coat and tie tossed aside, with Ethan lying spread-eagled against his chest—Ethan so small and sweet in the powerful arms of the powerful man who, except for that first night, behaved as if he didn’t exist.
The baby sighed into the tiny damp spot his sore gums had left on what was surely a hand-made white shirt.
Karim drew him closer and, in his sleep, stroked a big hand down Ethan’s back.
The baby snuggled in.
Something hot and dangerous flooded Rachel’s heart.
No. No, she was not going to let this scene affect her. She knew better, knew what men were, knew what this man was …
Knew that he could be hard as well as tender, not just when he held a baby but when he held her.
She must have made a sound, perhaps a sigh like the baby’s, because Karim’s dark, thick lashes fluttered, then rose.
His eyes, still blurry with sleep, met hers.
“Ethan was crying.” His voice was late-night hoarse. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want him to wake you.” He paused. Why was she looking at him as if she’d never seen him before? Karim cleared his throat. “So I brought him down here with me.”
He fell silent. His heart was racing.
How could she be so beautiful? Such an insignificant word to describe her but it was the only one he had.
She was beautiful.
Her soft, rosy mouth. Her sleep-tousled hair.
And all the rest.
Her breasts, pressing against the thin cotton of her gown. Her long legs, outlined by the soft fabric.
Only the weight of the child against his chest kept him sane, enabled him to raise his eyes to Rachel’s without embarrassing them both.
“I’ll …” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take him upstairs.”
“Thank you. For taking care of him.”
Karim smiled. “He’s a nice little boy.”
“Yes. Yes, he is.” She swallowed dryly. “I’ll take him up.”
“That’s liable to wake him. Let me.”
She nodded. Karim got to his feet and she fell in behind him, followed him up the stairs to the nursery.
She watched him bend over the crib, carefully place the sleeping baby in it. There was a light blanket at the foot; he drew it up, tucked it around the child, touched his pale curls lightly with his hand as he had done that first time.
“Sleep well,” he whispered.
Rachel felt a tightness in her chest.
How many times had she held the baby and thought, If only you were truly mine …?
Impossible, of course.
Karim’s brother and her sister had created this little boy.
But what if fate had written a different story? What if Ethan were not Rami’s and Suki’s but hers and—and—
She spun away, went into the sitting room and out to the hall.
Karim came after her. “Rachel?”
She was trembling. God, she was—
“Rachel,” he said again, “what is it?”
Walk away, she told herself. Don’t be a fool … don’t, don’t, don’t—
His hand fell on her shoulder. She could feel his hard body behind hers, could feel the heat emanating from him.
He said her name again, his voice low and rough, and she turned and faced him.
What she saw in his eyes told her that tonight, at least, anything was possible.
“Karim,” she whispered, and when he reached for her she went straight into his arms.
He told himself there were endless reasons to let go of her. To step back from this while he still could.
He had always done the right thing, the logical thing, the dutiful thing …
Karim groaned, and gathered her close.
This, only this, was the right thing. This was where Rachel belonged.
“Karim.”
His name was a sigh on her lips. He looked down into her face, her lovely face, and knew she was feeling the same emotions. Desire. Confusion. The realization that what they were doing could be dangerous, that there would be no going back …
“We can’t,” she said in a thready whisper, and he said she was right, they couldn’t …
She moaned. Rose on her toes. Pressed against him.
He bent to her and captured her mouth.
She tasted of the night, of honey, of herself. She tasted like cream and vanilla, and he shuddered, took the kiss deep, deeper still.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and she trembled and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he knew they were both lost.
He slid his hands down her back, cupped her bottom, lifted her into him.
Another groan came from his throat.
He could feel all of her against him now. Her breasts. Her belly. Her hips.
Her body was hot. So was her mouth as he drank from it.
Half the buttons of his shirt were undone and she slid her hands inside, stroked them over his naked shoulders, and he shuddered under that feather-soft, tantalizing touch.
He drew her closer, holding her as if his arms were bands of steel, but it wasn’t enough, it couldn’t be enough—not when the need to make her his pounded through him with every beat of his heart.
He wanted to sweep her into his arms. Carry her to his bed.
But first—first just a taste of her skin. Here, behind her ear. Here, in the tender hollow of her throat. Here, at the delicate juncture of neck and shoulder.
She cried out.
The sound raced through him like a river of flame.
“Do you want this?’ he whispered. “Tell me, habibi. Tell me what you want.”
She cupped his face, dragged it down to hers and kissed him.
“This,” she whispered. “You. But we can’t. We can’t—”
His kiss was hot and hard. Her knees
