her throat, sat straighter, reminded herself that her enemy would surely make the most of any sign of weakness. “You remember that—that moment in the bathroom when—when I seemed to stop fighting you?”
“No,” he said coldly, “not in any detail. Did you think I would?”
She felt her face heat but she’d gone too far to back off now.
“You’d have remembered my knee where it would have done the most good if you hadn’t let go of me.”
“So that was … What shall I call it? Misdirection?”
“It was doing whatever I had to do to get you off me!”
He nodded, his expression suddenly grave. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Believe me, Your Highness, there won’t be a next time.”
He gave her a long, steady look. Was he laughing at her? Did he think this was a joke?
Rachel didn’t wait to find out.
Instead, she undid her seat belt, got out of the car and took Ethan from the baby seat. Karim reached past her, grabbed her suitcase and the diaper bag, then clasped her elbow with his free hand and began walking toward a silver jet with the emblem of a falcon on its fuselage.
Steps led up to the open cabin door where two men and a woman, all in dark gray suits, stood watching them.
“My crew,” Karim said.
His crew.
His plane.
His life.
The sudden reality of what was happening hit Rachel with breath-stealing force. She stumbled; Karim dropped the bags and swept his arm around her waist.
“Dammit,” he growled.
The woman rushed down the steps and hurried toward them. She reached for the suitcase and diaper bag but Karim shook his head.
“Take the child.”
Rachel pulled back. The woman smiled reassuringly.
“He’ll be fine with me, ma’am. I’ll take him to the galley. I have diapers ready, food, a little carrier … His Highness saw to everything.”
Rachel blinked. “He did?”
“He did,” Karim said briskly. “Go on. Give the baby to Moira, or would you rather run the risk of dropping him?”
Rachel handed Ethan over. Then she stared at the Sheikh.
“When did you order all those things?”
“I had plenty of time to make phone calls while you were packing. There isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t take forever to pack.”
“I didn’t take forever. And are you always so sure of how things will work out? That I was packing at all? Just because you want something doesn’t mean it—” She gasped as he swung her up in his arms. “I can walk!”
“Yes. So you just demonstrated.”
He strode to the steps and climbed them. The two men—his pilots, she assumed—snapped to attention.
Rachel could feel her face burning. Maybe the Sheikh’s crew was accustomed to seeing their lord and master board his plane with a woman in his arms but this kind of dramatic entrance was new to her.
“I’ll see to those bags, sir,” one of the men said.
The Sheikh nodded.
“Fine. I want to get airborne ASAP.”
“Yes sir.”
One man went for the bags. The other made his way to the cockpit. Karim carried Rachel through what might easily have passed as someone’s handsome living room.
“Don’t they click their heels?” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
She pulled back as far as she could in his hard, encircling arms.
“I said, don’t they click their heels?”
“They do,” he said, “but only on state occasions.”
Her eyes went to his. Okay. It was a joke; she could tell by the look on his face. At least there was something human about him.
“You can put me down now.”
“Can I?”
“Put-me-down!”
His mouth twitched. “I heard you.”
“Then, dammit, put me—”
“That isn’t a very ladylike way of speaking.”
“I’m not a very ladylike lady. And I want you to—”
His arms tightened around her as the plane lifted into the sky.
“I know what you want,” he said gruffly, and he bent his head and kissed her.
She made a little sound of protest and he asked himself what in hell he was doing.
And then she made another little sound that had nothing to do with protest.
Karim traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue. He sank onto a leather loveseat, Rachel still in his arms. One hand swept into her hair; the other found the sweet swell of her breast. Her taut nipple pressed into his palm through her cotton T-shirt, and he shuddered.
“Rachel,” he whispered.
She moaned and her lips parted, giving him access to the honeyed sweetness of her mouth.
He drew her closer. Swept his hand under her shirt. Cupped her breast.
She put her arms around his neck.
He brought his hand to her face, cupped her jaw, rested his thumb in the delicate hollow of her throat. Her pulse leaped under his touch.
What in hell was he doing?
It was wrong. It was madness. And yet he wanted this, wanted her—
The plane hit an air pocket. It jumped, and so did Rachel. She jerked back in his arms, face pale, eyes wide and blurred. He blinked and let go of her.
She sprang to her feet.
“Do not,” she breathed, “do not ever touch me again you—you vile, arrogant, heartless, manipulative bastard! Do you always ignore the truth of what other people feel?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. A good thing, he thought as she stumbled to a seat far from his, because he didn’t have
