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Looking at her even now, knowing she had lied, that she had used him, he wanted her.
And she wanted him. She had to want him. She had to—
“I want to go back to the States.”
“What if that isn’t what I want?”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t give a damn what you—”
Karim pulled her into his arms. She struggled; he caught her hands, imprisoned them against his chest.
“Let go of me!”
“What happened in bed,” he growled. “Was all that a lie, too?”
She struggled harder. He thrust one hand into her hair, held her to him.
“The sighs. The moans. The things you did, the things you begged me to do—”
“You’re disgusting,” Rachel said, her voice shaking. “And I hate you. I hate you—”
He kissed her. She fought and he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, sucked on the sweet flesh, heard her whimper, felt her mouth soften under his—
“Stay in Alcantar,” he said. “You can help care for the child during the day, and at night, whenever I’m here—”
She made a wild, terrible sound, pulled back in his arms and spat in his face.
“Stay away from me,” she panted. “I swear, if you ever touch me again—”
Karim thrust her from him. The boiling rage within him—at her, at himself—terrified him.
“My pilot will fly you to New York first thing in the morning.”
“Now,” Rachel demanded.
“He cannot fly without sleep.”
“That’s your problem, not mine.”
“My problem,” Karim said coldly, “is making sure I don’t have to set eyes on you again.” He snapped his fingers; a servant came scurrying into the room, eyes averted. “Show Ms. Donnelly to her suite.”
“I am not spending the night under the same roof as you!”
“If you prefer the desert sand to a bed, I can see to it that you are accommodated. I’m sure the snakes and the scorpions will appreciate the company.”
He said something in his own tongue to the servant, then strode away, his very walk as supercilious as his attitude.
“Bastard,” she hissed.
