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

“And this is little Ethan. Oh, His Highness was right! He’s a beautiful child.”

Rachel was surprised.

“Is that what he said?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. He told us the baby was—”

“Us?”

“Ah.” Mrs. Jensen wiped her hands on her apron and pressed a button on the wall phone. “Sorry, ma’am. Prince Karim asked me to be sure and introduce you to the others.”

“What others?”

“Why, the rest of the household staff. There’s me. And the housekeeper, Mrs. Lopez. The prince’s driver—well, you met him at the airport last night. And we’ve an addition. My granddaughter Roberta. She’ll be here within the hour. To help with the baby,” the cook added, when she saw the puzzled look on Rachel’s face.

“I don’t need any help with my baby,” Rachel said quickly, drawing Ethan closer.

“You’ll like Roberta, ma’am. She’s a professional nanny and she adores babies.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of Ethan myself.”

“Of course you are, Ms. Donnelly. But His Highness asked if my Roberta was available—just, you know, just to help you.”

“To keep an eye on me, you mean,” Rachel said coldly.

“No, ma’am. Certainly not. To help you, is all.” The cook’s tone was indignant. “He knows my Roberta’s an excellent nanny.”

Rachel’s voice turned frigid. “Oh, yes,” she said, the words heavy with sarcasm. “He’d surely know that.”

Mrs. Jensen eyed her with distaste.

“His Highness put Roberta through school, Ms. Donnelly. She’d floundered a bit and he paid for her to have a tutor, and then for her college tuition, until she decided she wanted to work with little ones, so he sent her to a school for nannies.”

“Because?”

“I don’t understand your question, ma’am.”

“Why would he do all that?”

“Because that’s how he is,” the cook said, her voice almost as chilly as Rachel’s. “He honors what he sees as his responsibilities.”

“He meddles in people’s lives, you mean.”

The cook’s expression hardened.

“You won’t find anyone here who would agree with that, ma’am,” she said stiffly.

Fortunately for both Rachel and the cook, the others had chosen that moment to enter the kitchen.

Rachel had been prepared to dislike the entire staff.

She couldn’t. How could she dislike people who adored Ethan?

After a couple of days Ethan, the sweet little traitor, adored them right back.

Roberta, in particular.

It was hard to resent her. She didn’t interfere at all, and simply gave Rachel a hand when permitted. Finally, Rachel decided it was foolish to take her anger out on a girl only a few years her junior who was a wonder with babies.

Her relationship with the others remained cool.

Surely it was because of whatever Karim had told them about her …

But it wasn’t.

One morning, coming down the stairs, she heard Mrs. Lopez and Mrs. Jensen talking in low voices.

“The Prince said she was a nice young woman,” Mrs. Jensen was saying, “and that she’s had some difficulty lately, but honestly, Miriam, I hate to say it, but I don’t think she’s nice at all.”

“Well,” Mrs. Lopez said, “she’s wonderful with her baby—anyone can see that. But it’s impossible to get a smile from her, isn’t it? If I didn’t know better, Amelia, I’d think she dislikes us—but why would she, when she hardly know us?”

Damn! Damn! Double damn!

Rachel eased back up the stairs.

Was it possible she’d been wrong about Karim’s staff?

Little by little, her dealings with them changed. She smiled; so did they. She said nice things; so did they. She had to admit it made life more pleasant.

As for Karim … She never saw him. What had happened to the meetings with his lawyers? Lab tests?

Rachel didn’t ask. Why rush the things she dreaded? Apparently His Sheikhiness was too busy with work to deal with anything else.

She wasn’t really surprised. Ethan’s welfare would always take second place.

Karim left for his office early in the morning. Not by car. When she asked the reason, strictly as a matter of curiosity—because why would a prince with a Mercedes and a man to drive it leave both behind—John, his driver, said that His Highness generally took the subway.

“Or he walks,” he added, and Rachel could almost hear the tsk-tsk in the words. “His Highness says it’s the best way to beat the traffic.”

Big deal, she thought. The mighty Sheikh joins the commoners.

He could travel by broomstick, for all she cared.

And he didn’t return until late at night. Very late, never in time for dinner. Their paths never crossed. Fine with her. Excellent, in fact …

And then, one morning, after another night spent walking the floor with Ethan, Rachel finally put him down for a nap. She was too tired to sleep, so went quietly downstairs for coffee.

It was very early. No one would be up and about yet. It meant, she thought, yawning as she stepped into the silent kitchen, that she could show up just as she was, in a long flannel nightgown, her hair loose and her feet bare, put up a pot of coffee and—

The kitchen lights came on.

Rachel gasped, whirled toward the door—

And saw Karim.

He was wearing gray sweatpants, a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and sneakers that had clearly seen better days. His face and muscled arms glistened with sweat; his hair was in his eyes; his jaw was dark with early-morning stubble …

He was absolutely beautiful.

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m sorry—”

They spoke at the same time. Flustered, Rachel started again.

“I didn’t think—”

“I had no idea—”

Their words collided.

Karim grinned, took the towel looped around his neck and dried his face and arms.

Rachel bit her lip, then offered a hesitant smile.

“You first,” he said.

She swallowed hard.

“I was going to say that I didn’t think I’d be disturbing anyone if—”

“You’re not. Disturbing anyone. Disturbing me, I mean,” he said. “I just finished working out and I thought—”

“Working out?” she repeated foolishly, because she couldn’t seem to think straight. Well, who would? She hadn’t expected to see him …

To see him looking so male, so gorgeous, in such a non-princely outfit.

The thought made her laugh. She tried to swallow the laugh, but she wasn’t quick enough.

“What?” he said, with a little smile.

“Nothing. It’s just—I don’t know. I never imagined …”

“What?” he said again, his smile broadening as he looked at her. God, she was easy on the eyes. No make-up. Her hair a golden cloud. Her body hidden beneath the old-fashioned nightgown, just the sweet hint of breasts and hips …

“I, uh, I never thought of you working out.”

He grinned. Slapped his incredibly flat belly.

“Have to. Otherwise I’d weigh five hundred pounds.”

Rachel laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

He moved past her, opened the fridge, took out a container of orange juice.

“Yeah. Well, the truth is, I spend a lot of time behind a desk lately. Not much chance to play sports. And I always did, you know? I still run a little, but when I was in college I played football—”

“Football? Or soccer?”

He looked at her.

“Football. American-style.” He smiled. “So, you know they call soccer football everywhere but here in the States, huh?”

She nodded. “When Ethan had colic I used to take him for long drives to soothe him. He loved the motion of the car. Then I’d head home, but I learned, fast that he might wake up if I put him straight into his crib so I’d plop down on the sofa, turn on the TV, and if it was the middle of the night—” she smiled “—which, of course, it almost always was—well, at two and three in the morning there’s nothing much on except soccer re-runs—”