tone was flat. Matter-of-fact, as if the issue had been decided.
That frightened her more than anything else. His certainty that there would be a test. That whatever he demanded would happen.
She knew she had to sound decisive, even in the face of his determination.
“The name of the person who fathered my child is my affair.”
“Not if that person was my brother.”
His answer was so logical that for a couple of seconds her mind went blank. What could she say to that?
“Why, Rachel,” he said softly, “don’t tell me you’ve run out of arguments.”
“Here’s the bottom line, Your Highness. There won’t be a test. I won’t grant permission. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“You’re correct,” he said quietly. “I can’t force you.”
Rachel wanted to cheer. Instead, she folded her arms and waited. She knew it couldn’t be this easy.
“You may, indeed, refuse my request. You have that right.” He smiled. It was a terrible smile; it chilled her to the bone. “But I, too, have rights. Don’t bother telling me I don’t. I’ve already spoken with my attorney.”
“You’ve had a busy morning,” she said, trying to sound glib despite the race of her heart.
“I have reasonable grounds to think Rami is the child’s father.”
“So you say.”
“So my lawyer will say. If you refuse to have him tested, I’ll put this in the hands of the judicial system.” He paused. “It is, my attorney says, a very slow-moving system. Who knows how long Ethan will be in foster care?”
Rachel blanched. “No! You can’t—”
“Certainly I can,” he said calmly. “I have one of the best legal firms in the United States on retainer. Six full partners. Endless associates from the nation’s top law schools. Paralegals. Clerks. Offices on both coasts. And who will represent you? A fresh-out-of-law-school kid from Legal Aid? A lawyer with a closet for an office?” Another cool smile touched his lips. “The contest should prove interesting.”
It was a direct hit.
Karim knew it; the proof was in the sudden tremor of Rachel Donnelly’s mouth, the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes.
He wanted to feel triumphant.
But he didn’t.
She was an easy opponent and he’d never been a man who enjoyed easy victories. The power was all his; she had nothing but possession of Rami’s son—because, without question, this was Rami’s son.
Why wouldn’t she admit it?
She had everything to gain. She had to know he’d pay whatever price she set for the child.
Unless the child really mattered to her.
He supposed that was possible. Not likely, in his experience. His mother, whenever she’d been around, had shown more affection for her poodles than for him or Rami; he had female employees, executives on the fast track, whose kids were virtually being raised by nannies.
Nothing wrong with that.
It did children good to grow up with a sense of independence.
Wasn’t he living proof of that?
Still, he knew there were other kinds of mothers.
He saw them on weekends when he ran in Central Park, playing and laughing with their children
Maybe Rachel had that kind of thing in her.
Maybe not.
Maybe it was all an act.
Either way, he didn’t give a damn.
Whatever her reason for making this so complicated, he would be the victor. How much she gained from the battle—six figures, seven, the right to visit with the boy from time to time if she wished—depended on how many obstacles she put in his way.
He really didn’t want a court fight.
He knew damned well it would end up splashed in the tabloids, on the cable talk shows, on internet blogs. And both he and Alcantar were better off without that kind of publicity.
Rachel would acquiesce before things went public. He was certain of it. And this, her silence, was the first proof.
So he waited, watching her without saying a word, until at last she blinked back those unshed tears.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Her voice was whisper-thin. It almost made him feel guilty—until he thought about his duty to his brother.
“This isn’t about you,” he said, not unkindly. “It’s about Rami.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”
Karim narrowed his eyes.
“No one calls me a liar.”
“Not even when you lie to yourself?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about too little, too late.” Her voice took on strength; she folded her arms in what was fast-becoming a familiar indication of defiance. “Because, Your Highness, if you’d really cared about your brother you’d have been there for him. You’d have made him see that he couldn’t go on drinking and gambling and living the kind of life people like you live, neck-deep in self-indulgence and money and to hell with decency and honor and—”
She gasped as he reached for her, ignoring the pull of his seat belt and hers, digging his hands into her shoulders as he pulled her toward him.
“You don’t know a damned thing about what you call ‘people like me,’ and you sure as hell don’t know anything about my brother except what he showed you when he took you to bed.”
“I know that you’re heartless. To do what you’re doing to Ethan and me and, yes, even to your brother’s memory—”
“I’m doing this for his memory. For the honor of our people—an honor he never understood.”
His hands bit into her shoulders. Then he said something under his breath in a language that sounded as hard and unyielding as he was, and flung her from him.
“Agree to the testing or find yourself a way to fight me in court,” he growled as he started the car. “Those are your choices. The flight east is a long one. I suggest you use the time to come to a decision.”
They stopped at the security gate. Karim produced his ID; the
