Sandra Marton - Desert Hearts

“You’re crazy if you think you’re going to take him from me!”

“He is Rami’s,” Karim said coldly

“He is mine!”

“And that is the only reason I’ve decided to take you with me.”

She blinked. “Take me with you where?”

“There are details to arrange.” A faint look of distaste passed over his face. “And I have no intention of dealing with them in this place.”

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, woman.” Karim stalked toward her. He stopped inches away, towering over her, his face stern, hard as granite. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t become you. I want my brother’s child. You’ll want recompense.” He paused. “Unless you’re willing to give him to me right now.”

Rachel stood as straight and tall as she could. For the first time in her life she wished she were wearing those damned stiletto heels.

“If you think I’d ever do that—”

“No. I didn’t think it, but then, anything is possible.”

“What’s possible,” she said, “is that I’ll scream for help. There are laws in this country—”

“Laws against an uncle wishing to see to the welfare of his dead brother’s child? I think not.”

“You don’t give a damn for Ethan’s welfare! You just want to steal my baby, take him far away and bring him up to be—to be a clone of you!”

Karim laughed. She felt a rush of fury sweep through her.

“You’re a despicable person!”

“Shall we deal with this in a civilized manner or not?”

Rachel stared up into that beautiful, emotionless face. Then she brushed past him, buckled Ethan into the baby seat and started to get into the car beside him.

The Sheikh closed his hand tightly around her elbow and drew her onto the sidewalk.

“You will sit in the passenger seat,” he snapped, “next to me. I am not your chauffeur.”

Rachel glared at him.

“You are not anything honest or decent,” she said.

It wasn’t much of a line, but at the moment it was all she had.

WHERE was Karim taking her?

When she’d asked, he’d avoided a direct answer.

Why ask again and give him the pleasure of acknowledging that he was in charge? Maybe thinking that way was foolish but it was the way Rachel felt.

He’d done everything he could to humiliate her. The way he looked at her, talked to her, snapped orders at her …

The way he’d kissed her.

No. She wasn’t going to add to it by pleading for information.

She looked back at Ethan and came as close to a smile as she could. Her boy was content; he loved car rides. She had a beat-up old Ford. It wasn’t much to look at but it was fairly reliable.

Early on, when Ethan was colicky and crying, and Suki would cover her ears and say, “ Can’t that baby ever be quiet?” Rachel had discovered that taking him for a ride into the desert, sometimes as far as Red Rock Canyon, almost always turned those heartbreaking sobs to gurgles of contentment.

If only she and her baby were alone and heading for the peaceful canyon now, she thought, folding her hands tightly in her lap and staring out the window.

Rachel glanced at the Sheikh.

He drove quickly and competently, his left hand on the steering wheel, his right resting lightly on the gear shifter. His profile was unalterably stern.

The logical destination would be a lawyer’s office, but she dismissed that as soon as she thought of it.

Snapping his fingers and making a car seat materialize in the middle of the desert was one thing.

Conjuring up an attorney he’d trust to sort out all the legalese of Ethan’s custody was another.

Was he heading for a lab for a DNA test?

No. She doubted that, too.

The Sheikh was accustomed to using his power and money to get what he wanted, but even he had to know that he’d need her consent to get a sample of Ethan’s DNA.

After all, she was his mother.

Rachel swallowed hard.

He’d accepted her in that role without hesitation; clearly he didn’t know a thing about Suki or the months his brother had spent with her.

And she had every intention of keeping it that way.

Then, where were they going?

To the Strip. That had to be the answer.

It was not terribly far from the grimy building she lived in to the glitzy hotels on the Strip, but you measured the distance in money, not in miles.

That had to be where he was taking her. A restaurant. A coffee shop. Or his suite.

A man like him, a sheikh, would surely have a suite, an enormous, glamorous set of rooms reserved for the rich and famous.

She’d demand they stay in the suite’s sitting room and that he leave the door open, though she suspected he would not repeat that kiss.

She was certain she’d figured right, that the kiss had been a mark of male dominance. Like an alpha wolf marking the boundaries of his turf by peeing on rocks and trees, she thought.

The image made her want to laugh.

But she didn’t.

There was nothing funny in being dragged off by a man who thought he owned the world and everyone in it.

The car flew past Circus Circus, past the Venetian, past the Flamingo.

Rachel swung toward her abductor. To hell with not asking him where they were going. He was using mental and emotional muscle to get what he wanted. It was what he excelled at.

The thing she had to do was fight it.

“I want to know where you’re taking me.”

“I told you,” he said calmly. “Somewhere quiet, where we can discuss our situation.”

“Our situation?” Rachel snorted. “We have no situation.”

Ahead, a traffic light glowed crimson. Karim slowed the car, brought it to a stop.

“You would be wise,” he said softly, “not to take me for a fool.”

“I asked you a simple question. Surely you can give me a simple answer. Where are we—?”

The light turned green. He made a turn. They were heading away from the Strip, away from the hotels.

A lump of fear lodged in her throat.

The only thing that could possibly draw a visitor to this part of town was the airport.

“Either you tell me where you’re going or—”

“We’re going to my plane.”

Full-blown panic flooded through her.

“I am not getting on a plane!”

“Yes,” he said in a quiet voice that resonated with command, “you are.”

“No!”

“We’re flying to New York.”

“ You’re flying to New York! I’m going home.”

“Home?” His tone changed, became hard. “Really? Is that why you came out the door with a suitcase?” There was a gate ahead; he slowed the car as they approached it. “I told you not to take me for a fool, Rachel. When you came down those steps your only thought was to run. I’d bet you didn’t even have a destination. Well, now you do.”

“Get this through your head, Your Highness. There’s not a way in hell I’m flying to New York or anyplace else with you. If you think you can—you can pick up where you left off in my apartment—”

He looked at her, his eyes cold. Then he swung the wheel to the right and pulled onto the shoulder of the road.

“I assure you, Ms. Donnelly, I’m not the least bit interested in you sexually.”

“If that’s your idea of an apology—”

“It’s a statement of fact. What happened earlier was a mistake.”

“You’re damned right it was. And if you think it could ever happen again—”

“I’m taking you to New York so we can move to the end of this little drama as quickly as possible.”

“We can do that right here.”

“No, we cannot. I have a home in Manhattan. Commitments to keep.”

“I have commitments, too.”