Sheikh Without a Heart

The drapes had been drawn against the afternoon sun; the King sat in an elaborate ivory and ebony chair, dark shadows clustered behind him.

Karim could feel the tension in the air.

He kept his arm around Rachel’s waist.

“Father,” he said.

The King rose to his feet.

“We are not to be disturbed,” he snapped to the servant who’d escorted them.

The servant bowed. The door swung shut.

“Father,” Karim said, “this is—”

His father held up his hand, looked from him to Rachel. There was icy fire in his eyes.

“This is a woman who saw the perfect way to lure a fool into her bed.”

Karim’s eyes narrowed. “Listen to me, old man—”

“No, my son. You will do the listening.”

As if it were a signal, a woman with long blond hair and bright blue eyes stepped out from the shadows behind him.

Rachel’s hand flew to her throat.

“Suki?”

“Damned right,” Suki said sharply. “Did you really think you could get away with this, Rachel?”

Karim looked from one woman to the other.

“Rachel? Is this your sister?”

Rachel swung toward him.

“Karim.” Her voice shook. “Karim, please … I tried to tell you. I tried so hard—”

Karim felt as if a dark pit were opening at his feet.

“Tell me what?”

“Really?” Suki said, her hands on her hips. “You tried to tell him? I don’t think so. I don’t think you had any intention of telling the truth, ever. I mean, you couldn’t take Rami away from me. Snagging his brother was the next best thing.”

Karim stared at Rachel.

“What is she talking about?”