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Good question, but Molly knew there had been no ambiguity about the message she had seen in those glittering azure depths.
Having never in her life inspired any strong feelings in gorgeous-looking men—obviously they remained oblivious to the fact she was lovely inside—to have someone looking at her with that level of hostility and contempt had been quite disturbing.
His face floated into her mind gain; she tried to expel the image but it lingered. It was a face with a ‘once seen never forgotten’ quality. Even if you wanted to forget the golden skin stretched over hard angles and intriguing hollows, the sensual mouth and searing blue stare.
‘You must have been mistaken, Molly.’
‘I expect so,’ she said, already wishing she had not introduced the subject. But no matter what Tariq said she knew she was not mistaken—Tair Al Sharif could not stand the sight of her.
Not that she was going to lose any sleep over his opinion of her. As first impressions went she hadn’t taken to him either.
‘If it will make you feel better I will explain our relationship to him straight away.’
‘There’s really no need.’ She wondered if the flicker she saw in her brother’s eyes was relief. The possibility shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. ‘And I’d actually prefer if you didn’t.’
On a practical level she knew the searing dislike she had read in the Arab prince’s face was not going to alter just because he knew she was Tariq and Khalid’s English half-sister.
No, it had been loathing at first sight.
Besides, there were some people you didn’t want to like you, and he was one of them, she decided. She mentally ticked off the qualities that made him undesirable—off-the-scale arrogance, no sense of humour, and he was in love with himself. The last seemed a reasonable assumption to Molly, who reasoned a person who looked at that face in the mirror every day would have to be just a little fond of himself.
‘It is up to you, Molly, but what I came to say to you is that it is not a relationship that we are ashamed to acknowledge, quite the contrary…though,’ Tariq conceded with a grimace, ‘obviously it would be difficult to go public because…’
‘This isn’t easy for your father.’
Tariq looked grateful for her understanding of the situation. ‘It was hard for him when our mother left… He is a proud man and the scandal of a divorce in our society, the gossip and stories, left its mark.’
It had been hard for Tariq too, but this was something Molly had not appreciated until very recently.
‘Your father has been very kind to me and I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass him. I’m not about to go public. I promise you I won’t breathe a word to a soul. If anyone asks I’m Bea’s friend.’
It was not a hard promise to make, as the level of hospitality she had received from the king had touched her deeply. However, she realised it could not be easy for him to have his ex-wife’s child as a guest.
Molly knew enough about Zarhat culture to recognise that when Tariq had touched on the subject of the royal divorce he had, if anything, been downplaying the situation, yet the king had welcomed her into his home when many in his position might not have even wanted reminding of her existence.
Her solemnity as she made her vow of silence brought an affectionate smile to Tariq’s face ‘I appreciate that, Molly. But you do know that Khalid and I would both have been proud to have introduced you as our sister tonight.’
Warm moisture filled Molly’s amber eyes as emotion clogged her throat. ‘Really…?’
‘You can doubt this?’ he asked, before a spasm of self-condemnation twisted his dark features. ‘Of course you can. Why would you not after I have ignored you for the past twenty-four years? If you had told me to go to hell it would have been what I deserved.’
A grin spread across Molly’s face as she flicked away a strand of waist-length hair that had drifted across her face. It was still slightly damp from the shower. ‘The way I recall it I pretty much did just that.’
The reminder of that meeting brought a rueful grin to his face.
‘If it wasn’t for Beatrice coming to see me I wouldn’t be here now,’ she said frankly.
It was true. When the half-brother who had ignored her since birth had suggested they should get to know one another, her response had been to angrily reject his overtures. What did she need with a brother who she knew had caused their mother so much heartache by refusing any contact with her after her second marriage to Molly’s father?
They were strangers and Molly had been happy for it to stay that way; she’d wanted nothing to do with him.
Why would she?
She owed Tariq nothing. He hadn’t just ignored the fact she existed, he had pressured Khalid, whom she had seen and adored as a small child before their mother’s premature death, to reject her too.
