‘You wanted to talk about ground rules.’ Khalid’s voice was a rich drawl. ‘I agree. It’s well past time for that.’

The intensity of his stare held her taut and breathless as her heartbeat thudded, loud in her ears. Something had changed. Treacherous undercurrents swirled between them.

‘Perhaps we could work the details out tomorrow. It’s getting late.’ Her words tumbled out in a rush. Maggie felt strangely vulnerable in this highly charged atmosphere.

‘There’s no need to wait until tomorrow,’ he murmured.

‘There isn’t?’ Maggie watched him stride around the desk, each movement slow and purposeful. She found herself turning so her back was to the desk and Khalid stood between her and the door. Tremors of shock vibrated through her. And something else. A tiny thrill of excitement. She must be mad!

‘No,’ he said, his voice a deep rumble. ‘We’ll sort this out tonight.’

Her eyes were lustrous gold in the lamplight, shot with emerald fire. Khalid had never known any like them. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breasts thrusting in wanton invitation against the fabric. Her lips parted as her breaths shortened.

His body tensed to the point of pain as he prolonged the suspense of anticipation a moment more. He’d never been one to rush his pleasure.

And Maggie would be pure pleasure.

Annie West spent her childhood with her nose between the covers of a book—a habit she retains. After years of preparing government reports and official correspondence she decided to write something she really enjoys. And there’s nothing she loves more than a great romance. Despite her office-bound past she has managed a few interesting moments—including a marriage offer with the promise of a herd of camels to sweeten the contract. She is happily married to her ever-patient husband (who has never owned a dromedary). They live with their two children amongst the tall eucalypts at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. You can e-mail Annie at www.annie-west.com, or write to her at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Recent books by the same author:

THE GREEK TYCOON’S UNEXPECTED WIFE

THE DESERT KING’S PREGNANT BRIDE

BY

ANNIE WEST

www.millsandboon.co.uk

THE DESERT KING’S PREGNANT BRIDE

With warmest gratitude to:

Leanne McMahon, equine expert extraordinaire;

Anna Campbell, the best friend a girl could have;

and my very own hero, Geoff.

Thank you.

This book wouldn’t have been possible without you!

CHAPTER ONE

MAGGIE bowed her head against the sheets of icy rain as she plodded along the muddy road.

Slick fabric stuck to her where she’d forgotten to do up her raincoat. Water sluiced down her legs, into her wellington boots. Her hair, so carefully washed and dried, now hung in saturated rat-tails against her neck. Vaguely she was aware of the chill numbing her body. After running, stumbling, then trudging so far in the lashing darkness, her steps slowed, became unsteady.

If she’d been thinking clearly, she’d have taken her battered Jeep. That hadn’t occurred to her. One look between the carelessly drawn curtains of Marcus’s sitting room and coherent thought had fled.

She’d stood, rooted to the spot, heedless of the drenching rain. When her brain had finally caught up with the message her eyes had conveyed, she’d simply run. She must have raced past her car into the welcoming blackness.

Pain tore at her throat as she sobbed in a deep racking breath. She had to get home, before the emotions churning inside overcame her.

Yet she couldn’t escape the memory of what she’d seen: Marcus, naked in the arms of his lover.

Now she understood why he’d blown hot and cold, sometimes too busy to see her and at others attentive and loving. His affection had been a sham. He’d only wanted her to conceal his affair with the trophy wife of a jealous horse breeder.

Maggie’s stomach churned. She’d been so gullible.

She’d believed him when he’d spoken of respecting her, not rushing her after her recent loss. He’d said she needed to be sure before they took their relationship further.

In her innocence Maggie had been sure. She’d decided to show him she was a desirable woman, mature and ready for a deeper relationship. She’d read every magazine she could lay her hands on, aiming to transform herself into the sort of woman she thought he wanted. She’d overcome her fears and thrust aside self-doubt. She’d even taken the long trip to town and bought herself a dress!

Her bitter laughter was swallowed by the rushing wind.

He’d never wanted her. She’d been too inexperienced and starved of affection to see he was using her. Nausea welled in her throat and she bent over to dry-retch again.

Strangely, this time as she looked down she could see her boots and her legs, wet and muddy below the raincoat. She frowned muzzily, trying to focus on the present, not the scene of contorting naked bodies replaying in her head.

Where was the light coming from?

‘Do you need help?’ A deep voice curled out of the roaring darkness to reach her.

Blindly, she raised her head and found herself blinking in the headlights of a massive off-road vehicle. A man stood silhouetted before it. He was tall, lean and unfamiliar. Something about the set of his broad shoulders and his wide-planted feet intimated he was a man prepared for anything, a man able to deal with trouble of any kind.

Maggie knew an instant’s insane craving to lean forward into his strong body, rest against those more-than-capable shoulders and slump into oblivion.

Then sense overcame instinct. She had no idea who he was. Besides, she’d just learned her judgement was fatally flawed. She’d believed Marcus to be everything she wanted in a man, a lover, a mate. She’d thought…

The shadow moved closer, near enough to make her stunningly aware of his superior height and power.

‘You’re not well. How can I assist?’ This time Maggie caught the faintest trace of an accent.

‘Who are you?’ she said, barely recognising the reedy whisper as her own voice.

Silence for a moment as the wind stirred the collar of her coat and drove the rain almost horizontal.

‘I’m a guest at the Tallawanta Stud. Staying up at the homestead.’

Now she recognised the latest top-of-the-range vehicle. Only the best for those at the big house. And there was a special guest this week. The Sheikh of Shajehar, who owned the whole enormous horse stud, had sent an envoy on an inspection tour.

That explained his accent. The precise, clipped English, as if he’d attended a top British public school. It was overlaid with a slight softening of consonants that hinted at something far more exotic.

‘Or do you intend that we both stand out here till we’re saturated to the skin?’

There was no impatience in that voice, but nor was there any mistaking its steely undertone. Maggie jumped, reining in her wandering thoughts. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t seem to concentrate properly.

Only now did she realise the stranger wore no overcoat. He must be even wetter than she.

‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head dazedly. ‘I’m not…’

‘Have you been in an accident?’ Again that easy, calm voice with just a hint of iron in its depths.

‘No. No accident. I… Could you give me a lift, please?’ Maggie had no qualms now about cadging a ride from him. He was the visiting dignitary she’d heard about. They were on the estate’s private road and no one would be out in this weather unless they belonged here.

