Desert Hearts: Sheikh Without a Heart / Heart of the Desert / The Sheikh's Destiny. Carol Marinelli
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Ethan looked like his parents. He had Rami’s coloring and eyes, Suki’s chin and mouth. Well, hers, too, because she and Suki resembled each other, but the Sheikh wouldn’t know that.
He didn’t even know Suki existed.
And she had to keep it that way.
“Answer me!”
“Lower your voice. You keep yelling—”
“You think I’m yelling?” the Sheikh yelled.
Predictably, Ethan began to cry.
The mighty Prince looked stunned. Evidently not even infants were permitted to interrupt a royal tirade.
“Now see what you’ve done,” Rachel snapped, and scooped Ethan into her arms.
His cries became wails; his little body shook with outrage. The look on the Sheikh’s face was priceless.
Under other circumstances she’d have laughed, but there was nothing to laugh at in this situation.
Instead, she walked slowly around the small living room, cooing to the baby, stroking his back, pressing kisses to his forehead.
His cries lessened, became soft sobs.
“Good baby,” she whispered.
She felt Karim’s eyes following her.
No way was he going to stop peppering her with questions. With one question.
Was Rami her baby’s father?
And, yes, Ethan was hers. He always would be. She’d made the baby that promise the day Suki left.
Now that could change in a heartbeat.
Once she acknowledged what the Sheikh surely already suspected, her life, and Ethan’s, would be in his hands.
He would surely decide to claim his brother’s son. He was cold, yes. Heartless, absolutely. Rami had said so, and the last hour had proved it, and she could not imagine he’d feel anything for anyone, not even a baby.
Nevertheless, he’d never leave Ethan with her.
There was that whole royal bloodlines thing. Rachel had heard Rami whine about it to Suki. The fact that you were a royal was what set the path of your existence.
The Sheikh would demand custody and he’d get it.
He had money. Power. Access to lawyers and politicians and judges—people she couldn’t even envision.
She had nothing.
This dark little apartment. Maybe four hundred dollars in the bank. A job she despised and, yes, she could just see how “Occupation: half-dressed cocktail waitress” would stack up against “Occupation: powerful prince who spends the days counting his money.”
The answer was inevitable.
He’d take Ethan from her.
Raise him as Rami had told Suki he’d been raised.
No love. No affection. Nothing but discipline and criticism and the harsh words and impossible demands of an imperious father and now, for Ethan, the demands of a heartless uncle.
A lump rose in Rachel’s throat.
She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.
She’d do whatever was necessary to keep her baby—and there was only one way to accomplish that.
Show the Sheikh that he couldn’t intimidate her, get him out the door—then pack a suitcase and run.
The baby’s cries had faded to wet snuffles. Rachel took a breath and turned toward the Sheikh.
“He needs a new diaper.”
“And I need answers.”
“Fine. You’ll get them when I have time. I’ll meet you later. Say, four o’clock in front of the Dancing Waters at the … What’s so amusing?”
“Did you really think I’d fall for such a stupidly transparent lie?” His smile vanished. “Change the child’s diaper. I’ll wait.”
“Don’t try to give me orders in my own home.”
“It was my brother’s home, not yours. You lived here with him. You were his mistress.”
“Wrong on both counts. This apartment is mine.”
“And my brother just happened to have the key.”
His tone was snide and self-confident, and if it weren’t for Ethan, she’d have slapped it off his all-too-handsome face.
“My mistake for giving him one. He moved in with me, not me with him. And, for the record, I’ve never been anybody’s mistress. I’ve always supported myself and I damned well always will.”
There it was again. Fire. Spirit. Absolute defiance. Her eyes were snapping with anger even as she kept her voice low for the baby’s sake, kept stroking her hand gently down his back.
Karim watched that slow-moving hand.
The feel of it would soothe anyone. A child. A beast.
A man.
Without thinking, he reached out and touched the baby. His fingers brushed accidentally against the curve of the Donnelly woman’s breast.
She caught her breath. Their eyes met. Color rushed into her face.
“The boy is asleep,” Karim said softly.
“Yes. He is.” She swallowed hard. He could see her throat arch. “I—I’m going to take him into the bedroom, change his diaper and put him down for a nap.”
“Fine,” he said briskly.
He watched her walk away with the dignity of a queen, back straight, only the slightest sway of her hips.
He wanted to laugh.
What an act! The personification of dignity in a cheap costume.
It was an act, wasn’t it? The way she held herself. The love she seemed to show the baby. Her adamant refusal to name Rami as the child’s father, as if she suspected what Karim’s next move would be.
She wasn’t stupid; far from it. Surely, she knew he would demand custody of the boy.
And he would get it. A DNA test, quickly performed, would settle things.
She was—whatever she was. A dancer. A stripper. She was broke or close to it, judging by where she lived.
And he was a prince.
There