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She could find out.
She didn’t have to make a point of looking at him. All she had to do was rise from her seat and walk to the lavatory in the rear of the plane.
She needed to do that, anyway, sheikh or no sheikh.
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Rachel rose to her feet.
He was still seated where he’d been all along. His seat was halfway reclined; he looked completely relaxed, long legs stretched out, big shoulders pressed against the leather seat-back, hands folded loosely in his lap.
And his face …
Her breath caught.
It was an incredible face.
His eyes were shut; his lashes, so thick and dark a woman would kill for them, lay arced against his chiseled cheekbones. Stubble smudged his jaw.
He was—there was no other word for it—beautiful.
Dark. Sleek. A magnificent predatory animal.
A panther.
His eyes flew open and met hers. His pupils contracted; she saw his mouth thin.
Heat flared in her belly.
She stared at his mouth, remembered the silken feel of it against hers …
Stop it!
She wa
nted to run, but you didn’t try to escape from a panther. You stood your ground.
Head up, eyes straight ahead, she walked briskly past him to the lavatory, shut the door—
And fell back against it, heart at full gallop.
This had to stop.
He was the enemy. He was a very dangerous enemy. There was no reason for her to be attracted to him. She’d never been drawn to bad boys at the age some girls were, and she’d certainly never been drawn to the grown-up version.
Bad boys were Suki territory, not hers.
Okay. A couple of deep breaths. A couple of slow exhalations. Then she stepped away from the door.
The bathroom held a marble sink and vanity, a glass-enclosed shower, a toilet and glass-fronted cabinets neatly stocked with folded towels, packaged soaps, toothbrushes and pretty much everything anyone could want.