‘Of course.’ He bowed his head, then preceded her to the four-wheel drive. His stride was long, purposeful and easy, as if pacing down a carpeted corridor instead of a muddy, uneven gravel road. Maggie stumbled after him as best she could, her limbs horribly uncoordinated.

He opened the door and stood back for her to get in.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured as a firm hand cupped her elbow and helped her into the high cabin. Without his support she wouldn’t have made it.

Maggie subsided onto the cushioned seat. Slowly she loosened her cramped fingers and let go of the straps of her high-heeled sandals from one hand, her frivolous new purse from the other. They tumbled to the floor. She’d barely been aware she still held them.

The door closed and she sank back, stunned by the warm comfort of the cabin after the howling wind and teeming rain that had drummed incessantly in her ears.

This was…luxury. Heaven.

Maggie shut her eyes, overcome by the quiet peace.

‘Here,’ a deep voice filtered into her consciousness, ‘take this.’

Slowly she turned towards the velvet-soft voice, fighting the intense dragging weariness that consumed her. She didn’t want to rouse herself, but he was insistent.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. He sat in the driver’s seat and she looked up into the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. Deep-set, hooded eyes that surveyed her closely, taking in every nuance of her appearance.

Maggie’s eyes widened at the sight of her rescuer in the cabin’s pale overhead light.

His jet-black hair was slicked back from a face tanned almost to bronze. Her breath snagged at the strong, spare beauty of his features, each plane emphasised by the sheen of rain on burnished flesh. Lean cheeks with slanted cheekbones that mirrored the stark angle of his brows. A strong, aristocratic nose with just a hint of the aquiline. Narrow, well-shaped lips that she could imagine tipping into a smile or turning down in displeasure. A jaw that spoke of solid power and bone-deep assurance.

The combination took her breath away. It was as if someone had opened a precious old book and conjured a warrior prince straight from the Arabian Nights.

But nothing in her juvenile reading matched this man for pure magnetism. He looked exotic and masterful.

Maggie had never known any man could look so…

‘Here,’ he repeated, thrusting a soft woollen blanket into her hands. His brows angled down in a frown as he surveyed her. ‘Are you sure you’re not injured?’

She nodded, then hid her face in the folds of wool, holding the blanket with hands that trembled. Embarrassment washed through her, whether because he’d caught her staring, or because of her strange wayward thoughts, she didn’t know.

She must be in shock. That would explain her heedless flight and the muzzy feeling that everything was distant, unreal. Yes, that was it. Shock.

Any woman would be shocked to discover what she had tonight. And no doubt she looked a sight: workaday raingear over her beaded dress—

‘Stop it.’ A firm hand curved around her jaw and swung her face towards him. His fingers were hard and warm and comfortingly real against her numb flesh.

Maggie blinked, amazed to discover the water spiking her lashes wasn’t rain, but tears. They burned her eyes.

‘Stop what?’ she whispered on a hiccough, staring into liquid dark eyes that held hers mesmerised.

Gradually her galloping heartbeat slowed. The breath shuddered out of her constricted lungs. She dragged in air, conscious of a tight ache around her chest.

‘You were becoming hysterical.’

His clasp of her chin shifted, fingers splaying wide to tilt her head higher as if he needed to see her better in the dim light. The heat of his touch burned life back into her frozen skin and she was content to let him hold her so. She felt strangely lethargic.

‘S-s-sorry.’ She frowned. She’d never stuttered in her life. And as for being hysterical… ‘I’ve had a bit of a sh-shock.’ There, she finally got it out. She had trouble coordinating her lips and tongue. ‘I’ll be all r-right.’

‘You’ve been out in this storm too long.’ He took the wool from her white-knuckled grasp and lifted the blanket around her shoulders, pulling the edges together. The enveloping comfort relaxed her into a boneless huddle and the movement drew him close. She caught his scent, faint yet intriguing. Heat and sandalwood, spice and damp male skin. Her nostrils flared as she slumped forward.

Large hands on her shoulders propped her away from him.

‘Where did you come from? How long have you been out?’

Maggie’s lips curved up in a dreamy smile as her eyelids drifted lower. She really did love that accent. The softening consonants and lilting rhythm almost hidden behind the crisp intonation sounded quite…seductive. She could imagine going to sleep to the sound of that voice.

Her eyes popped open as fingers curled hard into her shoulders.

‘Did someone hurt you?’ His voice sounded different. She shivered anew at the hint of anger in his tone.

‘No! No, I’m fine. Just…’ The words petered out and she blinked, confused. She really did feel odd. ‘I need to g-g-get back. Please.’

Abruptly, he nodded, pushing her back into the moulded seat and reaching for her seat belt. The heat of his torso as he leant near was warmer by far than any blanket.

‘Where to?’

He straightened and immediately the chill invaded her body again. When he switched on the ignition the cabin was plunged into darkness but for the light from the control panel. Her gaze strayed to his shadowy profile: powerful yet elegant in a toughly masculine way.

Instinct told her she could trust him absolutely.

‘Another s-s-six k-kilometres. Then r-right. I’ll direct you f-from there.’

He eased the vehicle forward. Rain pounded on the roof and the four-wheel drive slid in the thick mud.

Mud. Her boots. Her gaze spanned the interior of the luxury vehicle.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘My b-boots are f-filthy.’

‘This is a farm vehicle,’ he responded. ‘I’m sure it collects its fair share of mud.’

Spoken like a man who never had to clean said vehicle, Maggie realised. This was no work vehicle. It was reserved for important guests, used when only the best would do.

‘Who are you?’

For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her question over the sound of the rain.

‘My name is Khalid. And yours?’

‘Maggie.’ She hugged the blanket closer, ‘Maggie Lewis.’ Thank goodness her teeth had stopped chattering.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Maggie.’ His voice was grave, almost formal. Suddenly she wondered how this man spent his time when he wasn’t visiting Australian horse studs or rescuing stranded women from deserted roads.

Khalid concentrated on the road as driving conditions deteriorated. He had to get her warm and dry quickly. She was in shock and might be on the verge of hypothermia.

Six kilometres and then how far to reach her destination? He couldn’t take that risk. Instead he’d drive her to Tallawanta till she recovered.

She was an enigma. There was no abandoned car and those weren’t work clothes beneath her oilskin. The glimpse of long slender legs below her coat had instantly caught his interest. And the high heels she’d dangled from her hand were for dancing the night away or seducing a man.

Was that what had happened? Had some man hurt her?

Despite her height, tall enough to top his shoulder, there was a fragile air about this woman. Her shadowed eyes were huge in that milky pale face. Her bowed neck as she’d hunched over in the road was long and slender and delicate.

