Sandra Marton - Desert Hearts

A hot shower. A night’s sleep. Then, in the morning, a meeting with his attorney, a stop at the lab his doctor had recommended, a bit of serious negotiating with the woman, and custody would be his.

With any luck at all, this would be settled in a couple of days, after which he’d take out his BlackBerry, choose a name and number, and put an end to these weeks of celibacy.

Talk about tying up loose ends, Karim thought with a tight smile.

That would surely do it.

“MISS?”

Rachel’s eyes flew open. The flight attendant smiled at her.

“We’ll be landing within the hour. I thought you might have changed your mind about eating something, or that you’d like some coffee or juice while we still have time.”

“Coffee would be—” Rachel cleared her throat. “Coffee would be fine, thank you.”

“I’ll bring it right away.”

Rachel nodded. Her throat wasn’t the only thing needed clearing. Her brain did, too. She was groggier than before she’d fallen asleep …

Where was Ethan?

Her heart thudded.

He’d been in his carrier, right next to her.

“Moira?”

“Yes, miss?”

“Where’s my baby?”

“Oh, I brought him up front with me. He woke up and he seemed hungry—”

Rachel sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

“No problem, miss. He’s a very sweet little boy.”

Rachel smiled. “He’s teething, you know, and—”

“I figured as much. I remember my own children at that age. I chilled one of the teething rings you had in the diaper bag and gave it to him. It seemed to make him happy. He’s sound asleep now, though. Why don’t I keep him with me? That way, we won’t risk waking him and he might sleep through the landing. Descents, the change in pressure, can make some babies uncomfortable.”

“Yes. That’s fine. Thanks again.”

“My pleasure, miss. I’ll get that coffee now.”

“Black, please.”

“Black it is.”

Rachel brought her seat upright and looked out the window. Were they as high over the earth as they’d been before? It was hard to tell. The long flight, the change in time zones … all of it was disorienting—though not as disorienting as being plucked out of your own life at the command of a prince.

Was he still seated in the middle of the plane? She wanted to turn around and look but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

What was he doing? Was he asleep? Was he working on those papers he’d taken from his attaché case? Was he staring out the window the way she was while he planned his next move?

She could find out.

She didn’t have to make a point of looking at him. All she had to do was rise from her seat and walk to the lavatory in the rear of the plane.

She needed to do that, anyway, sheikh or no sheikh.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, Rachel rose to her feet.

He was still seated where he’d been all along. His seat was halfway reclined; he looked completely relaxed, long legs stretched out, big shoulders pressed against the leather seat-back, hands folded loosely in his lap.

And his face …

Her breath caught.

It was an incredible face.

His eyes were shut; his lashes, so thick and dark a woman would kill for them, lay arced against his chiseled cheekbones. Stubble smudged his jaw.

He was—there was no other word for it—beautiful.

Dark. Sleek. A magnificent predatory animal.

A panther.

His eyes flew open and met hers. His pupils contracted; she saw his mouth thin.

Heat flared in her belly.

She stared at his mouth, remembered the silken feel of it against hers …

Stop it!

She wanted to run, but you didn’t try to escape from a panther. You stood your ground.

Head up, eyes straight ahead, she walked briskly past him to the lavatory, shut the door—

And fell back against it, heart at full gallop.

This had to stop.

He was the enemy. He was a very dangerous enemy. There was no reason for her to be attracted to him. She’d never been drawn to bad boys at the age some girls were, and she’d certainly never been drawn to the grown-up version.

Bad boys were Suki territory, not hers.

Okay. A couple of deep breaths. A couple of slow exhalations. Then she stepped away from the door.

The bathroom held a marble sink and vanity, a glass-enclosed shower, a toilet and glass-fronted cabinets neatly stocked with folded towels, packaged soaps, toothbrushes and pretty much everything anyone could want.

Rachel gave the shower a look of longing but, no, she wasn’t going to use it. The thought of stripping naked with only the door between the Sheikh and her brought back the memory of what had happened this morning. Or yesterday morning. Or, dammit, whatever day this was and that had been …

What did the day matter?

It was what had happened that counted.

Karim, his eyes going dark as he looked at her naked body. His hands cupping her breasts, his fingers feathering over her suddenly erect nipples, the liquid heat gathering low in her belly …

A moan rose in her throat.

She bit it back and stared at herself in the mirror.

“He caught you by surprise,” she said.

Her reflection returned the stare. Really? it said in a sly voice. So what are you saying, hmm? That you’ve never been caught by surprise before?

Rachel blinked.

Why was she wasting time and energy over this? What happened next was all that mattered. She had to be prepared to deal with it.

But not looking like this.

Looks were important. Another Mama-ism, like the one about first impressions and, again, true enough. Look weak, people saw you as weak. Look tough, they figured that you were.

Right now, she looked pitiful.

Red-rimmed eyes. The pallor that came of exhaustion. Hair that was half in, half out of a ponytail.

“You,” she told her reflection, “look worn and defeated. Is that how you want his Imperial Sheikhiness to see you?”

The answer was obvious.

So she got busy. Used the toilet. Ran water into the sink. Washed her hands and face with a soapy liquid that smelled like lemons. Brushed her teeth. Yanked her hair free of the band that constrained it and then combed it again and again until it was tangle-free.

Then she stood tall and looked into the mirror again.

“Better,” she said.

Not much, but anything was an improvement.

A deep breath. A toss of her head. Then she unlocked the door, started up the aisle …

The plane hit an air pocket. Not much of an air pocket, just enough to make her stumble. The problem was that it happened just as she reached the seat where he was sitting.

Not again, she thought as his hand shot out and closed around her wrist.

The panther was wide awake.

His fingers were warm and hard against her skin. Rachel looked at him. He looked at her. Say something, she told herself, and she forced a polite smile.

“Thank you.”

“Amazing.”

“What?”

“That ‘thank you.’ Surely that’s a phrase I never thought to hear you say, habibi. ”

He was smiling. It wasn’t much of a smile, only a tilt of his lips, but it was so private and sexy that, just for an instant, she wanted to smile back.

She didn’t, of course. All the sexy smiles in his no doubt considerable repertoire wouldn’t be enough to lull her into forgetting who he was and what he wanted.

“I am polite when politeness is appropriate,” she said coolly.

This time, he grinned.

“Nicely done. It takes talent to deliver a remark that sounds polite but is really an insult.” He tugged on her hand. “Sit down.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”