Sheikh Without a Heart
She wanted to respond, to make some clever remark, but her brain refused to function.
Karim kept his eyes on hers as he lowered his head again, kissed her again, a slow, lingering kiss. She tasted the salt of his blood, the heat of his hunger. She wanted to tear her lips from his but she didn’t, she didn’t—
He raised his head, looked into her flushed face with a hot glint of triumph in his eyes.
Then he brushed past her on his way to the exit door.
A chauffeured black Mercedes was waiting for them.
The driver held the door open.
The interior of the car was handsome and urbane—except for the baby seat.
The man had thought of everything.
How far was it to the hotel?
Rachel was exhausted, as desperate for sleep as she’d ever been in her life. She needed a long, hot shower, some sleep and then—
Then, freedom.
The Mercedes merged onto a multi-lane highway. What time was it, anyway? It was too dim in the car to read her watch properly. Did it say four p.m.? That was the time in Nevada, and this was New York, which meant it was—
“It’s seven,” Karim said. “In the evening.”
Rachel looked at him. “Thank you,” she said coolly, “but I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t have to. I know you’re probably feeling disoriented.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Your Highness, but I’m not.”
“Of course you are.”
What would she gain by arguing? Instead, she stared out the window. The ride into the city seemed endless, but finally they were on a wide street, tall buildings on one side, what seemed to be a dense park on the other.
Where was the hotel?
She turned toward him. “How much further to the hotel?”
“What hotel?”
“The one where you’re stashing Ethan and me.”
He laughed. God, she wanted to slap his face!
The Mercedes pulled to the curb. The door swung open. The hotel, Rachel thought. But the man who bent down and peered into the car wasn’t a hotel doorman because what hotel doorman would all but click his heels and say, “Welcome home, Your Highness. I trust you had a good trip.”
“Home?” Rachel said. Her voice rose. “Home?”