It had been a visit in person from Beatrice pleading her husband’s case that had persuaded her to accept the invitation.
Molly had come prepared, almost wanting, to despise this brother, but to her amazement after a slightly rocky start she had found herself liking Tariq.
‘And you are glad you did come?’
Molly uncurled her legs from underneath her as she lifted her chin and scanned the lean dark face of the brother she still barely knew. ‘Very glad,’ she admitted huskily.
Tariq smiled and got to his feet. ‘And you will think about what I have said?’
‘I will,’ she promised, walking with him to the door.
‘Tariq!’
Standing framed in the doorway, he turned back.
‘I do understand, you know…why you wouldn’t come and visit Mum when she was alive.’
She hadn’t always. As a small child the only thing she had understood was the desperate hurt in her mother’s eyes when the eldest son she had been forced to leave behind when she’d divorced the King of Zarhat had not accompanied his brother for the arranged visit.
It had not crossed her mind at the time that Tariq had been hurting too and perhaps feeling betrayed that the mother he had loved had chosen her freedom over her sons.
‘Dad told me, when he knew I was coming here, how she never stopped feeling guilty about leaving you and Khalid, but she knew you would be safe and loved. She always knew that your place was here.’
‘And hers was not.’
There was no trace of criticism in Tariq’s manner but Molly felt impelled to defend the choice their mother had made.
‘She must have been very desperate.’
Molly could only imagine the sort of unhappiness that would make a woman make that choice. She knew nothing about the strength of maternal bonds, but something deep inside her told her that to leave a child would be like ripping away part of yourself and you’d walk around with that awful emptiness the rest of your life.
Without being judgemental, Molly really couldn’t imagine a situation where she would make the same decision.
‘But she knew you and Khalid would be well cared for and I think me being here would have made her very happy.’
Without a word Molly stepped into arms that opened for her and the years of rejection and anger melted away.
‘God, look at me, I’m crying,’ she said as she emerged from a crushing brotherly hug. She wiped the moisture from her face with one hand and pushed back her hair with the other.
‘Go on,’ she sniffed. ‘Or Beatrice will be sending out the search party.’
CHAPTER TWO
FROM where he was standing, Tair witnessed the embrace and heard Molly’s parting warning. He could feel the anger burning inside him like a solid physical presence.
He stayed where he stood concealed in the shadows until the echoes of Tariq’s footsteps on the marble floor died away. Then he began to walk towards the door that had just closed, his long stride filled with purpose.
A muscle clenched in his firm jaw as he imagined her in the room feeling pleased with herself because nobody suspected her game. Her mask was good, he conceded, but he had seen through her disguise.
There was no effort involved in recreating in his head the image of her standing in the doorway.
He had barely recognised the mouse minus the glasses and with her hair hanging loose to her narrow waist like a silken screen. The light streaming from the bedroom had acted like a spotlight shining through the fine fabric of her demure nightclothes, revealing every dip and curve of a slender but undeniably female form. Female enough to cause a lustful surge of his own undiscriminating hormones.
Who would have guessed, other than Tariq, that under the baggy top there was that body?
He stopped a few feet from the door and forced himself to think past both the memory of those small plump breasts and his anger—the two seemed inextricably linked in his head—and took a deep breath, forcing the fury boiling in his veins to a gentle simmer.
To confront her would give him pleasure of a sort, but what would it achieve? Other than to watch her struggle as she tried to explain away what he had seen. She would have her work cut out, Tair thought. He was not a man to jump to conclusions, but in this instance he felt he was fully justified to assume the worst.
However, what he had witnessed showed how deeply she had her unvarnished claws into Tariq, and threats from him were not going to make her back off. Him barging in might even have the opposite effect and actually make the situation worse. Right now the situation was retrievable, but if the affair became public knowledge…?
He needed to think. He needed to think about this like any other problem. He needed to analyse the problem, decide what he wanted to happen and then choose how he was going to make it happen.
