Sheikh Without a Heart Read online

  The baby was hers.

  Nobody was going to take him from her.

  By now, Ethan was awake and fretful. He’d been out of sorts lately; there was a tiny pale spot visible in his pink gums where he was cutting his very first tooth.

  Ordinarily she’d have taken him in her arms, settled into the old rocker she’d bought at a Goodwill thrift shop and talked to him—he liked being talked to—but time was a priority now.

  “Hey, little man,” she cooed as she leaned over the crib, “guess what we’re going to do?”

  The look he gave her—mouth down-curved, eyes scrunched—said that he didn’t much care. Rachel plucked a soft plastic teething ring from the foot of the crib and held it out. The baby’s plump fingers closed around the ring and brought it to his mouth.

  Good.

  She’d bought a few minutes of peace. That was all she needed.

  Her suitcase was in the rear of the closet. She took the case out, tossed it on the bed and unzipped it.

  Okay.

  She packed another pair of jeans. A handful of Ts. Bras. Panties. Socks. A sweater. A zippered hoodie. It all went into the suitcase.

  “Ta-da,” she told Ethan, still chomping on the brightly colored teething ring. “See how quick that was? Now it’s your turn. Any thoughts about what you feel like wearing for our trip? You mean I didn’t tell you the surprise? We’re going traveling. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

  The baby made a rude sound.

  “Okay. Maybe not.” Rachel pulled open the drawers that held Ethan’s clothes. Sleepers. Onesies. Socks. Tiny shirts and sweaters, a pair of grown-up-looking overalls she hadn’t been able to resist. “I admit I used to hate it when Mama told me we were going on a trip. She’d take us out of school, Suki and me, just when we’d finally settled in.” What else? Diapers, of course. A couple of crib blankets. “Well, I’ll never do that to you, little guy. I promise.” What was she forgetting? Ah. Formula. Bottles. Little jars of strained fruits and veggies. A quick detour to the kitchen, then back to the bedroom. “I’ll find us a place where we can settle down and have a garden and maybe even a kitten.”

  Rachel paused.

  Was that even anywhere near true?

  Her mother had run from bill collectors and scandal, but somehow or other those things had always managed to find her anyway.

  This was different.

  She was running from a prince with the resources of the world at his fingertips.

  Rachel shuddered. She wasn’t going to think about that now.

  Other things were more vital.

  Should she head for the airport and blow a stack of cash on a plane ticket, or head for the bus terminal and the first bus out of town?

  No contest.

  The airport.

  She could get away faster and farther, and speed and distance were of paramount importance.

  She’d put half her money on a ticket to wherever, half in reserve for when she and Ethan got there. She had a credit card, too. It was pristine; she’d kept it for emergencies and if this wasn’t an emergency, what was?

  She’d go as far from Vegas and Rami’s brother as that combination of cash and credit would take her. San Francisco, maybe. Or Biloxi, where there were riverboat casinos.

  Then she’d get a room, a cheap one, and give herself a couple of days to figure out her next step.

  “Ffft,” Ethan said.

  It made her laugh. Her baby could always do that; he was the one bit of joy she could count on.

  “Well, maybe,” she said, “but at least it’s a plan.”

  Not much of a plan, but it was a start.

  Suki had always teased her about what she’d called “Rachel’s obsession with planning” but without some kind of blueprint you could end up like Mama or Suki or half the women in this town.

  And that—being kept, living on a man’s largesse, being a … a possession—was never, ever going to happen to her.

  As for leaving Las Vegas …

  She was ready. More than ready.

  Vegas had never been more than a stop on the road to something better. She’d only come here after Suki had called, babbling with excitement as she told her that two of the casinos were hiring new dealers.

  “It’s a great job,” Suki had said. “They’ll train you and then you can make a lot of money.”

  Maybe once. Not anymore. The economy was in the toilet. The need for new dealers had gone with it. Rachel had ended up waiting tables, then working the room at the casino—and wondering how she could have been so stupid as to have listened to her sister.

