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And then she made another little sound that had nothing to do with protest.
Karim traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue. He sank onto a leather loveseat, Rachel still in his arms. One hand swept into her hair; the other found the sweet swell of her breast. Her taut nipple pressed into his palm through her cotton T-shirt, and he shuddered.
“Rachel,” he whispered.
She moaned and her lips parted, giving him access to the honeyed sweetness of her mouth.
He drew her closer. Swept his hand under her shirt. Cupped her breast.
She put her arms around his neck.
He brought his hand to her face, cupped her jaw, rested his thumb in the delicate hollow of her throat. Her pulse leaped under his touch.
What in hell was he doing?
It was wrong. It was madness. And yet he wanted this, wanted her—
The plane hit an air pocket. It jumped, and so did Rachel. She jerked back in his arms, face pale, eyes wide and blurred. He blinked and let go of her.
She sprang to her feet.
“Do not,” she breathed, “do not ever touch me again you—you vile, arrogant, heartless, manipulative bastard! Do you always ignore the truth of what other people feel?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. A good thing, he thought as she stumbled to a seat far from his, because he didn’t have one.
Was she right?
Had he ignored what might have been Rami’s unspoken cries for help? Could he have saved him from his path of self-destruction? Could he have somehow turned his brother’s wasted life around?
And this.
What he’d just done.
Kissing Rachel. Forcing his kisses on her. An ugly way to describe it, but wasn’t that what he’d done? Kissed her until she’d kissed him back, until her sighs, the sweetness of her mouth were proof that she was in danger of succumbing to the same hot darkness that threatened him?
Only one thing was certain.
It was too late to do anything about Rami.
But he could do something about the child. Raise him to be the man Rami might have been.
And he could do something about Rami’s woman.
He could never touch her again.
Never, Karim told himself, and he turned his face to the window as the plane gained speed and altitude until, at last, the glittering lights far below were no more substantial than a mirage.
CHAPTER SIX