Tair inhaled deeply, then released the breath slowly. With one last look at the door he turned and strode away in the opposite direction to the one his cousin had taken.
Tariq, who had been walking across the courtyard, stopped when he saw his cousin. ‘Tair!’
Tair stepped towards him thinking, You idiot, as he smiled. Tariq looked exhausted. Perhaps guilt made him lie awake at night?
He too had lain awake the previous night, but he was not feeling any effects from the lack of sleep; he was actually feeling quite pleased with himself.
Some might consider his plan reckless, but Tair preferred to think of it as inspired.
‘I’m glad I bumped into you.’
The relief he saw on the other man’s face struck Tair as darkly ironic.
‘Actually—’ Tariq, his brow furrowed, glanced down at the watch on his wrist ‘—you could do me a favour. I don’t suppose you would take a message to Molly for me?’
Tair inclined his head to indicate his willingness to help out and thought that this was working out much better than he’d anticipated.
It wasn’t very often the victim of a scam actively helped facilitate the scheme. Not that he had a lot of personal experience with scams, and this was one being perpetuated with the most altruistic of motives. He didn’t expect that Tariq would immediately he able to make the differentiation, though obviously when he had come to his senses he would appreciate his good fortune.
‘You’ll find her in the glasshouses,’ he explained, glancing down at his watch in a manner that seemed uncharacteristically distracted to Tair. ‘She’s interested in that sort of thing. Well, she would be, wouldn’t she?’
‘She would?’ Tair, who was mentally bringing forward his plan by an hour, pretended an interest he did not feel.
‘Well, yes, she’s head of the science department but her first degree was in botany. When I told her about the glasshouses built by great-grandfather and his collection she was fascinated. I was looking for Khalid to do the honours for me, but I can’t track him down.’
‘She is a teacher?’ he said, unable to hide his doubt. Surely in order to command the respect of pupils a teacher needed to project an air of authority?
Tariq looked amused. ‘Have you spoken to her at all? She teaches at a girls’ school.’ He named a prestigious establishment that even Tair had heard of and added, ‘Molly is really very bright.’ He said this with an obvious pride that set Tair’s teeth on edge.
‘I know she seems quiet, but once you start talking to her…she’s actually got a great sense of humour and—’
‘She seems to have a most articulate advocate in you,’ Tair cut in before his cousin waxed even more lyrical and was unable to keep a guard on his tongue. ‘I will,’ he promised, ‘certainly make the effort to know her better.’ He knew all he needed to know about Miss Mouse.
‘So we have you for a few more days?’
‘My travel plans are not certain yet,’ Tair lied, thinking of his refuelled plane and freshly charted flightplan.
‘Tell Molly I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check. Bea had a bad night. They think it’s a good idea if she checks into the hospital.’ He glanced down at his watch again. ‘I’ve been banished while she packs a bag. She says I’m driving her mad fussing.’ Despite his joking tone the lines of strain around his mouth made it clear that Tariq was worried.
‘You should have said something!’ Tair exclaimed. ‘Is she—?’
‘It’s just a precaution,’ Tariq cut in quickly. ‘Her blood pressure is up a little and, well, the fact is she’s been doing too much. It’s my fault—I shouldn’t have left her alone.’
Tair thought it was a little late for the other man to realise this, but given his obvious agitation it seemed unnecessarily cruel to labour the point so he contented himself with an abrupt, ‘Your place is with your wife.’
‘So you’ll explain the situation to Molly?’
Could he not forget the woman even now? ‘I will make sure she understands.’
Tariq laid a hand on his arm. ‘Thanks, Tair, and try not to scare her. Poor Molly has the impression you can’t stand the sight of her.’
The girl was highly perceptive, Tair thought, while lifting his brows in an attitude of amazement.
‘I know, crazy,’ Tariq remarked with an indulgent smile that made Tair’s teeth grate, ‘but I think you make her nervous… I know you can be charming, Tair, and I’d be grateful if you’d make the effort for me. This is her first visit here and I want her to come back.’
