Sandra Marton - Sheikh Without a Heart

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 Outdated checkbooks.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 all that spirit and defiance sexy.

He did not and would not. But this wasn’t about him.

“Give me the baby.”

Her voice was low, a little thready, but the color had come back into her face. She was regaining her composure.

Why had she reacted with such distress?

If this was Rami’s child, this could be a golden opportunity. Her lover’s child and her lover’s brother, coming face to face …

“Give me the baby!”

He wondered why she hadn’t tried to contact him before this. Well, that was obvious. She’d thought Rami would come back to her.

Was this the reason he’d left her? Because she’d become pregnant?

It was an ugly thought, that his brother would have abandoned his own child, but nothing about Rami surprised him anymore.

Assuming, of course, the child was his.

How had his brother let this happen? Drunk or sober, how could he have forgotten to use a condom?

Had the woman seduced him into forgetting? That was always a possibility.

Karim wasn’t naïve. A man who was born to a title and a fortune learned early how things went.

Women set snares; his own mother had been pregnant with him before his father had married her.

He wasn’t supposed to know that, but any fool could count. And once he’d figured it out he’d had a better idea of why his parents’ marriage had failed.

You chose a wife—especially if you had the responsibilities of a prince—because she met certain criteria. Common interests and backgrounds. Common goals and expectations.

You chose her; you didn’t put yourself in a position where fate or expediency or, even worse, a foolish night of passion became the deciding factor—

A small fist hit his shoulder. Karim blinked in surprise. The woman had moved right up to him. Her eyes flashed with anger.

“Are you deaf? Give—me—the—baby!”

The child made an unhappy sound. Its mouth, that mouth that was the image of hers, began to tremble.

Karim narrowed his eyes.

“Whose child is this?”

“What is this? An interrogation? Give Ethan to me and then get the hell out!”

“Ethan?”

Dammit, Rachel thought, she hadn’t intended to give him anything—not even the baby’s name.

“Yes. And he’s wary of strangers.”

Karim’s mouth twisted. “Was he wary of my brother?”

“I’d tell you that you’ve overstayed your welcome, Your Sheikhiness, but you were not welcome here in the first place.”

“Do not,” Karim said grimly, “call me that.”

He regretted the words even as he said them. It was a mistake to let her know she was annoying him because that was damned well what she wanted to do.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said, struggling to control his temper. “Who does this child belong to?”

“He belongs to himself. Unlike you and your countrymen, Americans don’t believe people can be owned like property.”

“A charming speech. I’m sure it will win applause on your Fourth of July holiday. But it hasn’t got a damned thing to do with my question. Once again, then. Whose child is this?”

Rachel chewed on her lip.

Whose, indeed?

Suki and Rami had created Ethan.

But from the very beginning he’d been hers.

For Suki, the bump in her belly had been a nine-month annoyance, especially once she’d realized she couldn’t use her pregnancy to convince Rami to marry her.

He’d packed his things and taken off well before Ethan’s birth.

It had been Rachel who’d held Suki’s hand during labor, Rachel who’d cut the baby’s umbilical cord.

When Suki and her son had come home from the hospital, the baby had cried endlessly. He’d been hungry; Suki had refused to nurse him.

“What,” she’d said in horror, “and ruin my boobs?”

The formula hadn’t agreed with him. He’d kept spitting up; his tiny diaper had always been full and foul-smelling. Suki had shuddered, and left his care to Rachel.

Rachel had been fine with that.

She’d changed his formula. Changed his diapers. The baby thrived.

And Rachel adored him.

She’d loved him even before he was born. It was she who’d come up with a name, who’d bought a crib and baby clothes. He was hers, not Suki’s. And when Suki had finally left, Rachel was almost ashamed to admit she’d been happy to see her go.

Now everything was falling apart.

She had never worried that Rami might return and claim his son—even if he had, she’d sensed that he was a coward underneath the charm and good looks.

She could have faced him down.

But if this arrogant bully wanted Ethan …

“Ms. Donnelly. I asked a simple question.”

The baby began to whimper.

“That’s it,” Rachel said. “Raise your voice. Terrify the baby. Is that your specialty? Walking into places you aren’t welcome? Scaring small children?”

“I asked you a simple question, and you will answer it! Whose child is he?”

“You,” Rachel said, stalling for time, “you are an awful man!”

His teeth showed in a wolfish grin.

“I’m heartbroken to hear it.”

