Sheikh Without a Heart

Rachel looked up. She had never seen eyes more filled with contempt.

“Why ask me a question if you already know the answer?”

“What I know,” Karim said, his mouth twisting, ‘is that you don’t give a damn that he’s dead.”

“You’re hurting me!”

“How long did it take you to find his successor?”

She stared at him. “His—?”

“Another fool who’d keep you. Pay your bills. Buy what you’re selling.”

Her eyes flashed.

“Get out of my home!”

“Your home?” Karim raised her to her toes. “Rami paid the bills here. All you did was have the good fortune to warm his bed.”

“If warming your brother’s bed was an example of good fortune, heaven help us all!”

God, he wanted to shake her until she was dizzy!

Once, a very long time ago, he had loved his brother with all his heart.

They’d played together, told each other the secrets boys tell; they’d wept together at the news of their mother’s death, bolstered each other’s spirits the first weeks at boarding school in a strange new land.

That boy was only a memory … A memory that suddenly raised a storm of emotion Karim had kept hidden even from himself.

Now that emotion flooded through him, set loose by the coldness of a woman his brother had once cared for.

Karim had seen people show more sorrow at the sight of a deer dead on the road than Rachel Donnelly was showing now.

“Damn you,” he growled. “Have you no feelings?”

Her eyes glittered with a burst of blue light.

“What a question, coming from a man like you!”

There was a red haze in front of his eyes. Karim cursed; his hands tightened on her.

“Let go of me!”

She slammed a fist against his shoulder. He caught both hands in one of his, immobilized them against his chest.

“Is that how you dealt with Rami?” he growled. “Did you drive him crazy, too?”

Mercilessly, he dragged her closer. Clasped her face in one big hand. Lowered his head toward hers …

And stopped.

What was he doing?

This was not him.

He was not the kind of man who’d force himself on a woman. Sex had nothing to do with anger.

No matter that she’d brought him to this, or that she was a grasping, heartless schemer. It didn’t give him the right to treat her this way.

He let go of her. Took a step back. Cleared his throat.

“Miss Donnelly,” he said carefully, “Rachel—”

“Get out!” Her voice shook; her eyes were enormous. “Did you hear me? Get out, get out, get—”

“Rachel?”

Karim swung toward the door. A woman, middle-aged, plump, pleasant-faced, looked from Rachel to him, then at Rachel again.

“Honey, is everything all right?”

Rachel didn’t answer. Karim turned toward her. She’d gone pale; he could see the swift rise and fall of her breasts.

“Mrs. Grey.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She looked at Karim, then at the woman in the doorway. “Mrs. Grey. If you could just—if you could just come back a little later—”

“I thought it was him at first,” Mrs. Grey said, frowning. “Wrong hair color but same height, same way of standin’. You know who I mean? That foreigner. Randy. Raymond. Rasi. Whatever his name is.”

“No.” Rachel shook her head. “It isn’t. Look, I hate to ask, but if you would—”

“Just as well, if you ask me. Good-lookin’ man, but any fool could see right through him.”

“Mrs. Grey.” Rachel’s voice was unnaturally high. “This—this gentleman and I have some business to conclude and then I’ll—”

“Sorry, honey, but I’m runnin’ late. Brought my daughter along today. She’s gonna work the mornin’ shift and I have to drop her off after I leave here. Save her takin’ the bus, you know, and …” Her eyes over to Karim again. “This a new friend?”

“No,” Karim said coldly, “I am not Miss Donnelly’s friend.”

“Too bad. You look a nice sort. Not like that Rasi.” The woman shook her head. “Still, you’d think he’d come back, do the right thing by—”

“Momma? Honestly, you move too fast for me. You was up these stairs before I was half-started,” a woman’s voice said with a little laugh.

A younger version of Mrs. Grey appeared beside her.

She had something in her arms.

A blanket? A bundle?

Karim’s breath caught.