Desert Hearts. Sandra Marton

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СКАЧАТЬ me?” Rachel slapped her hands on her hips. “I hated your brother!”

      “And yet,” Karim said coldly, “you slept with him.”

      Her cheeks heated.

      “You let him put a child in your womb.”

      She turned away from him and started up the aisle. Karim went after her, caught her by the shoulder and swung her toward him.

      “What kind of woman are you? You hated him. But you slept with him. You let him give you a child.”

      Her mouth trembled. If ever she’d wanted to tell the truth, it was now. But she couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

      “Things—things happen,” she said, knowing just how ugly the answer sounded.

      Karim’s mouth twisted with distaste.

      “Is that what you say when you give yourself to a man? That things happen?”

      “It wasn’t—it wasn’t the way you make it sound.”

      “I’ll bet it wasn’t.” He caught her chin, forced her to look into his eyes. “Was he flush with winnings when he first bedded you?”

      Rachel’s hand shot up. He caught it, caught both her wrists and imprisoned them against his chest.

      “How much did you cost him? How much did it take to overcome your hatred, habibi?”

      “You bastard! You miserable bastard! You don’t know anything about me. Not a damned thing—do you understand? Not one single damned—”

      His mouth closed over hers.

      She fought him. Struggled. And then, as before, the earth tilted beneath her feet and her mind emptied of everything but the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his arms closed around her.

      He lifted her off the floor, his mouth angling over hers, plundering hers, and she tunneled her fingers into his hair as he drew her hard against him.

      “I hate you,” she whispered against his mouth even as she kissed him, even as she gasped at the feel of his hands cupping her bottom. “I hate you, Karim, I hate you …”

      A bell rang. It rang again, and then the pilot’s disembodied voice announced that they’d be landing in five minutes.

      Karim set her on her feet. His face was all planes and angles; his eyes were dark.

      Her own eyes stung with tears.

      “If you ever do anything like that again …” she said, and then she clamped her lips together.

      She was as much to blame as he. He’d started the kiss but she had fallen into it.

      Tears of rage stung her eyes. At him? At herself? It didn’t matter. This wouldn’t happen again.

      She wouldn’t let it.

      She spun away, took a seat and belted herself in. The wheels kissed the runway. As soon as the plane came to a stop she undid her seat belt and got to her feet, but not in time to prevent the Sheikh from clasping her shoulder and pulling her to him.

      “Welcome to New York, habibi,” he growled. “And do not make promises you won’t be able to keep.”

      He bent his head to hers. Captured her mouth. She groaned, felt her body flush with heat …

      And she bit him.

      Bit his bottom lip hard enough to make him jerk back and let her go.

      A spot of crimson bloomed against his flesh. He touched his finger to it, looked at her, and then his eyes narrowed.

      “If you want to play games,” he said softly, “I’ll be happy to accommodate you.”

      She wanted to respond, to make some clever remark, but her brain refused to function.

      Karim kept his eyes on hers as he lowered his head again, kissed her again, a slow, lingering kiss. She tasted the salt of his blood, the heat of his hunger. She wanted to tear her lips from his but she didn’t, she didn’t—

      He raised his head, looked into her flushed face with a hot glint of triumph in his eyes.

      Then he brushed past her on his way to the exit door.

      A chauffeured black Mercedes was waiting for them.

      The driver held the door open.

      The interior of the car was handsome and urbane—except for the baby seat.

      The man had thought of everything.

      How far was it to the hotel?

      Rachel was exhausted, as desperate for sleep as she’d ever been in her life. She needed a long, hot shower, some sleep and then—

      Then, freedom.

      The Mercedes merged onto a multi-lane highway. What time was it, anyway? It was too dim in the car to read her watch properly. Did it say four p.m.? That was the time in Nevada, and this was New York, which meant it was—

      “It’s seven,” Karim said. “In the evening.”

      Rachel looked at him. “Thank you,” she said coolly, “but I didn’t ask.”

      “You didn’t have to. I know you’re probably feeling disoriented.”

      “Sorry to disappoint you, Your Highness, but I’m not.”

      “Of course you are.”

      What would she gain by arguing? Instead, she stared out the window. The ride into the city seemed endless, but finally they were on a wide street, tall buildings on one side, what seemed to be a dense park on the other.

      Where was the hotel?

      She turned toward him. “How much further to the hotel?”

      “What hotel?”

      “The one where you’re stashing Ethan and me.”

      He laughed. God, she wanted to slap his face!

      The Mercedes pulled to the curb. The door swung open. The hotel, Rachel thought. But the man who bent down and peered into the car wasn’t a hotel doorman because what hotel doorman would all but click his heels and say, “Welcome home, Your Highness. I trust you had a good trip.”

      “Home?” Rachel said. Her voice rose. “Home?”

      “My home,” Karim said coldly. “My little piece of Alcantar.”

      Ethan began to wail. Karim reached for him. Rachel tried to stop him. Ethan screamed louder.

      “Let go of the boy,” Karim said quietly, and, really, what choice was there?

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