  For one thing, if anybody had been hiring dealers why hadn’t Suki applied?

  For another, Suki hadn’t bothered mentioning that she was living week-to-week in a furnished room.

  The real reason she’d wanted Rachel to come west was because she’d known Rachel would be resourceful, find a job and an apartment, and she could move in.

  She hadn’t even asked if her boyfriend, Rami al Safir, could move in, too. He’d just strolled out of Suki’s room one morning and after that he had become pretty much a permanent fixture.

  A non-bill-paying fixture.

  “Fool,” Rachel muttered.

  But then, she reminded herself as she stuffed a few diapers, a box of baby wipes and some plastic Baggies into a tote, if she hadn’t come to Las Vegas she wouldn’t have Ethan.

  The baby gave a pathetic little sob. He’d lost his teething ring through the bars of the crib. Rachel picked it up, wiped it off and gave it back to him.

  He flashed a happy smile.

  “Yes,” Rachel said, “you’re right. This is a fresh start for us both.”

  A new town. A new place to live. A job that wouldn’t put her in costumes that made men see her as an item they could purchase.

  A fresh start. Definitely. And all because of a man who thought his money, his titles, his gorgeous good looks—because, yes, he was good-looking, if you liked the type and she certainly didn’t—all because of his Sheikhiness, the Prince.

  The baby blew a loud, wet bubble. Rachel grinned.

  “My very thought,” she said.

  Okay. Diapers? Check. Formula? Check. A few tiny jars of baby food? A bottle in a small insulted bag? Double check.

  And that was it.

  Goodbye, Sheikh Karim.

  Hello, brand-new life.

  Rachel scooped Ethan up and bundled him in a crib blanket printed with prancing blue giraffes. Then, the baby in the curve of one arm, her purse over that shoulder, the diaper bag over the other, she hoisted the suitcase from the bed and walked briskly through the apartment to the front door, shoved the chair out from under the knob, undid the locks and without a single backward glance headed down the stairs.

  She was happy to be leaving Las Vegas. She’d been planning on it, only waiting to save a little more money, but what had happened this morning made that irrelevant.

  Rachel paused on the ground floor landing.

  Dammit. The taxi. She’d neglected to phone for one. And she hadn’t called Mrs. Grey to say she wouldn’t be needing her to babysit anymore.

  No problem.

  She could do both things as soon as she got outside and dug her cell phone from her purse.

  Wrong.

  She couldn’t dig out her phone, or call Mrs. Grey, or phone for a taxi.

  She couldn’t do anything because when she opened the door to the street the first thing she saw was a shiny black car at the curb, its rear door open.

  The second thing was the Sheikh, leaning against the fender, arms folded, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a thin line.

  Rachel stopped dead. “You,” she said.

  It was a painfully clichéd reaction and she knew it.

  He seemed to think so, too, because a smile knifed across his lips.

  “Me,” he said, in a voice that reminded her of steel swathed in silk. His gaze dropped to her suitcase. “Going somewhere?”

  She felt her face heat. “G
et out of my way.”

  He smiled again, moved toward her, took the suitcase from her suddenly nerveless fingers, the diaper bag from her shoulder, and dumped them into the back of the car.

  That was when she saw the baby seat.

  Her stomach dropped.

  “If you think—”

  “Put the boy in the seat, Rachel.”

  “How did you—?”

  He gave a negligent shrug. “A cell phone and a title can do wonders,” he said dryly. “Go on. Put him in the seat.”

  “You’re crazy if you think you’re going to take him from me!”

  “He is Rami’s,” Karim said coldly

  “He is mine!”

  “And that is the only reason I’ve decided to take you with me.”

  She blinked. “Take me with you where?”

  “There are details to arrange.” A faint look of distaste passed over his face. “And I have no intention of dealing with them in this place.”