She hadn’t been at tonight’s dinner of luminaries who’d turned out to meet the heir to the throne of Shajehar. Khalid would have noticed.

He flicked a glance at her, huddled beneath the tartan rug, her eyes closed and her head lolling against the seat. She looked weak and defenceless, but she must have a core of gritty strength to head out in this weather on foot. The woman was an intriguing mix that triggered his curiosity. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

He felt a spurt of satisfaction that tonight, for once, he was without his entourage of security aides and obsequious hosts. He could indulge his curiosity, follow his instincts. Given the tight perimeter security on the vast estate, he’d won the argument that he was safe alone within its boundaries. Perhaps his security chief had realised too that it would be wise to give him space.

For six weeks Khalid had dutifully toured his half-brother’s royal holdings in Europe, the Americas and Australia. But he didn’t share Faruq’s enjoyment of pomp and luxury. As heir to his terminally ill half-brother, Khalid had recently acquired a huge security retinue. Its size was due to Faruq’s love of ostentation rather than any threat. Plus he had a schedule full of social engagements.

Social engagements! His time would be better spent supervising his latest project, a fresh water pipeline from the mountains in remote Shajehar. At least that would bring tangible benefits to his people.

Lights shone ahead in the streaming darkness and the tension eased across his shoulders and arms. Once he got her inside, in the light and warmth, he could assess her injuries, call a doctor if need be.

He bypassed the garages and drove round to the private owner’s wing of the sprawling homestead.

‘Here we are.’ He leaned across to shake her awake. She was limp beneath his hand. Frowning, he paused only a moment before touching her pale cheek. It was icy.

‘Maggie! Wake up.’

That voice again. The crisp warm voice with its tantalising hint of a lilt. She smiled to herself as she pictured an exotic prince in flowing robes, a gleaming scimitar in his hand.

‘Maggie!’

She shrugged off a hand that threatened to interrupt her lovely dream. In her mind her prince smiled and tugged her to him. Eyes brighter than gems gleamed down at her and her breath caught. He slipped his hand beneath her legs and lifted her in his embrace, his arms like cushioned steel.

She’d never felt so safe, so secure, so full of anticipation. Those black eyes were shadowed with the promise of unknown delight, his narrow lips curving in a knowing, sensuous smile that made her long for his kiss.

The steady drum of his heartbeat pulsed against her and his arms rocked her close as he strode over the warm sand. Soon now they’d—

Maggie’s brows pleated as hard drops of water beat against her face. Did it rain in the desert?

Instinctively, she turned her head, snuggling closer to his warm, solid body, filling her nostrils with the evocative scent of man. But her frown grew as she discovered he was wet, his clothes sodden.

She opened her eyes and found herself in a man’s arms as he strode through a howling rainstorm. Her startled gasp was torn away by the wind.

Carriage lights shone along the veranda of a classic-style colonial homestead. Warm light gleamed through a massive fanlight window above the door. Suddenly everything clicked into place. Marcus, the long walk home, the exotic stranger. They were at Tallawanta House.

‘You can put me down.’ Maggie tried to lever herself up and out of his hold but she could get no purchase.

‘We’re almost there.’ He stepped under cover and the needling rain on her skin ceased abruptly.

Wordlessly he pushed open the front door, pulling her closer. Muffled against his chest, she was assailed again by that yearning. To stay here against him, his body warming hers. To discover more about the inexplicable excitement that shivered through her blood when he held her like this.

She squeezed her eyes shut. This was no fantasy. This was real. Yet she felt oddly relaxed, almost floating. A yawn seized her and her head lolled against his shoulder.

Khalid. That was his name. She loved the sound of it. Her lips moved as she traced its syllables.

A moment later his grip changed, strong arms holding her flush against him as he lowered her legs. She slid down a hard torso till her feet reached the floor. Yet it was his unyielding embrace that kept her upright.

‘Now,’ murmured that seductively low voice, ‘it’s time to get your clothes off.’

‘What?’ Her eyes snapped open, instantly arresting him. In the bright light he found they were the colour of rich honey sprinkled with green fire. Mesmerising.

Unsteady hands shoved at his chest, fending him off.

Khalid’s lips firmed as he watched her battle to remain upright. Had someone taken advantage of her tonight? The idea sent heat roaring through his blood.

‘You need to get your wet clothes off.’

‘Not with you watching!’ Pink tinted her cheeks, fascinating him, highlighting a spattering of light freckles. A woman who still knew how to blush. When was the last time he’d come across one of that rare breed?

‘I simply want to make sure you don’t get hypothermia. I’m not interested in your body.’

The blush intensified to a deep rose hue and her gaze slanted swiftly away from his. Her teeth sank into her pale bottom lip. She was embarrassed.

‘I can look after myself. I don’t need your help,’ she mumbled.

Didn’t she? His curiosity was roused, and his concern. And, damn it, his time was his own, for tonight at least.

Khalid had always believed in two things. Following his instinct and his duty. Years ago, in the darkest days of grief after Shahina’s death, only duty had kept him going. Embracing his responsibility to his people had given him purpose and strength when he’d wanted to shun the world and mourn his wife, the only woman he’d ever love.

Now both instinct and duty dictated he remain.

And something else. Something about Maggie Lewis that reached out to him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The realisation fascinated and appalled him.

‘So I should have left you out in the storm?’

‘I didn’t mean that. I appreciate the lift.’ Her widening gaze roved the massive bathroom as if she’d never seen marble tiles before. ‘It would have been easier to take me home.’

Her words were still slurred. But her eyes were clear and bright, the pupils normal. He guessed it was hypothermia, not drugs or drink, affecting her speech.

He released his hold slowly, looking to ensure she could stand alone. Then he shrugged out of his dinner jacket and draped it over the edge of the spa bath.

Maggie watched his swift, economical movements as he turned and took off his jacket. The frame of his spectacular shoulders, the impressive V of his torso, the classic male form of powerful chest and narrow waist. The wet shirt clung lovingly to every inch of his skin, and her mouth dried, absorbing all that physical perfection.

Fiery heat burned her face as embarrassment sizzled under her skin. Of course he wasn’t interested in seeing her naked! She’d always been gawky and unattractive. A wave of anger and humiliation broke over her, threatening to tug her down into a tide of self-pity.

Rapidly she blinked. She’d known for years she wasn’t the sort of girl men desired. Tonight had only just confirmed…no, she refused to go there. The memory was too raw, too mortifying.

