Sheikh Without a Heart

“Yes. You’re right. Don’t worry. I’ll stay with him as long as they’ll let me.”

The women hugged. Then Roberta hurried after the servant, and Rachel was alone.

Even the King was gone.

The huge room filled with silence.

Rachel wiped her hands over her wet eyes, uncertain of what to do next. She had to leave this terrible place, but how?

“Rachel.”

That deep, familiar voice. She whirled toward the door and saw her lover. His face was cold with anger but it didn’t matter.

She knew that she had just added one lie to another, telling herself what she’d felt for him was only lust.

She loved him.

And she had lost him.

A yawning emptiness stretched ahead. Years alone, without her baby. Without the man she adored.

He stood looking at her, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Still, hope rose within her breast, as bright as the mythical phoenix would surely have been as it rose from the flames.

“Karim,” she said unsteadily, “Karim, please, if you’d just listen—”

“That was my first mistake. I did listen—to you, and your lies.”

“I shouldn’t have lied. I know that. But I never lied about us.”

His mouth thinned.

“There is no ‘us.’ There never was.”

“I love you, Karim. You have to—”

He held out his hand.

She stared at the piece of paper in it. “What is that?”

“A check.”

“A check?” She looked at him blankly. “For what?”

“For a masterful performance. Go on. Take it.”

Rachel raised her hands in front of her, as if she were warding off something evil.

“It’s for fifty thousand dollars. Not enough?” He shrugged. “How much, then? One hundred thousand? I warn you, Rachel, there’s a limit to my generosity.”