Sheikh Without a Heart. Sandra Marton
new land.
That boy was only a memory … A memory that suddenly raised a storm of emotion Karim had kept hidden even from himself.
Now that emotion flooded through him, set loose by the coldness of a woman his brother had once cared for.
Karim had seen people show more sorrow at the sight of a deer dead on the road than Rachel Donnelly was showing now.
“Damn you,” he growled. “Have you no feelings?”
Her eyes glittered with a burst of blue light.
“What a question, coming from a man like you!”
There was a red haze in front of his eyes. Karim cursed; his hands tightened on her.
“Let go of me!”
She slammed a fist against his shoulder. He caught both hands in one of his, immobilized them against his chest.
“Is that how you dealt with Rami?” he growled. “Did you drive him crazy, too?”
Mercilessly, he dragged her closer. Clasped her face in one big hand. Lowered his head toward hers …
And stopped.
What was he doing?
This was not him.
He was not the kind of man who’d force himself on a woman. Sex had nothing to do with anger.
No matter that she’d brought him to this, or that she was a grasping, heartless schemer. It didn’t give him the right to treat her this way.
He let go of her. Took a step back. Cleared his throat.
“Miss Donnelly,” he said carefully, “Rachel—”
“Get out!” Her voice shook; her eyes were enormous. “Did you hear me? Get out, get out, get—”
“Rachel?”
Karim swung toward the door. A woman, middle-aged, plump, pleasant-faced, looked from Rachel to him, then at Rachel again.
“Honey, is everything all right?”
Rachel didn’t answer. Karim turned toward her. She’d gone pale; he could see the swift rise and fall of her breasts.
“Mrs. Grey.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She looked at Karim, then at the woman in the doorway. “Mrs. Grey. If you could just—if you could just come back a little later—”
“I thought it was him at first,” Mrs. Grey said, frowning. “Wrong hair color but same height, same way of standin’. You know who I mean? That foreigner. Randy. Raymond. Rasi. Whatever his name is.”
“No.” Rachel shook her head. “It isn’t. Look, I hate to ask, but if you would—”
“Just as well, if you ask me. Good-lookin’ man, but any fool could see right through him.”
“Mrs. Grey.” Rachel’s voice was unnaturally high. “This—this gentleman and I have some business to conclude and then I’ll—”
“Sorry, honey, but I’m runnin’ late. Brought my daughter along today. She’s gonna work the mornin’ shift and I have to drop her off after I leave here. Save her takin’ the bus, you know, and …” Her eyes over to Karim again. “This a new friend?”
“No,” Karim said coldly, “I am not Miss Donnelly’s friend.”
“Too bad. You look a nice sort. Not like that Rasi.” The woman shook her head. “Still, you’d think he’d come back, do the right thing by—”
“Momma? Honestly, you move too fast for me. You was up these stairs before I was half-started,” a woman’s voice said with a little laugh.
A younger version of Mrs. Grey appeared beside her.
She had something in her arms.
A blanket? A bundle?
Karim’s breath caught.
It was a child. An infant—and it reminded him of someone. Someone from long, long ago.
“You’d think a man would want to do right for his very own son and his mama, wouldn’t you?” Mrs. Grey said to Karim.
Rachel Donnelly, who had shown no emotion at all at the news of Rami’s death, made a little sound. Karim tore his eyes from the baby and looked at her.
She was trembling.
Carefully, he reached for the child. Thanked the two women. Said something polite. Closed the door.
Stared down at the baby in his arms.
And saw perfectly miniaturized replicas of his brother’s eyes. His brother’s nose.
And Rachel Donnelly’s mouth.
CHAPTER THREE
THE world stood still.
Such a trite phrase, Karim knew, but it took a conscious effort to draw air into his lungs.
What he was thinking was impossible.
This child had nothing to do with his brother.
Eye color. The shape of a nose. So what? There were only so many shades of blue in the world and only so many kinds of noses.
He took a deep breath.
Okay.
He’d been at this too long. That was the problem. He had certain routines. Rami had teased him unmercifully about how boring his life must be, but a routine was what kept a man grounded.
Up at six, half an hour in his private gym, shower, dress, coffee and toast at seven, at his desk by eight.
He’d been away from that schedule for too long, flying almost non-stop from city to city, seeing all the unpleasant details of his brother’s life unfold.
It was having an effect.
If Rami had fathered a child, he’d have known.
They were brothers. Out of touch, but surely a man would not keep something like that to himself …
“Blaa,” the baby said, “blaa-blaa-blaa.”
Karim stared down at the child.
Blah, indeed.
Of course Rami would have kept it to himself—the same as he’d never mentioned his gambling debts.
You didn’t talk about your mistakes—and the birth of a child out of wedlock was a mistake.
Rami had scoffed at convention, but under it all he’d known he was the son of a king and, after Karim, next in line to the throne.
There were certain rules of behavior that applied, even to him.
News of an illegitimate child would have resulted in a scandal back home. Their father might have completely cut off his younger son, even banished him from the kingdom.
So, yes. The child was Rami’s, and it was illegitimate. There had not been a marriage certificate among his brother’s papers. There’d been lots of other stuff. Expired drivers’ licenses. Outdated checkbooks. Scribbled notes and, of course, endless bills and IOUs.
Nothing that even hinted at a wife.
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