Sheikh Without a Heart

Then Karim lifted his head, brushed his lips gently over hers and rolled to his side with Rachel safe in his arms.

She gave him a slow, sweet kiss. And she smiled.

It was the kind of smile a man dreamt of seeing on the face of the woman he’d just made love with, and he smiled back.

Hell, he grinned.

“I take it,” he said, trying to sound solemn but not succeeding, “that smile signifies satisfaction.”

“In triplicate,” she said softly.

He gave a soft, delighted laugh. She smiled again.

“No pretensions at modesty, Your Highness?”

“None whatsoever,” he said, “because you’re the reason this was so wonderful, habibi. So incredibly perfect.”

He brought his mouth to hers for a tender, lingering kiss, and when she sighed against his lips he felt his heart swell.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

Rachel closed her eyes, put her head on his shoulder, her hand over his heart.

“What does that mean? Habibi?”

“It means sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“In Arabic, yes?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was my first language.”

She raised her head, moved her hand just enough so she could prop her chin on it.

God, she was beautiful!

Her hair was a tangle of soft waves around her face. Their lovemaking had turned her eyes bright and given her skin a pink glow.

He wanted to rise over her and make love to her again.

“Your first language? You mean, before English?”

“Before French. Then I learned English. And Spanish. And German. And … What?”

“Five languages?”

“Six. Well, almost six. I’m still having trouble with Japanese.”

She laughed.