“What will it take to get you out of here?”

“The truth,” he snapped. “Whose baby is this?”

Rachel looked straight into his cold eyes.

“Mine,” she said, without hesitation, forcing the lie through a suddenly constricted throat, because Ethan was hers.

It was just that she hadn’t given birth to him.

“Don’t play games with me, madam. You know what I’m asking. Who is the father?”

There.

They’d reached the impasse she’d been dreading. Now what? She should have known he wouldn’t be satisfied with her answer.

The Sheikh, the Prince, whatever you were supposed to call him, was not a fool.

Ethan looked like his parents. He had Rami’s coloring and eyes, Suki’s chin and mouth. Well, hers, too, because she and Suki resembled each other, but the Sheikh wouldn’t know that.

He didn’t even know Suki existed.

And she had to keep it that way.

“Answer me!”

“Lower your voice. You keep yelling—”

“You think I’m yelling?” the Sheikh yelled.

Predictably, Ethan began to cry.

The mighty Prince looked stunned. Evidently not even infants were permitted to interrupt a royal tirade.

“Now see what you’ve done,” Rachel snapped, and scooped Ethan into her arms.

His cries became wails; his little body shook with outrage. The look on the Sheikh’s face was priceless.

Under other circumstances she’d have laughed, but there was nothing to laugh at in this situation.

Instead, she walked slowly around the small living room, cooing to the baby, stroking his back, pressing kisses to his forehead.

His cries lessened, became soft sobs.

“Good baby,” she whispered.

She felt Karim’s eyes following her.

No way was he going to stop peppering her with questions. With one question.

Was Rami her baby’s father?

And, yes, Ethan was hers. He always would be. She’d made the baby that promise the day Suki left.

Now that could change in a heartbeat.

Once she acknowledged what the Sheikh surely already suspected, her life, and Ethan’s, would be in his hands.

He would surely decide to claim his brother’s son. He was cold, yes. Heartless, absolutely. Rami had said so, and the last hour had proved it, and she could not imagine he’d feel anything for anyone, not even a baby.

Nevertheless, he’d never leave Ethan with her.

There was that whole royal bloodlines thing. Rachel had heard Rami whine about it to Suki. The fact that you were a royal was what set the path of your existence.

The Sheikh would demand custody and he’d get it.

He had money. Power. Access to lawyers and politicians and judges—people she couldn’t even envision.

She had nothing.

This dark little apartment. Maybe four hundred dollars in the bank. A job she despised and, yes, she could just see how “Occupation: half-dressed cocktail waitress” would stack up against “Occupation: powerful prince who spends the days counting his money.”

The answer was inevitable.

He’d take Ethan from her.

Raise him as Rami had told Suki he’d been raised.

No love. No affection. Nothing but discipline and criticism and the harsh words and impossible demands of an imperious father and now, for Ethan, the demands of a heartless uncle.

A lump rose in Rachel’s throat.

She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.

She’d do whatever was necessary to keep her baby—and there was only one way to accomplish that.

Show the Sheikh that he couldn’t intimidate her, get him out the door—then pack a suitcase and run.

The baby’s cries had faded to wet snuffles. Rachel took a breath and turned toward the Sheikh.

“He needs a new diaper.”

“And I need answers.”

“Fine. You’ll get them when I have time. I’ll meet you later. Say, four o’clock in front of the Dancing Waters at the … What’s so amusing?”

“Did you really think I’d fall for such a stupidly transparent lie?” His smile vanished. “Change the child’s diaper. I’ll wait.”

“Don’t try to give me orders in my own home.”

“It was my brother’s home, not yours. You lived here with him. You were his mistress.”

“Wrong on both counts. This apartment is mine.”

“And my brother just happened to have the key.”

His tone was snide and self-confident, and if it weren’t for Ethan, she’d have slapped it off his all-too-handsome face.

“My mistake for giving him one. He moved in with me, not me with him. And, for the record, I’ve never been anybody’s mistress. I’ve always supported myself and I damned well always will.”

There it was again. Fire. Spirit. Absolute defiance. Her eyes were snapping with anger even as she kept her voice low for the baby’s sake, kept stroking her hand gently down his back.

Karim watched that slow-moving hand.

The feel of it would soothe anyone. A child. A beast.

A man.

Without thinking, he reached out and touched the baby. His fingers brushed accidentally against the curve of the Donnelly woman’s breast.

She caught her breath. Their eyes met. Color rushed into her face.