Hell.
Was it possible there was another exit from the apartment? A window that opened on an outside stairway?
Karim flung the door open.
The furnishings were spare.
A chest of drawers. A chair. A crib, Ethan sound asleep in it, his backside in the air.
And a bed.
Narrow. Covered in white. The only color came from the bra, the thong, the dark mesh stockings that lay in a tiny heap in its center.
His belly knotted.
His gaze flew to a half-open door, wisps of steam curling from it.
The sound of running water drummed in his ears, or was it the beat of his pulse?
Get out of this room, a voice within him whispered. She’s in the shower, naked. You don’t belong here.
Instead, he took a step forward. Then another.
Ah, God.
He could see into the bathroom. Into the small stall shower. Condensation clouded the glass but he could see her. See her as Matisse or Degas might have painted her—just the hint of that lovely face, that exquisite body.
The water stopped.
Get out, he thought again, but his feet seemed rooted to the floor.
She slid the shower door open.
And he saw her without the glass.
Her hair, wet and streaming over her shoulders, almost hiding the rounded perfection of her breasts.
Her waist, surely narrow enough for his hands to span.
Her hips, ripely curved.
Her legs, long enough so he could almost feel them wrapped around him.
And the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs, guarding the female heart of her.
She didn’t see him. Wet strands of her hair hung over her eyes.
He watched as she reached toward the towel rack, her hand fumbling for a white bath sheet.
That was when he moved.
Grabbed the terrycloth bath sheet before she found it.
His fingers brushed hers. She cried out, swiped the hair from her eyes.
“No,” she said, “don’t—”
Karim threaded his hands in the rich, wet gold of her hair. Lifted her face to his and took her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss.
It was what he’d wanted to do that first time.
Then, he’d been able to stop.
No way could he stop now.
She struggled.
He persisted.
And the kiss changed.
It took all his determination to gentle it into something soft and seductive.
His lips moved gently over hers; he whispered her name, whispered how much he wanted her, first in his own language and then in hers.
Everything within him slowed. He wanted the kiss to last forever …
She stopped struggling. She sighed. Her lips clung to his. Her hands rose, touched his chest.
He could feel her trembling, but not with fear.
He felt his blood roar. Felt the earth tilt.
Now, everything in him said, take her now …
Karim shuddered.
Then he lifted his head, wrapped the towel around her and got the hell out of the bathroom, out of the apartment, out of the honeyed trap that had surely been set by his brother’s clever, beautiful mistress.
CHAPTER FOUR
RACHEL stood where he’d left her, clutching the bath sheet as if it could shield her from him.
Too late, her body hummed, much too late.
He’d already done what he’d wanted. Touched her. Kissed her. Taken her on an emotional rollercoaster ride that had taken her from terror to—to—
She jumped at the sound of the front door slamming.
He was gone.
Gasping for air, trembling, she sank down on the closed toilet.
Her brain seemed to be in free-fall. She couldn’t think, couldn’t make sense of anything.
What had just happened?
Maybe the better question was, what hadn’t happened?
The Sheikh had forced himself on her.
He’d walked in while she was naked, drawn her against him, kissed her …
And then he’d let her go.
Why?
Rachel shuddered.
He could have done anything he’d wanted. There’d been nobody to stop him. Certainly not her. He was too big, too strong, that hard body, those sculpted muscles hidden beneath the expensive suit.
She’d have fought him but he’d easily have overpowered her …
A moan broke from her throat.
He had overpowered her.
Not just physically.
Mentally.
How else to explain that infinitesimal moment when his mouth had gentled on hers, when his touch had eased and she—and she—
Rachel swallowed dryly.
Never mind that.
His actions had all been deliberate. Terrifying her with a display of strength, the old I-am-Tarzan-you-are-Jane thing.
She knew how that went.
It was a typical male ploy.
The men she dealt with when she waited tables. The ones who were her bosses now in the casino. The players. They were the worst of all. They tossed around their money, showed off their power, stank of cologne …
He hadn’t.
Karim.
The Sheikh. The Prince. Whatever he liked to call himself.
No cologne on him. Just the clean scent of himself. The hot scent of a man who wanted a woman
And yet he’d let her go.
Rami would not have done that.
She’d always sensed it in him, the need to dominate, to take what he wanted and to hell with anyone else …
Rachel thrust her fingers into her wet hair and drove it back from her face.
She wasn’t dealing with Rami; she was dealing with his brother—and now that she’d had a minute to think, she could see that the brother was a much more wily adversary.
She understood what he’d done. Taken her in a deep, hard kiss and then suddenly turned it into something that was soft, seductive and almost tender.
He’d wanted to confuse her. And he had. That last instant when he’d been kissing her, when she—when she’d had some kind of response to the feel of his mouth on hers …
No. No!
Rachel took a deep breath.
She hadn’t responded. Not the way he’d wanted. Her reaction had been intuitive. Instinctive. Whatever you wanted to call it.
The I-can-survive-anything woman who lived inside her had taken her straight to automatic