  “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, woman.” Karim stalked toward her. He stopped inches away, towering over her, his face stern, hard as granite. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t become you. I want my brother’s child. You’ll want recompense.” He paused. “Unless you’re willing to give him to me right now.”

  Rachel stood as straight and tall as she could. For the first time in her life she wished she were wearing those damned stiletto heels.

  “If you think I’d ever do that—”

  “No. I didn’t think it, but then, anything is possible.”

  “What’s possible,” she said, “is that I’ll scream for help. There are laws in this country—”

  “Laws against an uncle wishing to see to the welfare of his dead brother’s child? I think not.”

  “You don’t give a damn for Ethan’s welfare! You just want to steal my baby, take him far away and bring him up to be—to be a clone of you!”

  Karim laughed. She felt a rush of fury sweep through her.

  “You’re a despicable person!”

  “Shall we deal with this in a civilized manner or not?”

  Rachel stared up into that beautiful, emotionless face. Then she brushed past him, buckled Ethan into the baby seat and started to get into the car beside him.

  The Sheikh closed his hand tightly around her elbow and drew her onto the sidewalk.

  “You will sit in the passenger seat,” he snapped, “next to me. I am not your chauffeur.”

  Rachel glared at him.

  “You are not anything honest or decent,” she said.

  It wasn’t much of a line, but at the moment it was all she had.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHERE was Karim taking her?

  When she’d asked, he’d avoided a direct answer.

  Why ask again and give him the pleasure of acknowledging that he was in charge? Maybe thinking that way was foolish but it was the way Rachel felt.

  He’d done everything he could to humiliate her. The way he looked at her, talked to her, snapped orders at her …

  The way he’d kissed her.

  No. She wasn’t going to add to it by pleading for information.

  She looked back at Ethan and came as close to a smile as she could. Her boy was content; he loved car rides. She had a beat-up old Ford. It wasn’t much to look at but it was fairly reliable.

  Early on, when Ethan was colicky and crying, and Suki would cover her ears and say, “Can’t that baby ever be quiet?” Rachel had discovered that taking him for a ride into the desert, sometimes as far as Red Rock Canyon, almost always turned those heartbreaking sobs to gurgles of contentment.

  If only she and her baby were alone and heading for the peaceful canyon now, she thought, folding her hands tightly in her lap and staring out the window.

  Rachel glanced at the Sheikh.

  He drove quickly and competently, his left hand on the steering wheel, his right resting lightly on the gear shifter. His profile was unalterably stern.

  The logical destination would be a lawyer’s office, but she dismissed that as soon as she thought of it.

  Snapping his fingers and making a car seat materialize in the middle of the desert was one thing.

  Conjuring up an attorney he’d trust to sort out all the legalese of Ethan’s custody was another.

  Was he heading for a lab for a DNA test?

  No. She doubted that, too.

  The Sheikh was accustomed to using his power and money to get what he wanted, but even he had to know that he’d need her consent to get a sample of Ethan’s DNA.

  After all, she was his mother.

  Rachel swallowed hard.

  He’d accepted her in that role without hesitation; clearly he didn’t know a thing about Suki or the months his brother had spent with her.

  And she had every intention of keeping it that way.

  Then, where were they going?

  To the Strip. That had to be the answer.

  It was not terribly far from the grimy building she lived in to the glitzy hotels on the Strip, but you measured the distance in money, not in miles.

  That had to be where he was taking her. A restaurant. A coffee shop. Or his suite.

  A man like him, a sheikh, would surely have a suite, an enormous, glamorous set of rooms reserved for the rich and famous.

  She’d demand they stay in the suite’s sitting room and that he leave the door open, though she suspected he would not repeat that kiss.

  She was certain she’d figured right, that the kiss had been a mark of male dominance. Like an alpha wolf marking the boundaries of his turf by peeing on rocks and trees, she thought.

  The image made her want to laugh.

