Читать книгу Desert Hearts - Сандра Мартон, Carol Marinelli - Страница 12

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 shoulder 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?”

Rachel blanched. “No! You can’t—”

“Certainly I can,” he said calmly. “I have one of the best legal firms in the United States on retainer. Six full partners. Endless associates from the nation’s top law schools. Paralegals. Clerks. Offices on both coasts. And who will represent you? A fresh-out-of-law-school kid from Legal Aid? A lawyer with a closet for an office?” Another cool smile touched his lips. “The contest should prove interesting.”

It was a direct hit.

Karim knew it; the proof was in the sudden tremor of Rachel Donnelly’s mouth, the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes.

He wanted to feel triumphant.

But he didn’t.

She was an easy opponent and he’d never been a man who enjoyed easy victories. The power was all his; she had nothing but possession of Rami’s son—because, without question, this was Rami’s son.

Why wouldn’t she admit it?

She had everything to gain. She had to know he’d pay whatever price she set for the child.

Unless the child really mattered to her.

He supposed that was possible. Not likely, in his experience. His mother, whenever she’d been around, had shown more affection for her poodles than for him or Rami; he had female employees, executives on the fast track, whose kids were virtually being raised by nannies.

Nothing wrong with that.

It did children good to grow up with a sense of independence.

Wasn’t he living proof of that?

Still, he knew there were other kinds of mothers.

He saw them on weekends when he ran in Central Park, playing and laughing with their children

Maybe Rachel had that kind of thing in her.

Maybe not.

Maybe it was all an act.

Either way, he didn’t give a damn.

Whatever her reason for making this so complicated, he would be the victor. How much she gained from the battle—six figures, seven, the right to visit with the boy from time to time if she wished—depended on how many obstacles she put in his way.

He really didn’t want a court fight.

He knew damned well it would end up splashed in the tabloids, on the cable talk shows, on internet blogs. And both he and Alcantar were better off without that kind of publicity.

Rachel would acquiesce before things went public. He was certain of it. And this, her silence, was the first proof.

So he waited, watching her without saying a word, until at last she blinked back those unshed tears.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

Her voice was whisper-thin. It almost made him feel guilty—until he thought about his duty to his brother.

“This isn’t about you,” he said, not unkindly. “It’s about Rami.”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

Karim narrowed his eyes.

“No one calls me a liar.”

“Not even when you lie to yourself?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about too little, too late.” Her voice took on strength; she folded her arms in what was fast-becoming a familiar indication of defiance. “Because, Your Highness, if you’d really cared about your brother you’d have been there for him. You’d have made him see that he couldn’t go on drinking and gambling and living the kind of life people like you live, neck-deep in self-indulgence and money and to hell with decency and honor and—”

She gasped as he reached for her, ignoring the pull of his seat belt and hers, digging his hands into her shoulders as he pulled her toward him.

“You don’t know a damned thing about what you call ‘people like me,’ and you sure as hell don’t know anything about my brother except what he showed you when he took you to bed.”

“I know that you’re heartless. To do what you’re doing to Ethan and me and, yes, even to your brother’s memory—”

“I’m doing this for his memory. For the honor of our people—an honor he never understood.”

His hands bit into her shoulders. Then he said something under his breath in a language that sounded as hard and unyielding as he was, and flung her from him.

“Agree to the testing or find yourself a way to fight me in court,” he growled as he started the car. “Those are your choices. The flight east is a long one. I suggest you use the time to come to a decision.”

They stopped at the security gate. Karim produced his ID; the guard waved them through. Rachel waited until he’d parked. Then she turned toward him.

“I just want to get one thing straight.” Her voice shook; she cleared her throat, sat straighter, reminded herself that her enemy would surely make the most of any sign of weakness. “You remember that—that moment in the bathroom when—when I seemed to stop fighting you?”

“No,” he said coldly, “not in any detail. Did you think I would?”

She felt her face heat but she’d gone too far to back off now.

“You’d have remembered my knee where it would have done the most good if you hadn’t let go of me.”

“So that was … What shall I call it? Misdirection?”

“It was doing whatever I had to do to get you off me!”

He nodded, his expression suddenly grave. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Believe me, Your Highness, there won’t be a next time.”

He gave her a long, steady look. Was he laughing at her? Did he think this was a joke?

Rachel didn’t wait to find out.

Instead, she undid her seat belt, got out of the car and took Ethan from the baby seat. Karim reached past her, grabbed her suitcase and the diaper bag, then clasped her elbow with his free hand and began walking toward a silver jet with the emblem of a falcon on its fuselage.

Steps led up to the open cabin door where two men and a woman, all in dark gray suits, stood watching them.

“My crew,” Karim said.

His crew.

His plane.

His life.

The sudden reality of what was happening hit Rachel with breath-stealing force. She stumbled; Karim dropped the bags and swept his arm around her waist.

“Dammit,” he growled.

The woman rushed down the steps and hurried toward them. She reached for the suitcase and diaper bag but Karim shook his head.

“Take the child.”

Rachel pulled back. The woman smiled reassuringly.

“He’ll be fine with me, ma’am. I’ll take him to the galley. I have diapers ready, food, a little carrier … His Highness saw to everything.”

Rachel blinked. “He did?”

“He did,” Karim said briskly. “Go on. Give the baby to Moira, or would you rather run the risk of dropping him?”

Rachel handed Ethan over. Then she stared at the Sheikh.

“When did you order all those things?”

“I had plenty of time to make phone calls while you were packing. There isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t take forever to pack.”

“I didn’t take forever. And are you always so sure of how things will work out? That I was packing at all? Just because you want something doesn’t mean it—” She gasped as he swung her up in his arms. “I can walk!”

“Yes. So you just demonstrated.”

He strode to the steps and climbed them. The two men—his pilots, she assumed—snapped to attention.

Rachel could feel her face burning. Maybe the Sheikh’s crew was accustomed to seeing their lord and master board his plane with a woman in his arms but this kind of dramatic entrance was new to her.

“I’ll see to those bags, sir,” one of the men said.

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.