There was a whoosh of water and she dragged her focus back to the present. He’d leaned in to turn on the shower. His black trousers were sodden, shaping long, powerful legs and a tightly curved backside.

Maggie’s eyes widened. Even Marcus, with his laughing blue eyes and his tall chunky build, couldn’t hold a candle to this man for sheer physical perfection.

‘Let me help you with your coat.’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Clearly he was used to being obeyed.

Wordlessly she stood while he deftly slipped it from her shoulders. It dropped in a puddle at her feet.

Maggie fixed her gaze on his black silk bow tie rather than on that vast expanse of wet male torso. But, perversely, the longer she stared, the greater her desire to reach out and tug the tie undone, to part the collar and see whether the flesh over his collarbone was the same burnished gold as his face.

Horrified at the wayward thought, she shut her eyes against temptation. She’d never felt quite so…abandoned. Had tonight short-circuited something in her brain?

She was shocked to realise she hadn’t felt anything like this for Marcus. She’d cared for him, respected him and believed intimacy was the next logical step in their relationship. But she’d never felt this charged awareness of him as a man.

Now she felt edgy, as if her skin had grown too tight.

Was this desire?

Her experience was so limited. She’d spent her life on the farm, isolated by her domineering father and long work hours. That was why her fledgling relationship with Marcus had seemed so precious.

‘Next your dress, then we’ll see if you can manage alone.’ Khalid’s voice was matter-of-fact. Yet he could have been reciting entries in the telephone directory and she’d have listened, enthralled, to his sexy smooth voice.

No! This had to stop. The sooner he left, the better. Then she’d become herself again: ordinary, pragmatic Maggie Lewis. No more flights of fantasy, no more…melting at the mere sound of a voice. This responsiveness to a complete stranger was due to shock and tiredness.

Maggie bit her lip on an instinctive protest as he reached round to the back of her dress. Her hands were so unsteady she knew she’d never manage the zip herself. So she complied, holding herself still as he tugged the zip.

Its downward slide took for ever. Blood pounded in her ears, blocking the sound of the shower. The sensation of the fastening lowering, centimetre by slow centimetre, drew her skin tight in goose flesh. He didn’t touch her but he stood close, arms encircling her, his heat enfolding her.

She swayed then, horrified, caught herself and stood straighter, her spine ramrod stiff.

‘There. Almost done.’ His voice was expressionless, his eyes on the dress as he peeled it gently down.

He might have been undressing a store dummy for all the interest he showed. And that, for some reason, was worse than anything that had gone before.

A shimmer of furious tears blurred Maggie’s vision.

Here she stood, naked but for her brand-new ultra-feminine underwear, and he didn’t even spare her a glance. It was as if she weren’t a flesh-and-blood woman. Not a real one, capable of snaring a man’s interest.

Who did she think she was kidding with her new clothes? Her body was too long, with too few curves. She had none of the sensuality other women took for granted.

The only time men noticed her was at work, for she was good at her job. In the stables she was one of the guys. Didn’t that say it all? Something deep inside shrivelled up. An ache cramped her belly and she hunched over.

‘Maggie? Are you in pain?’ Eyes of fathomless black met hers. His hard, callused hands bit into her shoulders.

‘No.’ It emerged as a desperate gasp. ‘But I need to be alone. Go. Please.’

His gaze raked hers. His mouth firmed into a grim line. Then slowly his fingers loosed their grip and his arms swung to his sides.

‘As you wish.’ Abruptly he was gone, leaving her in solitary possession of the magnificent bathroom.

For a bereft moment she wanted to call him back, ask him to hold her, to protect her from the hurt that welled up inside and the marrow-deep cold that gripped her body.

Then pride reasserted itself. He’d been only too thankful to escape. Besides, she was used to managing alone. That was the way it had always been.

She turned towards the shower, her steps as slow as an old woman’s. She didn’t bother to lock the door to ensure her privacy. There was no need.

Why did the knowledge hurt so much?

CHAPTER TWO

MAGGIE emerged from the bathroom swathed in soft white towelling, an oversized robe that swamped her. She hadn’t even noticed Khalid take her discarded dress. The plush robe was warm against her damp skin. She hiked up the collar and dug her hands into the deep pockets.

For a heartbeat she hesitated in the doorway, then swung round at the sound of his voice.

‘Feel better now?’ Khalid halted a few paces away, legs planted wide in a stance that was intrinsically male. He surveyed her from top to toe. Her pulse hammered hard and loud. ‘You look better. There’s colour in your cheeks.’

And no wonder! Maggie felt the heat sizzle under her skin. She was uncomfortable wearing his robe, but it was all she had to hide her nakedness.

Under his survey the brush of fabric against her bare flesh suddenly took on a new dimension. Tingles rayed out from her sensitive breasts, her stomach, thighs and buttocks as she shifted her weight uneasily.

Or maybe it was reaction to the sight of him, clad in black trousers and black shirt that emphasised his spare, powerful frame. Her glance dropped all the way down past his muscled thighs to his bare feet. Her breath stopped. He even had sexy feet. She hadn’t known that was possible.

Maggie snagged a desperate breath and jerked her gaze up to his, praying he hadn’t noticed her ogling him.

‘Thank you. I feel a lot better. Hot water works wonders, doesn’t it?’ Was she gabbling? For the first time since he found her, she felt truly nervous. She slicked her tongue over her bottom lip as her mouth dried.

‘Come.’ He held out his hand imperiously, and to her surprise, she reached out unhesitatingly. The hard heat of his palm and fingers enfolding hers was strangely comforting. If she could ignore the tendrils of shivery pleasure snaking up from their clasped hands.

He led her into a large sitting room. It should have been overpowering with its gilt-edged mirrors and elegant antique furniture. But it was lit by a fire in the grate and the mellow glow of lamps. The long sofa drawn up before the fire looked cosy with its many cushions and rich red throw rug.

‘Sit.’ He gestured to the sofa. ‘It will be a while before your clothes dry and we can get you home. In the meantime you need to keep warm.’

As she subsided into the soft luxurious cushions Maggie knew there wasn’t any danger of her growing cold. The hot shower, the fire, but most of all the way her blood heated at his touch, made her glow with warmth.

Wordlessly he covered her knees, then passed her a delicate glass in a filigree metal holder.

Maggie inhaled the steam rising from the glass. It smelt wonderful.

‘What is it?’

