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Either way, he didn’t give a damn.
Whatever her reason for making this so complicated, he would be the victor. How much she gained from the battle—six figures, seven, the right to visit with the boy from time to time if she wished—depended on how many obstacles she put in his way.
He really didn’t want a court fight.
He knew damned well it would end up splashed in the tabloids, on the cable talk shows, on internet blogs. And both he and Alcantar were better off without that kind of publicity.
Rachel would acquiesce before things went public. He was certain of it. And this, her silence, was the first proof.
So he waited, watching her without saying a word, until at last she blinked back those unshed tears.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Her voice was whisper-thin. It almost made him feel guilty—until he thought about his duty to his brother.
“This isn’t about you,” he said, not unkindly. “It’s about Rami.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”
Karim narrowed his eyes.
“No one calls me a liar.”
“Not even when you lie to yourself?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about too little, too late.” Her voice took on strength; she folded her arms in what was fast-becoming a familiar indication of defiance. “Because, Your Highness, if you’d really cared about your brother you’d have been there for him. You’d have made him see that he couldn’t go on drinking and gambling and living the kind of life people like you live, neck-deep in self-indulgence and money and to hell with decency and honor and—”
She gasped as he reached for her, ignoring the pull of his seat belt and hers, digging his hands into her shoulders as he pulled her toward him.
“You don’t know a damned thing about what you call ‘people like me,’ and you sure as hell don’t know anything about my brother except what he showed you when he took you to bed.”
“I know that you’re heartless. To do what you’re doing to Ethan and me and, yes, even to your brother’s memory—”
“I’m doing this for his memory. For the honor of our people—an honor he never understood.”
His hands bit into her shoulders. Then he said something under his breath in a language that sounded as hard and unyielding as he was, and flung her from him.
“Agree to the testing or find yourself a way to fight me in court,” he growled as he started the car. “Those are your choices. The flight east is a long one. I suggest you use the time to come to a decision.”
They stopped at the security gate. Karim produced his ID; the guard waved them through. Rachel waited until he’d parked. Then she turned toward him.
“I just want to get one thing straight.” Her voice shook; she cleared her throat, sat straighter, reminded herself that her enemy would surely make the most of any sign of weakness. “You remember that—that moment in the bathroom when—when I seemed to stop fighting you?”
“No,” he said coldly, “not in any detail. Did you think I would?”
She felt her face heat but she’d gone too far to back off now.
