Desert Hearts: Sheikh Without a Heart / Heart of the Desert / The Sheikh's Destiny

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?”

“There are details to arrange.” A faint look of distaste passed over his face. “And I have no intention of dealing with them in this place.”

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, woman.” Karim stalked toward her. He stopped inches away, towering over her, his face stern, hard as granite. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t become you. I want my brother’s child. You’ll want recompense.” He paused. “Unless you’re willing to give him to me right now.”

Rachel stood as straight and tall as she could. For the first time in her life she wished she were wearing those damned stiletto heels.

“If you think I’d ever do that—”

“No. I didn’t think it, but then, anything is possible.”

“What’s possible,” she said, “is that I’ll scream for help. There are laws in this country—”

“Laws against an uncle wishing to see to the welfare of his dead brother’s child? I think not.”