‘Sweet tea, Shajehani style. The perfect remedy for shock and exposure to the elements.’ He stood before her, his back to the fire. Maggie drank in the sight of him, his imposing frame, his obvious strength, the stance of a man utterly confident and in control. Something squeezed the pit of her stomach. Hurriedly she bent her head to drink.

‘It’s delicious!’

‘Surprising, isn’t it?’

‘No, I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s all right. Drink up and relax. I’ll be back soon.’ He moved away and her breathing eased.

This was what she needed, to be alone to collect her thoughts and overcome these unfamiliar emotions that tonight ran so close to the surface.

She stared at the blazing fire, sipped her tea and wondered at the intensity of her reaction to Khalid. He was a stranger. A breathtakingly gorgeous one. Yet it wasn’t just his looks she responded to. It was his easy kindness, that sense of rock-solid dependability, the way he took charge and looked after her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She wasn’t used to it.

Maggie blinked. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel cared for. To lean on someone else. No one had ever taken care of her like this. Not since she was eight and she’d arrived home from school to find her mother had walked out, taking Maggie’s little sister, but not Maggie.

There’d been no warmth at home after that day. Her father hadn’t been one for creature comforts, let alone a hug or a sympathetic smile. He’d been a hard man, dour and demanding. Even in those last months as she’d nursed him he hadn’t softened.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ Khalid’s deep voice came from beside her. She hadn’t heard him return.

To her horror, the hint of concern lacing his words opened a floodgate of raw emotion. Painful emotion that ignited a terrible weakness in her. She wasn’t accustomed to sympathy.

Her lips quivered. What was wrong with her? She’d discovered Marcus’s betrayal and she’d got a soaking. It wasn’t the end of the world.

She was made of sterner stuff than this. Maggie Lewis never cried. It was one of the reasons she’d been accepted so quickly into the male realm of the horse stud.

‘No.’ The word emerged as a raw croak and she tried again. ‘No, thank you.’ She relinquished her stiff-knuckled grip on the glass as a large, tanned hand took it from her.

‘In that case let’s get your hair dry.’

Maggie opened her mouth to object, but already he’d draped a towel over her head and shoulders. Long, strong fingers massaged her scalp through the thick towelling and her demurral dissolved on her tongue.

Whorls of sensation spread from his supple hands, sensation that made the last of her resistance melt like chocolate on a hot summer day.

Her head lolled back and forward, following the easy rhythm of his hands, till she forgot what it was she objected to. Ripples of delight spread out, down her spine, across her shoulders and lower, deep inside her.

She had to stifle a sigh of regret when he lifted the towel away. It felt so good, the warmth, the company, the comfort of his presence.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the awful sensation of loss and loneliness welling inside her. The aching void of emptiness that stretched all around her.

Quickly she shook her head, hoping to dislodge the ache, the unfamiliar need. Tonight had been a shock, a blow to her self-esteem and her hopes, but she’d get over it. This curious sense of frailty was a passing thing. She’d always been strong. Always coped.

‘Don’t cry, little one.’ His voice was so low it was a mere thread of sound, weaving into her consciousness. His touch was tender as he wiped moisture from her cheeks.

Maggie kept her eyes tight shut. For the second time tonight she had tears in her eyes. The second time in fifteen years. She hadn’t cried since her mother had deserted her all those years ago. Maggie had sobbed herself sick then and hadn’t cried since. Now in one night the dam had broken. A shudder of anxiety racked her.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

Khalid stared into the flames, legs outstretched in a casual pose that belied his inner turmoil. Tension pulled his shoulders tight and a charged sense of expectancy weighted his limbs.

Beside him Maggie sat with her feet curled beneath her. She was close enough for him to be aware of her every move and feel her beckoning warmth.

Yet he didn’t touch her.

He fought his instinctive reaction to reach out and hold her, comfort her. He had more sense than that.

Just sitting here was a test of his willpower, and his honour. His desire to pull her into his embrace wasn’t as altruistic as it should have been. Maybe bringing her here hadn’t been wise after all.

Instead of leaping flames the picture filling his brain was Maggie Lewis, standing in his en suite, wearing nothing but lace underwear and pride. She’d been brave, beautiful and hurting, unable to hide the raw anguish in her remarkable eyes.

But it wasn’t her eyes that had riveted his attention. Her lithe body was all elegant lines, pale skin that dipped and curved in exactly the right places. His hands had itched to reach out and take the weight of her high, proud breasts, to smooth over her narrow waist to the gentle curve of her hips. Hunger had surged in him so strongly that he’d been forced to leave the room, lest he do something unforgivable.

She’d looked so perfect, so pure, he could almost have believed her untouched.

Why was he imagining his hands, dark and hard, on her pristine flesh? He’d never fantasised about taking a virgin. His experience in that area was a lifetime ago.

His mind slammed shut on the old memory. There’d been women since Shahina. Beautiful, clever, accommodating women who gave him the satisfaction his body craved. But never had his mind or his emotions been engaged. That was exactly how he wanted it. Short, easy relationships built on physical pleasure were no threat to his heart. That was how he’d lived his life since the death of his wife and it was precisely how he intended to continue.

He frowned, recognising that tonight, with Maggie Lewis, something was different. Sexual need was there, a scorching spike in his bloodstream. But something else too, more complex than physical desire. A shadow, a hint of something more. Something that stirred his emotions, as well as his libido. Something he had no wish to feel.

He dragged in a deep breath, trying not to notice the way her clean, feminine scent stirred his senses.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ So much for his determination not to get involved.

He couldn’t contain his curiosity about the intriguing woman so innocently sharing his couch.

He rubbed his jaw. He couldn’t remember sharing anything innocently with a woman since Shahina.

‘Did someone hurt you?’ He’d make it his business to find the man and bring him to account.

‘It was my fault,’ she muttered, eyes downcast.

A chill iced his veins. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s true. I was the one with expectations.’

‘If some man forced himself on you after you’d changed your mind, it’s not your fault.’

In the fire-lit shadows huge eyes met his. Her hands clenched tight together.

‘No. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Her words ended on a hiccough of unsteady laughter. ‘No one forced himself on me.’ Her voice was stronger, her mouth firm. ‘I wasn’t assaulted, if that’s what you think.’

On a surge of movement she wriggled higher, squaring her slumped shoulders. Unfortunately the movement made the collar of the robe gape to reveal a sliver of pale, enticing flesh. Khalid moved restlessly and shifted his gaze. But despite the thick towelling he could easily visualise her pert breasts and smooth, silken skin.

