Gasping for air, trembling, she sank down on the closed toilet.
Her brain seemed to be in free-fall. She couldn’t think, couldn’t make sense of anything.
What had just happened?
Maybe the better question was, what hadn’t happened?
The Sheikh had forced himself on her.
He’d walked in while she was naked, drawn her against him, kissed her …
And then he’d let her go.
Why?
Rachel shuddered.
He could have done anything he’d wanted. There’d been nobody to stop him. Certainly not her. He was too big, too strong, that hard body, those sculpted muscles hidden beneath the expensive suit.
She’d have fought him but he’d easily have overpowered her …
A moan broke from her throat.
He had overpowered her.
Not just physically.
Mentally.
How else to explain that infinitesimal moment when his mouth had gentled on hers, when his touch had eased and she—and she—
Rachel swallowed dryly.
Never mind that.
His actions had all been deliberate. Terrifying her with a display of strength, the old I-am-Tarzan-you-are-Jane thing.
She knew how that went.
It was a typical male ploy.
The men she dealt with when she waited tables. The ones who were her bosses now in the casino. The players. They were the worst of all. They tossed around their money, showed off their power, stank of cologne …
He hadn’t.
Karim.
The Sheikh. The Prince. Whatever he liked to call himself.