Desert Hearts. Sandra Marton

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      Rachel Donnelly stood before him, as frozen as a marble statue, her eyes locked on the child in his arms.

      No. Rami had not married her. Drunk or not, he surely would have known better than to tie himself permanently to a woman like this.

      She was a woman a man bedded, not wedded, Karim thought, without even a hint of humor.

      Beautiful.

      Fiery.

      Tough as nails.

      His brother might have found all that spirit and defiance sexy.

      He did not and would not. But this wasn’t about him.

      “Give me the baby.”

      Her voice was low, a little thready, but the color had come back into her face. She was regaining her composure.

      Why had she reacted with such distress?

      If this was Rami’s child, this could be a golden opportunity. Her lover’s child and her lover’s brother, coming face to face …

      “Give me the baby!”

      He wondered why she hadn’t tried to contact him before this. Well, that was obvious. She’d thought Rami would come back to her.

      Was this the reason he’d left her? Because she’d become pregnant?

      It was an ugly thought, that his brother would have abandoned his own child, but nothing about Rami surprised him anymore.

      Assuming, of course, the child was his.

      How had his brother let this happen? Drunk or sober, how could he have forgotten to use a condom?

      Had the woman seduced him into forgetting? That was always a possibility.

      Karim wasn’t naïve. A man who was born to a title and a fortune learned early how things went.

      Women set snares; his own mother had been pregnant with him before his father had married her.

      He wasn’t supposed to know that, but any fool could count. And once he’d figured it out he’d had a better idea of why his parents’ marriage had failed.

      You chose a wife—especially if you had the responsibilities of a prince—because she met certain criteria. Common interests and backgrounds. Common goals and expectations.

      You chose her; you didn’t put yourself in a position where fate or expediency or, even worse, a foolish night of passion became the deciding factor—

      A small fist hit his shoulder. Karim blinked in surprise. The woman had moved right up to him. Her eyes flashed with anger.

      “Are you deaf? Give—me—the—baby!”

      The child made an unhappy sound. Its mouth, that mouth that was the image of hers, began to tremble.

      Karim narrowed his eyes.

      “Whose child is this?”

      “What is this? An interrogation? Give Ethan to me and then get the hell out!”

      “Ethan?”

      Dammit, Rachel thought, she hadn’t intended to give him anything—not even the baby’s name.

      “Yes. And he’s wary of strangers.”

      Karim’s mouth twisted. “Was he wary of my brother?”

      “I’d tell you that you’ve overstayed your welcome, Your Sheikhiness, but you were not welcome here in the first place.”

      “Do not,” Karim said grimly, “call me that.”

      He regretted the words even as he said them. It was a mistake to let her know she was annoying him because that was damned well what she wanted to do.

      “I’ll ask you again,” he said, struggling to control his temper. “Who does this child belong to?”

      “He belongs to himself. Unlike you and your countrymen, Americans don’t believe people can be owned like property.”

      “A charming speech. I’m sure it will win applause on your Fourth of July holiday. But it hasn’t got a damned thing to do with my question. Once again, then. Whose child is this?”

      Rachel chewed on her lip.

      Whose, indeed?

      Suki and Rami had created Ethan.

      But from the very beginning he’d been hers.

      For Suki, the bump in her belly had been a nine-month annoyance, especially once she’d realized she couldn’t use her pregnancy to convince Rami to marry her.

      He’d packed his things and taken off well before Ethan’s birth.

      It had been Rachel who’d held Suki’s hand during labor, Rachel who’d cut the baby’s umbilical cord.

      When Suki and her son had come home from the hospital, the baby had cried endlessly. He’d been hungry; Suki had refused to nurse him.

      “What,” she’d said in horror, “and ruin my boobs?”

      The formula hadn’t agreed with him. He’d kept spitting up; his tiny diaper had always been full and foul-smelling. Suki had shuddered, and left his care to Rachel.

      Rachel had been fine with that.

      She’d changed his formula. Changed his diapers. The baby thrived.

      And Rachel adored him.

      She’d loved him even before he was born. It was she who’d come up with a name, who’d bought a crib and baby clothes. He was hers, not Suki’s. And when Suki had finally left, Rachel was almost ashamed to admit she’d been happy to see her go.

      Now everything was falling apart.

      She had never worried that Rami might return and claim his son—even if he had, she’d sensed that he was a coward underneath the charm and good looks.

      She could have faced him down.

      But if this arrogant bully wanted Ethan …

      “Ms. Donnelly. I asked a simple question.”

      The baby began to whimper.

      “That’s it,” Rachel said. “Raise your voice. Terrify the baby. Is that your specialty? Walking into places you aren’t welcome? Scaring small children?”

      “I asked you a simple question, and you will answer it! Whose child is he?”

      “You,” Rachel said, stalling for time, “you are an awful man!”

      His СКАЧАТЬ