  But she didn’t.

  There was nothing funny in being dragged off by a man who thought he owned the world and everyone in it.

  The car flew past Circus Circus, past the Venetian, past the Flamingo.

  Rachel swung toward her abductor. To hell with not asking him where they were going. He was using mental and emotional muscle to get what he wanted. It was what he excelled at.

  The thing she had to do was fight it.

  “I want to know where you’re taking me.”

  “I told you,” he said calmly. “Somewhere quiet, where we can discuss our situation.”

  “Our situation?” Rachel snorted. “We have no situation.”

  Ahead, a traffic light glowed crimson. Karim slowed the car, brought it to a stop.

  “You would be wise,” he said softly, “not to take me for a fool.”

  “I asked you a simple question. Surely you can give me a simple answer. Where are we—?”

  The light turned green. He made a turn. They were heading away from the Strip, away from the hotels.

  A lump of fear lodged in her throat.

  The only thing that could possibly draw a visitor to this part of town was the airport.

  “Either you tell me where you’re going or—”

  “We’re going to my plane.”

  Full-blown panic flooded through her.

  “I am not getting on a plane!”

  “Yes,” he said in a quiet voice that resonated with command, “you are.”

  “No!”

  “We’re flying to New York.”

  “You’re flying to New York! I’m going home.”

  “Home?” His tone changed, became hard. “Really? Is that why you came out the door with a suitcase?” There was a gate ahead; he slowed the car as they approached it. “I told you not to take me for a fool, Rachel. When you came down those steps your only thought was to run. I’d bet you didn’t even have a destination. Well, now you do.”

  “Get this through your head, Your Highness. There’s not a way in hell I’m flying to New York or anyplace else with you. If you think you can—you can pick up where you left off in my apartment—”

  He looked at her, his eyes cold. Then he swung the wheel to the right and pulled onto the shoulde
r of the road.

  “I assure you, Ms. Donnelly, I’m not the least bit interested in you sexually.”

  “If that’s your idea of an apology—”

  “It’s a statement of fact. What happened earlier was a mistake.”

  “You’re damned right it was. And if you think it could ever happen again—”

  “I’m taking you to New York so we can move to the end of this little drama as quickly as possible.”

  “We can do that right here.”

  “No, we cannot. I have a home in Manhattan. Commitments to keep.”

  “I have commitments, too.”

  He laughed. She felt her face heat.

  “I’m sure my life doesn’t seem anywhere near as important as yours,” she said coldly, “but it is to my baby and me.”

  “I’ll have the DNA of the child tested.”

  His tone was flat. Matter-of-fact, as if the issue had been decided.

  That frightened her more than anything else. His certainty that there would be a test. That whatever he demanded would happen.

  She knew she had to sound decisive, even in the face of his determination.

  “The name of the person who fathered my child is my affair.”

  “Not if that person was my brother.”

  His answer was so logical that for a couple of seconds her mind went blank. What could she say to that?

  “Why, Rachel,” he said softly, “don’t tell me you’ve run out of arguments.”

  “Here’s the bottom line, Your Highness. There won’t be a test. I won’t grant permission. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”

  “You’re correct,” he said quietly. “I can’t force you.”

  Rachel wanted to cheer. Instead, she folded her arms and waited. She knew it couldn’t be this easy.

  “You may, indeed, refuse my request. You have that right.” He smiled. It was a terrible smile; it chilled her to the bone. “But I, too, have rights. Don’t bother telling me I don’t. I’ve already spoken with my attorney.”

  “You’ve had a busy morning,” she said, trying to sound glib despite the race of her heart.

  “I have reasonable grounds to think Rami is the child’s father.”

  “So you say.”

  “So my lawyer will say. If you refuse to have him tested, I’ll put this in the hands of the judicial system.” He paused. “It is, my attorney says, a very slow-moving system. Who knows how long Ethan will be in foster care?”