He turned to the fire, trying to ignore the rapid thump of his pulse and the heat igniting in his loins.

‘You don’t need to worry. Untouched by the hand of man. That’s me.’ Her voice was bitter and hard.

‘Pardon?’ For a moment he was startled, remembering his fantasy of her as virginal, awaking to his caress. He realised how unlikely that was. She must be talking about tonight. He swung around, unable to resist temptation.

She looked different, more alive, more vibrant. A flush of colour tinted her cheeks and her eyes were bright.

His belly contracted hard as desire stabbed him. She’d got under his skin when she’d been pale and fragile. Now her features were animated, renewed energy evident in her taut body. She was far too alluring.

‘Nothing happened tonight.’ She lifted a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing momentous, that is.’ Her lips twisted in a tight grimace that belied her words.

Taking in the determined jut of her chin, he knew she lied. He gave her full marks for her valiant effort. But something had happened, even if it hadn’t been rape.

‘You said you’d had a shock.’

She shrugged, pursing her lips. ‘Have you ever made an error of judgement?’ she asked at last.

‘Of course. Everyone has.’

‘There’s a comfort.’ She paused. ‘Well, I just made a mistake. A huge one.’ She drew in a deep breath. Khalid fought to stop his gaze straying to the shadow of her cleavage. ‘Tonight I found out just how stupid I’d been.’

Her words were defiant, her profile proud, yet Khalid had seen her at rock-bottom just an hour ago. He knew she must still be hurting badly.

Over the past eight years countless women had tried to snare him with guile, seduction and emotional appeals. He’d remained unmoved. His heart had died with his wife and he had no intention of laying himself open to the raw pain of loss again. But his experience had taught him to distinguish female wiles at a glance. As a result he knew Maggie Lewis was the genuine article. No hidden agenda other than concealing her own weakness.

That stubborn pride was something he knew all about. Hadn’t his father accused him of being too proud when Khalid had refused to live in indolent luxury? When instead he’d forged a life of hard work that brought its own rewards?

‘At least you won’t make the same mistake again.’

Solemn eyes met his before a shadow of a smile curved the corners of her mouth.

‘Absolutely not! I’ll never be that gullible again. I’ve learned my lesson.’

Intrigued, Khalid watched her rueful expression morph into one of determination. But even that was attractive…too attractive.

Her intelligence and character intrigued him as much as her vulnerability and her unvarnished beauty. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but there was something about the spare elegance of her features that drew the eye again and again. He wished she’d sat beside him at tonight’s tedious dinner. Instead he’d been sandwiched between a yawning bore and a flirtatious airhead.

‘He’s a fool, whoever he is.’

‘He?’ She arched her eyebrows.

‘The man tonight. The one who’s caused you such grief.’

‘How did you know there was a man?’ She looked genuinely shocked.

He smiled at her naïvety. ‘It’s relationships between the sexes that cause most pain.’

‘I can’t imagine you having any such trouble,’ she riposted instantly. A moment later her expression changed to one of dawning horror, as if she couldn’t believe she’d just uttered the words. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I—’

‘You’d be surprised,’ he murmured as memories crowded in. ‘Wealth is no guarantee of happiness.’

Maggie watched with a pang of regret as the vertical lines reformed at his brow and bracketed his mouth. For a little while there the grimness had lifted from Khalid’s features. Now it was as if a storm cloud loomed, shadowing his face and blocking the hint of light she’d glimpsed.

She knew a crazy impulse to reach out and touch him, soothe away the pain she saw. But that wasn’t an option. Instead she changed the subject.

‘You’re from Shajehar, aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘I am.’

‘Could you tell me about it? I’ve never travelled and it sounds so exotic.’

Dark eyes seared hers as if searching for an ulterior motive. Maggie shivered and rolled her collar higher against her throat. Perhaps she should go. It didn’t matter if her clothes weren’t dry, she’d been here long enough and that look made her nervous. But the raging storm and the long trip to her cold, empty house held no appeal.

‘It’s a country of contrasts and great beauty. Some parts are not unlike your Hunter Valley, though much is arid. There are wonderful riches if you care to look, and I’m not talking about oil revenue.’ His expression told her he loved his homeland.

‘The people are strong and proud of their traditions. But they’ re struggling now to meld their old ways with the best the modern world has to offer.’ He paused, focused on her. ‘You’ve never travelled overseas?’

‘I’ve never been anywhere much.’ At his curious look she continued. ‘I grew up on a small farm. Making ends meet was always a struggle. Travel was a luxury.’

‘And when you left home?’

She ducked her head, watching her hands fold the thick fabric in her lap.

‘I never left. I had plans to go to the city and study, but there was a drought and my father couldn’t spare me.’ He’d reminded her time and again that it was her duty to stand by him as he’d done his duty and kept her with him all those years. A pity his concept of duty didn’t include even a skerrick of warmth or love.

‘And now?’

‘Now? I work here.’

‘Helping your family?’

Maggie thought of the empty front bedroom in the old house, the echoing loneliness of the place she called home.

‘There was only my father.’ Maggie hadn’t had any contact from her mother or sister since the day they’d left. ‘He died a few months ago.’

‘You must miss him.’

Must she? Miss the stern lectures, the disapproving attitude, the dour temperament?

‘I… He wasn’t an easy man to live with.’ That had to be the understatement of the century. Nothing Maggie ever did had been good enough, even when her extra income had been all that kept the old farm afloat. ‘He should have had a son. A daughter is a disappointment to a man like that.’

‘I’m sorry, Maggie.’ The words were filled with understanding. She darted a glance at Khalid. Was that compassion in his liquid dark eyes? ‘Some of us aren’t blessed with the best of parents.’

‘You too?’

He paused, as if taken aback by the personal question.

‘My father had no time for his family,’ he said eventually. ‘No time for children. He had…other interests.’ Khalid’s tone made it clear those interests weren’t anything he approved of. ‘He was an absentee parent, rarely home. And when he was, let’s just say he had little patience with small boys.’

Reading between the lines, Maggie felt a sharp stab of fellow feeling, a sympathy for the suffering Khalid had skated over. For the stoic endurance not to collapse under the weight of a parent’s cruel neglect.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was husky. ‘Little boys need a dad.’

‘And so do little girls.’

To her horror, his ready sympathy cracked the brittle wall she’d built around her feelings. For years she’d struggled against the belief that she was unlovable, ever since her mum had rejected her, taking Cassie instead. Tonight her fears and pain had coalesced into an aching void of anguish that filled her very being. The force of it clogged her throat and fractured her breathing.

