Sheikh Without a Heart

“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.”