Sheikh Without a Heart

“Such a fuss over wanting to know my name.”

Rachel looked up. The Sheikh stood with his arms folded, a big, hard-faced, hard-bodied, cold-as-ice piece of work who just happened to look like a god.

Unfortunately for him she knew the truth: that he was a cold-hearted SOB who was an expert at manipulating people to see him as he wanted to be seen.

“Such a fuss,” he said, his tone ripe with sarcasm, “and now you have nothing to say.”

She squared her shoulders.

The thing to do was face him down and get him out of here.

“Actually, I just wanted to be sure. I’d already figured it out myself.”

“Really?” he purred.

“Rami described you pretty accurately. Self-important. Arrogant. A despot. Yes, he got it right.”

A hit. She saw a flush rise over those high cheekbones.

“You’re a sheikh, aren’t you? From Alashazam. Or Alcatraz. Something like that.”

The imprints of color deepened. He took a step forward. Rachel fought the desire to retreat.

“Something like that,” he said coldly.

“Well, Rami isn’t here.”

That brought a thin smile to his lips. Had she said something amusing?

“But I’ll be sure and tell him you called. Now, Sheikh-Whatever-You’re-Called, I’m busy. And—”

“I am called Prince Karim,” Karim said stiffly. “Or Your Highness. Or I am addressed as Sheikh.”

Damn. Was he actually saying this stuff? If there was anything he despised, it was the use of these outmoded titles, but this Rachel Donnelly brought out the worst in him.

“Yes, well, your Sheikhiness, I’ll give Rami your message. Anything else?”

The way she’d combined his titles was an obviously deliberate insult. He wanted to grab her and shake her—

Or grab her and wipe that little smirk off her lips in a very different way—one that would change her demeanor altogether.

For all he knew, that was the reason she’d taunted him. A woman who looked like this would surely use sex to gain the upper hand.

He wasn’t fool enough to let it happen.

“No?” she said brightly. “Is that it? Well, in that case, goodbye, good luck, and on your way out don’t let the door slam you in the—”

“Rami is dead.”

He had not intended to give her the news that abruptly but, dammit, she’d driven him to it. Well, it was too late to call back his brusque words. He could only hope he’d assessed her correctly: that she was too tough to faint or—

“Dead?”

He’d guessed right. She wasn’t the fainting type. Evidently she wasn’t the weepy type, either. Her only reaction, as far as he could tell, was a slight widening of her eyes.

He was willing to be generous.

Perhaps she was in shock.

Karim nodded. “Yes. He died last month. An accident in—”

“Then why are you here?”

He had not really had the time to consider all her possible reactions to his news, but if he had, this—this removed curiosity would not have been on the list.

“That’s it? I tell you your lover is dead and all you can say is, ‘Why are you here?’”

“My lover?”

“The man who kept you,” he said coldly. “Is that a better way to put it?”

“But Rami …”

Her voice trailed away. He could see her reassessing. Of course. She was trying to process the situation, determine what would do her the most good now that Rami was gone.

And he had been gone for a while.

She hadn’t known he was dead but it had happened weeks ago, making that casual “I’ll be sure and tell him you called” remark an obvious lie.

Why?

“But Rami … what?” Karim said coldly.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I mean, I just— I just—”

“He left you.”

Rachel’s mind was whirling and that blunt statement of fact only added to her confusion.

Rami was dead.

Did that make things worse? Did it make them better?

No. It changed nothing except to give her all the more reason to stay the course until she heard from Suki.

She gasped as Karim’s hands closed on her arms.

“Why lie to me, Ms. Donnelly? We both know that my brother left you weeks ago.”