Not if I have anything to say about it. ‘For you, yes, cousin, I will make the effort.’
‘Thanks for this, Tair.’
‘It is my pleasure.’ And if not his pleasure, it was certainly his duty to remove temptation from Tariq’s way.
The perfectly preserved glasshouses built in the Victorian era covered acres of ground and they contained not only historical and rare fruit and vegetable varieties, but a unique and priceless collection of orchids.
Tair was familiar with the glasshouses as when he was a boy visiting his cousins they had played there. It took him a short time to locate Molly, though he almost walked past her, only catching sight of the shiny top of her head at the last minute.
He backtracked and saw she was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, her attention divided between the sketch-book balanced on her knee and an orchid in full fragrant bloom. Its heady scent filled the air around them.
She was so intent on her task that she didn’t hear his approach and as she continued to remain unaware of his presence Tair had the opportunity to study her unobserved.
Her body was hidden once more behind another unattractive outfit—an oversized shirt and shapeless skirt that reached mid-calf. But his attention remained on her face. Like last night, she was not wearing the librarian glasses, but unlike last night he was close enough to appreciate the delicacy of her bone structure and the smooth creaminess of her skin. Still oblivious to his presence, she turned her head as she laid down the pencil in her hand to pick up another from the tin that lay open beside her and he was able to see that her face was a perfect oval.
Her delicate winged brows drew together in a frown of concentration as she turned her attention back to the drawing, her slim fingers flying over the paper.
When she finished the frown deepened into a grimace of dissatisfaction as she compared what was on the paper to the waxy petalled bloom she was studying.
‘Hopeless!’ she muttered in apparent disgust at her inability to do her subject justice.
‘A lack of talent can be frustrating.’
She started as though shot and turned her head jerkily, causing several strands of hair to break loose from the knot tied at the base of her slender neck. Their eyes connected and Tair was struck by two thoughts simultaneously. Her eyes were pure gold and she was looking at him as though he were, if not the devil himself, then certainly a very close relation. She appeared not to notice as the pencil slipped from her nerveless fingers and slid into the decorative grating of an air vent.
He raised one brow and she astonished him by blushing to the roots of her hair. Hair that turned out not to be boring mousy brown, but a subtle combination of shades ranging from soft gold to warm conker.
The knot on the nape of her neck appeared to be secured by a single barrette; presumably if it was removed her hair would spill like silk down her back.
Had Tariq done this?
He pushed the thought away, baring his teeth in a smile. Tariq wouldn’t be doing that or anything else that involved Miss Mouse any more.
Even before she turned Molly had known who was standing there. Tair Al Sharif’s voice had to be just about the most distinctive on the planet! He could have made the ingredients on a cereal packet sound like an indecent proposition. The velvet smoothness had an almost tactile quality that sent tiny secret shivers up and down her spine.
Even when he stopped speaking she could hear it in her head.
Molly kept her head down and got to her feet slowly to allow the heat in her cheeks time to dissipate.
Even when she was standing straight he remained a full foot, probably more, taller than her. Molly would have liked to believe it was simply the extra inches alone that made her feel at such a disadvantage. But even without looking directly at him she could feel the effect of the leashed power and blatantly sexual aura he radiated lying like a stone fist in her chest. It made her conscious of each breath she took.
He was dressed smart-casual, or in his case sexy-casual, in jeans, secured across his lean snaky hips with a leather belt, and a blue open-necked shirt.
Molly had never thought before that the words denim and disturbing could be in the same sentence as she glanced at the way the material clung to his long muscular thighs.
Last night Molly had tossed and turned in bed unable to get this man’s voice or face from her mind although she had tried to blame her inability to sleep on the second cup of coffee she’d had at dinner.
At about two a.m. she had decided that she had imagined the hypnotic quality of his searing blue eyes and the inexplicable hostility she saw in them when they were turned in her direction.
Now a caffeine-free zone, she had to admit she had been fooling herself.
