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He believed in male-female equality, yes, but some degree of diffidence was still a good thing in a woman. He doubted if this particular woman would even understand the concept.
Karim frowned.
What did any of that matter? Rami was dead. And it was time to get down to business. Tell her that her lover was gone—and that she had until the end of the month to vacate the flat.
She’d said it was hers, but surely only by default. She was here; Rami wasn’t.
Still, he’d write her a generous check. It was the right thing to do. Then, tomorrow—today, he thought, glancing at his watch and seeing that it was past six in the morning—he’d make good on the rest of his brother’s Las Vegas debts.
With luck, he’d be in Alcantar by the weekend. Then he’d return to Manhattan and get on with his life—
“Well?” the woman said sharply. “Say something. If you’re really Rami’s brother, what’s your name? And what are you doing here?”
Karim blinked.
Indeed, that was the big question.
Did she know about her lover’s death? He didn’t think so. She spoke of him in the present tense.
Then what was the best way to tell her? Break it to her gently? Or just state the facts?
That might be the best way. Be direct. Get it over with.
For all her feminine looks—the mouth that reminded him of a rose petal, the up-thrust breasts, the gently curved hips—for all that, he couldn’t imagine there was anything fragile about her.
She was still the picture of defiance, dark blue eyes flashing, chin raised, ready to fight.
He could change that in a heartbeat.
All he had to do was remind her that he held the upper hand.
And there was an easy way to do that.
He’d pull her into his arms, plunge one hand deep into that mass of silky gold hair, lift her face to his and take her mouth. She’d fight him, but only for a few seconds.
Then her skin would flush with desire. Her lips would part. She’d moan and surrender to him, and it wouldn’t matter if her surrender was real or if she was playing a part because he’d carry her to the sofa, strip away the bra, the thong, the spiderweb stockings, and by then her moans would be not a lie because he would make her want him, open for him, move under him …
Dammit!
Karim turned away, pretended to study the wall, the floor, anything at all while he got his traitorous body under control.
No wonder Rami had kept this one, he thought as he swung toward her again.
“What is your name?” he said sharply.
“I asked first.”
He almost laughed. She sounded like a kid squaring off for a schoolyard fight.
