Sheikh Without a Heart

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Very fine?” he said, and smiled. He used one hand to tilt her face to his. “Incredibly fine?” he whispered, and kissed her.

Her lips were soft. They clung to his but only for a heartbeat. Then she drew back.

“I—I have to get up,” she whispered.

“Not yet,” he said in a sexy, rough voice as he stroked a lock of hair from her temple and tucked it behind her ear. “Stay with me a little longer.”

“No. Really. I have to—I have to get up.”

A simple request, Karim told himself. She wanted to use the bathroom. A simple, normal request.

But her voice was strained and her eyes darted away from his.

“Rachel?”

She didn’t answer.

“Rachel. Sweetheart—”

“Let me up!”

For a horrible few seconds she was afraid he was going to keep his arms where they were, one around her shoulders, the other draped over her waist, but finally he let her go.

Now the trick was to sit up and not let him see her, because she was naked and, yes, he’d already seen her, he’d more than seen her …

Somehow, she managed to struggle upright and drag the edges of her nightgown together. Then she got to her feet, her back to him.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t sound sexy anymore. No matter. She would sound brisk and bright.

“To the bathroom.”

Karim sat up. “The bathroom’s behind you.”

“The bathroom in the guest suite.”

“What’s going on, Rachel? You have regrets?”

“Honestly, Karim, I’d think you would know that there’s nothing less appealing than a—a post-sex analysis. So i

f you don’t mind—”

She turned away from him and started for the door, her posture stiff and unyielding. He grabbed his discarded trousers, pulled them on, got to the door before she did, stood with his back to it, arms folded over his chest, legs slightly apart, face without expression.

“Please,” she said. “Get out of my way.”