Even after having adjusted her stare to a point over his shoulder she could feel his eyes on her. The sort of eyes that layers of skin and bone seemed a poor defence against—it felt as if he could see inside her skull.
When she was this close to him she felt as though every protective layer she had built up over the years had been peeled away. Chastising herself crossly at the whimsical illusion, she kept staring into the safety zone over his shoulder, deciding it was preferable to have him assume she was cross-eyed than maintain direct eye contact and do something stupid like trip over her own feet, drool or forget her name.
This is stupid—you look ridiculous, Molly thought. Look at the man—you can’t talk to the wall! Surely nothing should scare a person who had stood in at the last minute for an absent colleague and delivered a sex-education lecture to a hall of sixteen-year-old girls?
It had turned out the girls knew a lot more than she did!
‘You startled me,’ she said, brushing the dust off the seat of her skirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’ And if I had I would have run in the opposite direction.
It was still an option, she thought, staring at his shiny boots.
‘Sorry,’ he said, not looking it, but not actually sounding as openly antagonistic as he had the previous evening.
It was possible she’d been wrong about the hostility, not that he had the sort of face that was easy to read if he didn’t want you to. And right now it would seem he didn’t want her to.
Her gaze flickered across the hard contours and angles of his lean face and a sigh snagged in her throat. He might not be easy to read, but he was damned easy to look at! A lot more than easy!
Her glance dropped to his feet shod in leather boots and then, as though drawn by an invisible magnet, worked its way upwards, lingering over some areas more than others, until she reached his face. Everything about him was worth looking at.
She applied the tip of her tongue to the moisture that broke out along her upper lip and struggled to disguise the fact that her feet were nailed to the ground with lust.
No man had ever elicited this type of raw response from Molly in her life and she found it both utterly mortifying and deeply scary.
As he reached across to take the sketch-book from her she opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. With fingers clenched almost as tight as her teeth, she injected amusement into her voice as she held out her hand.
‘I doubt my scribbling will interest you, Mr al… Prince…’
His eyes lifted, meeting hers momentarily. He ignored the hand. ‘Or my opinion interest you?’
‘I’m holding my breath.’ Actually the entire breathing thing was currently something of a chore. She was twenty-four and had never been in a situation where sexual awareness caused her brain to malfunction before.
The acid sweetness of her retort caused his eyes to narrow before they dropped. Biting her lip, Molly watched in dismay as Tair Al Sharif, his dark head tilted a little to one side, continued to study the sketch.
So far he hadn’t been overly impressed by anything about her, so why, she asked herself dourly, should now be any different?
She stopped and blinked… Will you just listen to yourself, Molly? Have you any idea how pathetic and needy you sound?
She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and advised herself sternly to grow up. For goodness’ sake, he was not an art critic. Why should she give a damn what he thought?
She didn’t!
So why was she standing here shuffling her feet like a kid called to the headmaster’s study?
This was ridiculous. She was acting like some needy loser who wanted everyone to love her… Someone might be nice, but that someone was not going to bear any resemblance to Tair Al Sharif.
The internal dialogue came to an abrupt end as he lifted his raven head.
He was surprised that she actually did have the talent he accused her of lacking, a fact that was obvious even to his uneducated eye. The drawing leapt off the paper. It was detailed and delicate and if it did not meet with her approval the artist was an extremely harsh critic of her own skills.
He removed his eyes from the sketch-book and turned his attention to her, his dark gaze drifting over the outfit that was not what most women would have selected for a meeting with a lover, but clearly Tariq was able to see past the dowdy disguise. The thought of his smitten cousin brought a dark scowl of disapproval to his face and it was still in place when their eyes connected.
Molly went to push up the glasses on her nose only to discover they weren’t there. She experienced a moment of total panic, the sort she felt in nightmares.
She didn’t need his approval, she told herself sternly, and she didn’t need a safety blanket either. The glasses had been useful once, but she was no longer a precociously bright but gauche kid plunged into the university environment among people who were older.