”

  “If warming your brother’s bed was an example of good fortune, heaven help us all!”

  God, he wanted to shake her until she was dizzy!

  Once, a very long time ago, he had loved his brother with all his heart.

  They’d played together, told each other the secrets boys tell; they’d wept together at the news of their mother’s death, bolstered each other’s spirits the first weeks at boarding school in a strange new land.

  That boy was only a memory … A memory that suddenly raised a storm of emotion Karim had kept hidden even from himself.

  Now that emotion flooded through him, set loose by the coldness of a woman his brother had once cared for.

  Karim had seen people show more sorrow at the sight of a deer dead on the road than Rachel Donnelly was showing now.

  “Damn you,” he growled. “Have you no feelings?”

  Her eyes glittered with a burst of blue light.

  “What a question, coming from a man like you!”

  There was a red haze in front of his eyes. Karim cursed; his hands tightened on her.

  “Let go of me!”

  She slammed a fist against his shoulder. He caught both hands in one of his, immobilized them against his chest.

  “Is that how you dealt with Rami?” he growled. “Did you drive him crazy, too?”

  Mercilessly, he dragged her closer. Clasped her face in one big hand. Lowered his head toward hers …

  And stopped.

  What was he doing?

  This was not him.

  He was not the kind of man who’d force himself on a woman. Sex had nothing to do with anger.

  No matter that she’d brought him to this, or that she was a grasping, heartless schemer. It didn’t give him the right to treat her this way.

  He let go of her. Took a step back. Cleared his throat.

  “Miss Donnelly,” he said carefully, “Rachel—”

  “Get out!” Her voice shook; her eyes were enormous. “Did you hear me? Get out, get out, get—”

  “Rachel?”

  Karim swung toward the door. A
woman, middle-aged, plump, pleasant-faced, looked from Rachel to him, then at Rachel again.

  “Honey, is everything all right?”

  Rachel didn’t answer. Karim turned toward her. She’d gone pale; he could see the swift rise and fall of her breasts.

  “Mrs. Grey.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She looked at Karim, then at the woman in the doorway. “Mrs. Grey. If you could just—if you could just come back a little later—”

  “I thought it was him at first,” Mrs. Grey said, frowning. “Wrong hair color but same height, same way of standin’. You know who I mean? That foreigner. Randy. Raymond. Rasi. Whatever his name is.”

  “No.” Rachel shook her head. “It isn’t. Look, I hate to ask, but if you would—”

  “Just as well, if you ask me. Good-lookin’ man, but any fool could see right through him.”

  “Mrs. Grey.” Rachel’s voice was unnaturally high. “This—this gentleman and I have some business to conclude and then I’ll—”

  “Sorry, honey, but I’m runnin’ late. Brought my daughter along today. She’s gonna work the mornin’ shift and I have to drop her off after I leave here. Save her takin’ the bus, you know, and …” Her eyes over to Karim again. “This a new friend?”

  “No,” Karim said coldly, “I am not Miss Donnelly’s friend.”

  “Too bad. You look a nice sort. Not like that Rasi.” The woman shook her head. “Still, you’d think he’d come back, do the right thing by—”

  “Momma? Honestly, you move too fast for me. You was up these stairs before I was half-started,” a woman’s voice said with a little laugh.

  A younger version of Mrs. Grey appeared beside her.

  She had something in her arms.

  A blanket? A bundle?

  Karim’s breath caught.

  It was a child. An infant—and it reminded him of someone. Someone from long, long ago.

  “You’d think a man would want to do right for his very own son and his mama, wouldn’t you?” Mrs. Grey said to Karim.

  Rachel Donnelly, who had shown no emotion at all at the news of Rami’s death, made a little sound. Karim tore his eyes from the baby and looked at her.

  She was trembling.

  Carefully, he reached for the child. Thanked the two women. Said something polite. Closed the door.

  Stared down at the baby in his arms.

  And saw perfectly miniaturized replicas of his brother’s eyes. His brother’s nose.

  And Rachel Donnelly’s mouth.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE world stood still.

  Such a trite phrase, Karim knew, but it took a conscious effort to draw air into his lungs.

  What he was thinking was impossible.

  This child had nothing to do with his brother.

  Eye color. The shape of a nose. So what? There were only so many shades of blue in the world and only so many kinds of noses.

  He took a deep breath.

  Okay.

  He’d been at this too long. That was the problem. He had certain routines. Rami had teased him unmercifully about how boring his life must be, but a routine was what kept a man grounded.

  Up at six, half an hour in his private gym, shower, dress, coffee and toast at seven, at his desk by eight.

  He’d been away from that schedule for too long, flying almost non-stop from city to city, seeing all the unpleasant details of his brother’s life unfold.

  It was having an effect.

  If Rami had fathered a child, he’d have known.

  They were brothers. Out of touch, but surely a man would not keep something like that to himself …

  “Blaa,” the baby said, “blaa-blaa-blaa.”

  Karim stared down at the child.

  Blah, indeed.

  Of course Rami would have kept it to himself—the same as he’d never mentioned his gambling debts.

  You didn’t talk about your mistakes—and the birth of a child out of wedlock was a mistake.

  Rami had scoffed at convention, but under it all he’d known he was the son of a king and, after Karim, next in line to the throne.

