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“Yes. So you just demonstrated.”
He strode to the steps and climbed them. The two men—his pilots, she assumed—snapped to attention.
Rachel could feel her face burning. Maybe the Sheikh’s crew was accustomed to seeing their lord and master board his plane with a woman in his arms but this kind of dramatic entrance was new to her.
“I’ll see to those bags, sir,” one of the men said.
The Sheikh nodded.
“Fine. I want to get airborne ASAP.”
“Yes sir.”
One man went for the bags. The other made his way to the cockpit. Karim carried Rachel through what might easily have passed as someone’s handsome living room.
“Don’t they click their heels?
” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
She pulled back as far as she could in his hard, encircling arms.
“I said, don’t they click their heels?”
“They do,” he said, “but only on state occasions.”
Her eyes went to his. Okay. It was a joke; she could tell by the look on his face. At least there was something human about him.
“You can put me down now.”
“Can I?”
“Put-me-down!”
His mouth twitched. “I heard you.”
“Then, dammit, put me—”
“That isn’t a very ladylike way of speaking.”
“I’m not a very ladylike lady. And I want you to—”
His arms tightened around her as the plane lifted into the sky.
“I know what you want,” he said gruffly, and he bent his head and kissed her.
She made a little sound of protest and he asked himself what in hell he was doing.
