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He couldn’t think of another woman in his life who’d have objected to spending the night with him—but, of course, she wasn’t really spending it with him.
If she were, he wouldn’t be asleep now, either. He’d be in his bed with her in his arms …
“Hell!”
Karim strode into his bathroom, turned on the sink faucet, bent his head under the flow of cold water and took a long drink while the water cooled his face. He toweled off with impatient strokes and then went back to the window again.
He was not a man given to erotic imaginings. Why would he be, when there was always a woman eager to offer the real thing?
He wasn’t given to insomnia, either, no matter how long or difficult his day had been.
And yet he was standing here, wide awake.
Eighteen stories below, Fifth Avenue was deserted save for an occasional taxi or some unlucky dog owner being pulled along at the end of a leash. Central Park was a hushed dark green jungle on the opposite side of the street. Beyond the park, even the glittering lights of the Manhattan skyline seemed dim.
Wonderful, Karim thought grimly. The entire world was asleep except for him.
He’d never needed much sleep, four or five hours was more than enough, but he wasn’t fool enough to think he could get through a day of decision-making without some kind of rest, and tomorrow was going to be a day filled with decision-making.
After speaking with his P.A. he’d set up two meetings: breakfast with a Tokyo banker at the Regency, then midmorning coffee downtown, at Balthazar, with an official from India. At noon, he’d have lunch in the boardroom with his own staff.
He’d been away from his office far too long. He had business to conduct and he also needed to touch base with his people.
And then there was the rest.
Karim’s mouth thinned.
At two o’clock he’d meet with his attorney.
He and Rachel.
He knew it would not be easy to negotiate a custodial arrangement with her. She was going to be difficult.
What would it take to get her to give up her rights to the boy? She’d said she never would but that was talk. People always had a price. Women, especially.
Yes, they liked his looks. They liked his virility. But he knew damned well they liked his title and his wealth even more.
That was surely how Rami had caught Rachel’s attention. Money, a title …
But Rami hadn’t had money. The proof was in that desolate little apartment where he’d lived with her. As for the title … Rachel found titles laughable.
He found that amusing, because he wasn’t impressed by them, either. He had, at least, earned his own fortune, but he’d been born to the silly string of honorifics. He hadn’t done a thing to earn them but he’d grown accustomed to others not seeing things that same way.
Most people, especially women, heard who he was and began to act as if this was pre-revolutionary France and he was the Sun King. They gushed. They fluttered their lashes. He’d been on the receiving end of more than one curtsy and it always embarrassed the hell out of him when it happened.
The thought of Rachel gushing or fluttering or curtsying was laughable.
She’d made it clear that she was disdainful of his being a prince, a sheikh, heir to the throne of Alcantar. That he was almost embarrassingly rich didn’t win any points from her, either.
