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“Because that’s how he is,” the cook said, her voice almost as chilly as Rachel’s. “He honors what he sees as his responsibilities.”
“He meddles in people’s lives, you mean.”
The cook’s expression hardened.
“You won’t find anyone here who would agree with that, ma’am,” she said stiffly.
Fortunately for both Rachel and the cook, the others had chosen that moment to enter the kitchen.
Rachel had been prepared to dislike the entire staff.
She couldn’t. How could she dislike people who adored Ethan?
After a couple of days Ethan, the sweet little traitor, adored them right back.
Roberta, in particular.
It was hard to resent her. She didn’t interfere at all, and simply gave Rachel a hand when permitted. Finally, Rachel decided it was foolish to take her anger out on a girl only a few years her junior who was a wonder with babies.
Her relationship with the others remained cool.
Surely it was because of whatever Karim had told them about her …
But it wasn’t.
One morning, coming down the stairs, she heard Mrs. Lopez and Mrs. Jensen talking in low voices.
“The Prince said she was a nice young woman,” Mrs. Jensen was saying, “and that she’s had some difficulty lately, but honestly, Miriam, I hate to say it, but I don’t think she’s nice at all.”
“Well,” Mrs. Lopez said, “she’s wonderful with her baby—anyone can see that. But it’s impossible to get a smile from her, isn’t it? If I didn’t know better, Amelia, I’d think she dislikes us—but why would she, when she hardly know us?”
Damn! Damn! Double damn!
Rachel eased back up the stairs.
Was it possible she’d been wrong about Karim’s staff?
Little by little, her dealings with them changed. She smiled; so did they. She said nice things; so did they. She had to admit it made life more pleasant.
As for Karim … She never saw him. What had happened to the meetings with his lawyers? Lab tests?
Rachel didn’t ask. Why rush the things she dreaded? Apparently His Sheikhiness was too busy with work to deal with anything else.
She wasn’t really surprised. Ethan’s welfare would always take second place.
Karim left for his office early in the morning. Not by car. When she asked the reason, strictly as a matter of curiosity—because why would a prince with a Mercedes and a man to drive it leave both behind—John, his driver, said that His Highness generally took the subway.
“Or he walks,” he added, and Rachel could almost hear the tsk-tsk in the words. “His Highness says it’s the best way to beat the traffic.”
Big deal, she thought. The mighty Sheikh joins the commoners.
He could travel by broomstick, for all she cared.
And he didn’t return until late at night. Very late, never in time for dinner. Their paths never crossed. Fine with her. Excellent, in fact …
And then, one morning, after another night spent walking the floor with Ethan, Rachel finally put him down for a nap. She was too tired to sleep, so went quietly downstairs for coffee.
It was very early. No one would be up and about yet. It meant, she thought, yawning as she stepped into the silent kitchen, that she could show up just as she was, in a long flannel nightgown, her hair loose and her feet bare, put up a pot of coffee and—
The kitchen lights came on.
Rachel gasped, whirled toward the door—
And saw Karim.
He was wearing gray sweatpants, a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and sneakers that had clearly seen better days. His face and muscled arms glistened with sweat; his hair was in his eyes; his jaw was dark with early-morning stubble …
He was absolutely beautiful.
“I’m sorry—”
“I’m sorry—”
They spoke at the same time. Flustered, Rachel started again.
“I didn’t think—”
“I had no idea—”
Their words collided.
Karim grinned, took the towel looped around his neck and dried his face and arms.
Rachel bit her lip, then offered a hesitant smile.
“You first,” he said.
She swallowed hard.
“I was going to say that I didn’t think I’d be disturbing anyone if—”
“You’re not. Disturbing anyone. Disturbing me, I mean,” he said. “I just finished working out and I thought—”
“Working out?” she repeated foolishly, because she couldn’t seem to think straight. Well, who would? She hadn’t expected to see him …
To see him looking so male, so gorgeous, in such a non-princely outfit.
The thought made her laugh. She tried to swallow the laugh, but she wasn’t quick enough.
“What?” he said, with a little smile.
“Nothing. It’s just—I don’t know. I never imagined …”
“What?” he said again, his smile broadening as he looked at her. God, she was easy on the eyes. No make-up. Her hair a golden cloud. Her body hidden beneath the old-fashioned nightgown, just the sweet hint of breasts and hips …
“I, uh, I never thought of you working out.”
He grinned. Slapped his incredibly flat belly.
“Have to. Otherwise I’d weigh five hundred pounds.”
Rachel laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
He moved past her, opened the fridge, took out a container of orange juice.
“Yeah. Well, the truth is, I spend a lot of time behind a desk lately. Not much chance to play sports. And I always did, you know? I still run a little, but when I was in college I played football—”
“Football? Or soccer?”
He looked at her.
“Football. American-style.” He smiled. “So, you know they call soccer football everywhere but here in the States, huh?”
She nodded. “When Ethan had colic I used to take him for long drives to soothe him. He loved the motion of the car. Then I’d head home, but I learned, fast that he might wake up if I put him straight into his crib so I’d plop down on the sofa, turn on the TV, and if it was the middle of the night—” she smiled “—which, of course, it almost always was—well, at two and three in the morning there’s nothing much on except soccer re-runs—”
“Goooal!” Karim said solemnly.
Rachel laughed. “Right. Oh, and infomercials.”
“Infomercials?”
“Yes. You know—men shouting as they try to sell you things you never heard of and never dreamed you needed.”
Karim took two glasses from a cabinet, filled them with juice and handed one to Rachel.
“Oh,” she said quickly, “no. No, thanks. I, ah, I should get out of your way—”
“You’re not in my way. Besides,” he said, his expression dead-pan, “if you order this glass of OJ right now, we’ll include a cup of coffee at no extra charge. You’ll just pay separate shipping and handling.”
She burst out laughing. It was as perfect an infomercial as any she’d ever seen.
Karim smiled. “Seriously, I make one heck of a cup of coffee. No shipping or handling charge at all. Okay?”
Not okay, her head told her …
“Okay,” she said, because, after all, what harm could there be in something so simple?
He made coffee.
She made toast.
He took his with strawberry jam. She took hers with cream cheese.
“Jam’s better,” he said.
She shook her head. “Too sweet first thing in the morning.”
“I like sweet tastes first thing in the morning,” he said, and though he hadn’t meant it as a double entendre she flushed, and he thought, just for a second, about leaning across the counter and kissing her …
But he didn’t.
Somehow this moment, this brief détente, was important.
So he cleared his throat, said the weather was unseasonably cool, and then they talked about this and that, the traffic, the newest plans for Central Park …
And then they fell silent.
What if he kisses me? Rachel thought.
I want to kiss her, Karim thought.
Her heartbeat quickened. So did his.
Their eyes met.
“Well …” he said.
“Well …” she said.
They got to their feet.
And moved in opposite directions.
“Got to get moving,” he said briskly.
Rachel nodded. “Me, too,” she said, just as briskly.
He told himself he was glad he hadn’t touched her.
She told herself the same thing.
But those easy moments in the quiet early-morning hours were all either of them thought of that entire day.
The early-morning meeting didn’t happen again.
Rachel made sure of that. She didn’t leave her room until she was certain Karim was gone.
Yes, she’d discovered her captor had a human side.
