Sheikh Without a Heart

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.