‘Maggie.’ Khalid must have seen the stricken expression on her face. He reached out and pulled her close, tucking her head into his shoulder. He rubbed her back with small, circular, soothing movements.

‘You’ve done this before,’ she murmured, trying to regain her composure and downplay her reaction to his touch. ‘Do you have sisters?’

‘No sisters.’

‘A wife?’

She was dimly aware of his pause before he said, ‘No wife.’

A heartbeat of silence and then he urged, ‘Hold me, Maggie.’

She needed no second urging. Maggie slid her arms around him and burrowed close to his heat. She knew later she’d be horribly embarrased but for now her need for comfort drove her beyond her usual diffidence.

His arms tightened around her and a shiver rippled through Maggie as his warmth seeped into her bones. The rock-solid strength of him, the tangible, living power of muscle and bone and sinew, were more real than anything else in the world. His unique spicy scent invaded her nostrils, making her nerves tingle into an awareness that had nothing to do with solace.

The scent, the feel, even the sound of him, the powerful throb of his heart beneath her ear, were all wondrous. She pressed her face to the fine silk of his shirt. Through the fabric his skin was hot, taut and inviting. She breathed deep, drawing in the heady aroma of warm, healthy male.

That was when she registered his quickening heartbeat, the changed tempo of his breathing. Tentatively she lifted a hand to splay over his chest.

The tiniest of tremors rippled across his skin. The hand palming her back ceased its movement and his other hand clamped down on her arm, as if to drag it away.

Thunder echoed in her ears as her pulse raced. Suddenly this innocent embrace had transformed into something charged with unspoken danger.

With excitement. And longing. It bubbled up inside her like a newfound spring—the need for more. The need for him. This was nothing like what she’d felt with Marcus. This was… elemental, as sudden as a thunderclap and just as unmistakable, even to someone of her limited experience.

Heat blossomed deep within as her breath caught, stilled by the stunning realisation of how much more she wanted from this man.

‘It’s time you moved.’ His voice sounded stretched.

Heat flamed her cheeks. What was she thinking? He’d offered her comfort, not a sexual invitation. Just because she felt that sunburst of white-hot desire didn’t mean it was reciprocated. Hadn’t she learned anything tonight?

‘Maggie, you need to sit up. You don’t want to do something you’ll regret later.’

She frowned. Something she’d regret?

‘What do you mean?’ she whispered at last.

Strong hands pried her away, gently pushing her back to her corner of the sofa. Ebony eyes met hers. His face was grim, his mouth a tight line.

‘You’re upset. You’re not yourself. It’s time to end this. You don’t want to play with fire.’

‘Fire?’ She wasn’t normally obtuse, but surely he didn’t mean what she thought he meant. Was it even remotely possible that he felt it too? The sudden overwhelming need for intimacy that ousted everything else? The consuming hunger? A need for her, for plain, no-frills Maggie Lewis?

His gaze narrowed, flicking down to her mouth, and lower to the V-neck of the robe she wore. Flames licked her skin beneath his trailing gaze and tension coiled tight in her belly as her breathing shortened.

‘I’m a man, Maggie. If we don’t stop now it won’t be comfort I’ll be giving you. It will be something much more intimate.’

The words echoed on and on in the silence between them. They should have shocked her, made her draw back. But instead the blatant weight of sensuality in his bald statement had the opposite effect. Excitement tingled down her spine and drew her stomach muscles tight.

Maggie strove to be sensible, careful, reserved, all the things she’d been before tonight.

But something vital had changed. Now, for the first time, she knew what it was to want a man. Really want, with every fibre of her body. It was an urgent, unstoppable force. A compulsion shuddering through her very bones.

She had two choices. She could pretend this wasn’t real. Shrug on her usual self-effacing persona and try to hide from this surge of powerful desire. Or she could welcome it; give in to the strongest need she’d ever felt.

She could be bold or she could be sensible.

She’d spent a lifetime being sensible and self-sacrificing. Where had that got her?

‘And you don’t want to do that?’

She didn’t recognise her hoarse voice. Excitement and anxiety closed her throat. She couldn’t believe she’d just invited another rebuff, but the new sensations heating her blood were too compelling to ignore. She had to know.

Hooded eyes surveyed her and she felt the distance grow between them. He was going to reject her. Something dimmed inside her.

Finally he spoke. ‘I shouldn’t.’ He raised his hand and thrust it back through his hair in a jerky gesture. ‘I shouldn’t but…yes, God help me, I want to.’

CHAPTER THREE

HE COULDN’T. He mustn’t.

This woman was exhausted, not thinking clearly. He mustn’t take advantage, no matter that his need for her was visceral, all-consuming. She deserved his protection.

Her eyes glowed a shimmering green-gold. She looked pale but beautiful, her fine-boned features pure, alluring and incredibly sexy with that hopeful pout.

‘You’re hurt. This is your pain speaking.’ Khalid forced the words out. ‘But this isn’t the answer. You want someone who can give you more. More than a few snatched hours.’

More than a man who could only promise physical pleasure. Who had given up on emotional commitment years before.

For one absurd moment he felt a piercing jealousy for the man who’d one day give Maggie Lewis everything she wanted.

Her chin tilted fractionally in a way that spoke of pride and pain together.

‘What if I said a few snatched hours are exactly what I want? That I’m not in the market for anything more? Not any longer?’

Tension held Khalid rigid as desire spiralled and his groin tightened. Each muscle was rock-hard at the effort of remaining still when he wanted to lean over and imprison her beneath his hungry body.

Desire he understood. He had a healthy male appreciation of a sexy woman. But this craving was something else entirely. It shook him to the core. Unbelievably this felt far more significant than the simple sexual urge he’d assuaged through the recent years with beautiful, willing women.

This felt…different. More real, more vital than anything he’d experienced in years.

A shadowed vision of velvet-soft brown eyes filled his mind and pain lanced his chest.

‘No. I can’t.’ He forced the words out over a constricting throat.

‘Yes, of course.’ Her whisper drew his sensitised flesh to prickling alert. ‘I understand.’

Khalid drew a shuddering breath. He’d done the right thing, the honourable thing. Now he just had to—

The sight of her bowed head, her white teeth cutting deep into her bottom lip, brought him up short.

‘Thank you for helping me tonight,’ she said stiffly, looking away. ‘I’m sorry I embarrassed you with my…with my…’ She shook her head and soft hair the colour of toffee swirled round her neck, catching the light.