  There were certain rules of behavior that applied, even to him.

  News of an illegitimate child would have resulted in a scandal back home. Their father might have completely cut off his younger son, even banished him from the kingdom.

  So, yes. The child was Rami’s, and it was illegitimate. There had not been a marriage certificate among his brother’s papers. There’d been lots of other stuff. Expired drivers’ licenses. Outdated checkbooks. Scribbled notes and, of course, endless bills and IOUs.

  Nothing that even hinted at a wife.

  Rachel Donnelly stood before him, as frozen as a marble statue, her eyes locked on the child in his arms.

  No. Rami had not married her. Drunk or not, he surely would have known better than to tie himself permanently to a woman like this.

  She was a woman a man bedded, not wedded, Karim thought, without even a hint of humor.

  Beautiful.

  Fiery.

  Tough as nails.

  His brother might have found all that spirit and defiance sexy.

  He did not and would not. But this wasn’t about him.

  “Give me the baby.”

  Her voice was low, a little thready, but the color had come back into her face. She was regaining her composure.

  Why had she reacted with such distress?

  If this was Rami’s child, this could be a golden opportunity. Her lover’s child and her lover’s brother, coming face to face …

  “Give me the baby!”

  He wondered why she hadn’t tried to contact him before this. Well, that was obvious. She’d thought Rami would come back to her.

  Was this the reason he’d left her? Because she’d become pregnant?

  It was an ugly thought, that his brother would have abandoned his own child, but nothing about Rami surprised him anymore.

  Assuming, of course, the child was his.

  How had his brother let this happen? Drunk or sober, how could he have forgotten to use a condom?

  Had the woman seduced him into forgetting? That was always a possibility.

  Karim wasn’t naïve. A man who was born to a title and a fortune learned early how things went.

  Women set snares; his own mother had been pregnant with him before his father had married her.

  He wasn’t supposed to know that, but any fool could count. And once he’d figured it out he’d had a better idea of why his parents’ marriage had failed.

  You chose a wife—especially if you had the responsibilities of a prince—because she met certain criteria. Common interests and backgrounds. Common goals and expectations.

  You chose her; you didn’t put yourself in a position where fate or expediency or, even worse, a foolish night of passion became the deciding factor—

  A small fist hit his shoulder. Karim blinked in surprise. The woman had moved right up to him. Her eyes flashed with anger.

  “Are you deaf? Give—me—the—baby!”

  The child made an unhappy sound. Its mouth, that mouth that was the image of hers, began to tremble.

  Karim narrowed his eyes.

  “Whose child is this?”

  “What is this? An interrogation? Give Ethan to me and then get the hell out!”

  “Ethan?”

  Dammit, Rachel thought, she hadn’t intended to give him anything—not even the baby’s name.

  “Yes. And he’s wary of strangers.”

  Karim’s mouth twisted. “Was he wary of my brother?”

  “I’d tell you that you’ve overstayed your welcome, Your Sheikhiness, but you were not welcome here in the first place.”

  “Do not,” Karim said grimly, “call me that.”

  He regretted the words even as he said them. It was a mistake to let her know she was annoying him because that was damned well what she wanted to do.

  “I’ll ask you again,” he said, struggling to control his te
mper. “Who does this child belong to?”

  “He belongs to himself. Unlike you and your countrymen, Americans don’t believe people can be owned like property.”

  “A charming speech. I’m sure it will win applause on your Fourth of July holiday. But it hasn’t got a damned thing to do with my question. Once again, then. Whose child is this?”

  Rachel chewed on her lip.

  Whose, indeed?

  Suki and Rami had created Ethan.

  But from the very beginning he’d been hers.

  For Suki, the bump in her belly had been a nine-month annoyance, especially once she’d realized she couldn’t use her pregnancy to convince Rami to marry her.

  He’d packed his things and taken off well before Ethan’s birth.

  It had been Rachel who’d held Suki’s hand during labor, Rachel who’d cut the baby’s umbilical cord.

  When Suki and her son had come home from the hospital, the baby had cried endlessly. He’d been hungry; Suki had refused to nurse him.

  “What,” she’d said in horror, “and ruin my boobs?”

  The formula hadn’t agreed with him. He’d kept spitting up; his tiny diaper had always been full and foul-smelling. Suki had shuddered, and left his care to Rachel.

  Rachel had been fine with that.

  She’d changed his formula. Changed his diapers. The baby thrived.

  And Rachel adored him.

  She’d loved him even before he was born. It was she who’d come up with a name, who’d bought a crib and baby clothes. He was hers, not Suki’s. And when Suki had finally left, Rachel was almost ashamed to admit she’d been happy to see her go.

  Now everything was falling apart.

  She had never worried that Rami might return and claim his son—even if he had, she’d sensed that he was a coward underneath the charm and good looks.

  She could have faced him down.

  But if this arrogant bully wanted Ethan …

  “Ms. Donnelly. I asked a simple question.”

  The baby began to whimper.

  “That’s it,” Rachel said. “Raise your voice. Terrify the baby. Is that your specialty? Walking into places you aren’t welcome? Scaring small children?”

  “I asked you a simple question, and you will answer it! Whose child is he?”

  “You,” Rachel said, stalling for time, “you are an awful man!”

  His teeth showed in a wolfish grin.