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Amazing how he hungered for her.
He turned away, carefully lowered the baby into the crib, pulled up the blanket, started from the room …
A muscle knotted in his jaw.
He went back to the crib, leaned into it and lightly stroked the boy’s soft fair curls.
“Sleep well, little one,” he whispered, and then, before he could succumb to the insane desire to go to Rachel and do the same thing, he strode out of the suite, down the corridor to his own rooms, phoned his P.A.—but not to cancel his appointments.
To make more of them.
He’d neglected business for far too long.
Besides, work would clear his head, he told himself as he made a second call, this one to his lawyer, and a third, to the testing laboratory, and cancelled both meetings.
Then he stripped off his sweatpants, got into the shower and let the water beat down on him,
Those things could wait. A day, two—even three.
Putting them off had nothing to do with Rachel.
Nothing at all.
Down the hall, in the guest suite, Rachel, who had awakened as Karim entered the room, opened her eyes only when she was sure he’d gone.
Nothing made sense.
Not the fact that the stern Sheikh had apparently been caring for Ethan while she slept, or that he’d handled the baby with something that could only be defined as tenderness.
And it certainly didn’t make sense that as she’d watched him from under her lashes she’d thought what it would be like if he came to her, touched her with those big, gentle hands …
“Fool,” she whispered, and she rose to her feet.
It was time to start the day.
And to start planning her escape.
Except escape wasn’t possible. There were always eyes on her.
Karim had a household staff.
Rachel knew that he’d told them something about her.
She had no idea what he’d said, but when she appeared in the kitchen that first morning, Ethan in her arms, a bosomy woman with flour-dusted hands had turned from the stove, a polite smile on her lips.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Mrs. Jensen, the Sheikh’s cook.”
And I’m the Sheikh’s prisoner, Rachel wanted to say, but sh
