CAROL MARINELLI - Desert Hearts - Sheikh Without a Heart / Heart of the Desert / The Sheikh's Destiny

Good.

She’d bought a few minutes of peace. That was all she needed.

Her suitcase was in the rear of the closet. She took the case out, tossed it on the bed and unzipped it.

Okay.

She packed another pair of jeans. A handful of Ts. Bras. Panties. Socks. A sweater. A zippered hoodie. It all went into the suitcase.

“Ta-da,” she told Ethan, still chomping on the brightly colored teething ring. “See how quick that was? Now it’s your turn. Any thoughts about what you feel like wearing for our trip? You mean I didn’t tell you the surprise? We’re going traveling. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

The baby made a rude sound.

“Okay. Maybe not.” Rachel pulled open the drawers that held Ethan’s clothes. Sleepers. Onesies. Socks. Tiny shirts and sweaters, a pair of grown-up-looking overalls she hadn’t been able to resist. “I admit I used to hate it when Mama told me we were going on a trip. She’d take us out of school, Suki and me, just when we’d finally settled in.” What else? Diapers, of course. A couple of crib blankets. “Well, I’ll never do that to you, little guy. I promise.” What was she forgetting? Ah. Formula. Bottles. Little jars of strained fruits and veggies. A quick detour to the kitchen, then back to the bedroom. “I’ll find us a place where we can settle down and have a garden and maybe even a kitten.”

Rachel paused.

Was that even anywhere near true?

Her mother had run from bill collectors and scandal, but somehow or other those things had always managed to find her anyway.

This was different.

She was running from a prince with the resources of the world at his fingertips.

Rachel shuddered. She wasn’t going to think about that now.

Other things were more vital.

Should she head for the airport and blow a stack of cash on a plane ticket, or head for the bus terminal and the first bus out of town?

No contest.

The airport.

She could get away faster and farther, and speed and distance were of paramount importance.

She’d put half her money on a ticket to wherever, half in reserve for when she and Ethan got there. She had a credit card, too. It was pristine; she’d kept it for emergencies and if this wasn’t an emergency, what was?

She’d go as far from Vegas and Rami’s brother as that combination of cash and credit would take her. San Francisco, maybe. Or Biloxi, where there were riverboat casinos.

Then she’d get a room, a cheap one, and give herself a couple of days to figure out her next step.

“Ffft,” Ethan said.

It made her laugh. Her baby could always do that; he was the one bit of joy she could count on.

“Well, maybe,” she said, “but at least it’s a plan.”

Not much of a plan, but it was a start.

Suki had always teased her about what she’d called “Rachel’s obsession with planning” but without some kind of blueprint you could end up like Mama or Suki or half the women in this town.

And that—being kept, living on a man’s largesse, being a … a possession—was never, ever going to happen to her.

As for leaving Las Vegas …

She was ready. More than ready.

Vegas had never been more than a stop on the road to something better. She’d only come here after Suki had called, babbling with excitement as she told her that two of the casinos were hiring new dealers.

“It’s a great job,” Suki had said. “They’ll train you and then you can make a lot of money.”

Maybe once. Not anymore. The economy was in the toilet. The need for new dealers had gone with it. Rachel had ended up waiting tables, then working the room at the casino—and wondering how she could have been so stupid as to have listened to her sister.

For one thing, if anybody had been hiring dealers why hadn’t Suki applied?

For another, Suki hadn’t bothered mentioning that she was living week-to-week in a furnished room.

The real reason she’d wanted Rachel to come west was because she’d known Rachel would be resourceful, find a job and an apartment, and she could move in.

She hadn’t even asked if her boyfriend, Rami al Safir, could move in, too. He’d just strolled out of Suki’s room one morning and after that he had become pretty much a permanent fixture.

A non-bill-paying fixture.

“Fool,” Rachel muttered.

But then, she reminded herself as she stuffed a few diapers, a box of baby wipes and some plastic Baggies into a tote, if she hadn’t come to Las Vegas she wouldn’t have Ethan.

The baby gave a pathetic little sob. He’d lost his teething ring through the bars of the crib. Rachel picked it up, wiped it off and gave it back to him.

He flashed a happy smile.

“Yes,” Rachel said, “you’re right. This is a fresh start for us both.”

A new town. A new place to live. A job that wouldn’t put her in costumes that made men see her as an item they could purchase.

A fresh start. Definitely. And all because of a man who thought his money, his titles, his gorgeous good looks—because, yes, he was good-looking, if you liked the type and she certainly didn’t—all because of his Sheikhiness, the Prince.

The baby blew a loud, wet bubble. Rachel grinned.

“My very thought,” she said.

Okay. Diapers? Check. Formula? Check. A few tiny jars of baby food? A bottle in a small insulted bag? Double check.

And that was it.

Goodbye, Sheikh Karim.

Hello, brand-new life.

Rachel scooped Ethan up and bundled him in a crib blanket printed with prancing blue giraffes. Then, the baby in the curve of one arm, her purse over that shoulder, the diaper bag over the other, she hoisted the suitcase from the bed and walked briskly through the apartment to the front door, shoved the chair out from under the knob, undid the locks and without a single backward glance headed down the stairs.

She was happy to be leaving Las Vegas. She’d been planning on it, only waiting to save a little more money, but what had happened this morning made that irrelevant.

Rachel paused on the ground floor landing.

Dammit. The taxi. She’d neglected to phone for one. And she hadn’t called Mrs. Grey to say she wouldn’t be needing her to babysit anymore.

No problem.

She could do both things as soon as she got outside and dug her cell phone from her purse.

Wrong.

She couldn’t dig out her phone, or call Mrs. Grey, or phone for a taxi.

She couldn’t do anything because when she opened the door to the street the first thing she saw was a shiny black car at the curb, its rear door open.

The second thing was the Sheikh, leaning against the fender, arms folded, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a thin line.

Rachel stopped dead. “You,” she said.

It was a painfully clichéd reaction and she knew it.

He seemed to think so, too, because a smile knifed across his lips.

“Me,” he said, in a voice that reminded her of steel swathed in silk. His gaze dropped to her suitcase. “Going somewhere?”

She felt her face heat. “Get out of my way.”

He smiled again, moved toward her, took the suitcase from her suddenly nerveless fingers, the diaper bag from her shoulder, and dumped them into the back of the car.

That was when she saw the baby seat.

Her stomach dropped.

“If you think—”

“Put the boy in the seat, Rachel.”

“How did you—?”

He gave a negligent shrug. “A cell phone and a title can do wonders,” he said dryly. “Go on. Put him in the seat.”

“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?”