‘I apologise,’ she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘You must have women coming on to you all the time.’

Apologise?

Her profile was taut, her lips pinched. His chest hollowed as he realised he’d caused her more distress. Instinct overcame caution as he cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face around. She resisted, even grabbed his wrist as if to tug his arm away.

‘You don’t owe me an apology.’

Bright eyes met his, startled and disbelieving. He wished the texture of her soft skin weren’t so enticing.

Khalid hoped fate would repay him one day for his superhuman restraint. It was killing him by degrees, inhaling her tantalising scent, sexier than any bottled fragrance. The feel of her, the sight of her, seduced him, more real than any shadowy memories of the past. That scared him, yet he ached to learn the taste of her.

She reared back, away from his touch. Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the oversized robe.

‘I understand.’ She spoke too quickly, her words tripping over each other. ‘It’s all right.’

But it wasn’t. She thought he lied about wanting her. Could she really be so blind? What had happened tonight to make her so unsure of her attractiveness?

‘I think I should leave.’ Her voice wobbled on the last word. Automatically she angled her chin higher as if to counteract any sign of weakness.

She was a fighter, this woman who played havoc with his good intentions, who’d got under his skin from the moment he’d seen her. Who had to be one of the most alluring women he’d ever met. Even without make-up, drenched and shivering in her underwear, she’d exerted a terrible fascination.

The hot tide rose in him, welling and cresting, and his resolve crumbled, his caution disintegrated.

One kiss. He’d permit himself a single kiss to alleviate the compulsive need to touch her again. To reassure her that she was desirable.

‘Maggie.’ Once more he lifted her chin, this time bending close. Her eyes widened, her mouth slackened just a little as she realised what he intended. Perfect.

Her lips trembled beneath his and he wrapped his arms around her, sweeping her close. The brush of her slender, feminine form and her fresh, sweet taste on his tongue sent a roaring wave of need juddering through him. Khalid breathed deep, summoning control. He had to concentrate, to keep this a gentle, exploratory kiss.

The feel of her lips shaping to his and the sound of her soft sigh were poignant. She fitted his arms as if made for him. It was as perfect as any lover’s kiss he’d known.

He reeled as the discovery slammed into his astonished brain.

Her tongue slid tentatively against his as he entered her mouth and a dart of pure pleasure shafted through him.

Just another minute…

Maggie clung to his shoulders as the world spun and she closed her eyes, dizzy with delight. The feelings he evoked with the touch of his mouth and his arms holding her close swept her into a new world.

She felt desire, daring, a thrill of excitement as his tongue stroked her mouth. Shivers ran down her spine, along her arms where the skin pulled tight and down to her nipples. She gasped as he delved deeper.

Their hearts pulsed in unison, their mouths fused as need exploded. She clamped her hands desperately to the back of his skull, pulling herself higher, closer.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Her need for him was a twisting, hungry sensation in the pit of her stomach, and lower, where a curious ache filled her. Maggie squirmed, trying to ease the hollow feeling deep within.

Recklessly she kissed him back, the fever in her blood urging her on. For now, for tonight, this was what she craved, the sweet headiness of shared passion. All Khalid’s magnificent power concentrated on her.

When he cupped her breast she gasped against his mouth, unprepared for the electric charge his touch evoked. Blue-white fire flickered behind her eyelids as he brushed his thumb over her nipple. Incendiary sparks exploded through her, drawing her body tight and expectant.

Maggie pressed forward into his hand and was rewarded as he firmed his hold. She arched her back in a spasm of pleasure. Yes!

‘Please,’ she mouthed, not even knowing what it was she pleaded for.

Devastation hit when he removed his hand, but a moment later he slipped it into the neckline of her robe. Her skin contracted, sensitised to his touch. His hand closed again around her breast, only this time there was nothing between him and her. No barrier. The feeling of him slowly massaging, then gently squeezing her there was indescribable. Perfect.

She sagged back against his embracing arm, breaking their devastating kiss as she gulped oxygen into her air-starved lungs. She gazed up at him.

Eyes like glittering dark pools shone down at her, unreadable. His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed quick and deep. His heavy-lidded eyelids spoke of passion, tightly leashed. So powerfully controlled.

Would he go now? Would he slide his hand away? Could he possibly leave her alone and so desperately wanting?

She couldn’t bear it. He’d given her a taste of something special, miraculous, something only he could give. And she wanted more. Was it so bad to seek, just this once, the intimate pleasure she’d never had?

Maggie covered his hand with her own, pressing into his hold. His fingers tightened and delicious ripples spread through her.

‘Please, Khalid.’ She knew what she asked this time. She wanted him to show her more, let her experience the intimate joy of truly being with a man.

His face looked grim, the flickering firelight emphasising the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the hard, aristocratic line of his nose and his set jaw.

He was going to do it, she realised. He was going to leave her. Pride warred with need. Already tonight she’d cast aside any pretence of dignity.

Wordlessly she pulled the other side of the robe open to reveal her bare breast.

Cool air shivered across her skin.

Her heart pounded fast in trepidation and anticipation. She watched the muscles work in his throat as he swallowed. Then his chest expanded on a mighty breath.

She waited, trembling, but his next move was to slip his hand away.

Maggie knew defeat then. He didn’t like what he saw. Why was she surprised? She’d always known she wasn’t feminine enough with her underdeveloped curves. She dragged the robe back, covering herself, even though it was too late for modesty.

The touch of his hands made her jump. Before she could gather her wits she was hauled off the couch and up into steel-hard arms. His eyes were molten hot as they clashed with hers.

‘Are you sure you want this?’ His voice was a low burr that reverberated deep in that hollow place within her.

She nodded, her mouth too dry to speak as excitement effervesced in her bloodstream. There was silence but for the crackle of the fire. Maggie held her breath, waiting.

‘Then so be it.’

He turned so fast the room blurred. A moment later they were in a massive, shadowed bedroom. Maggie had an impression of sumptuous furnishings, of a vast royal-blue and gold bedspread, before he ripped the covers back in a single ruthless tug and tumbled her down onto the sheets.

Their eyes met and held and her blood pumped harder, faster. It was a thunderous buzz in her ears as his hands went to his shirt and he tugged it off, not bothering with buttons. Seconds later the rest of his clothing dropped to the floor.

He stood before her, magnificent and more beautiful than anything she’d seen in her life. The warm glow of the bedroom fire gilded his skin and cast shadows across his body. Each plane and curved muscle was thrown into relief. He was long-limbed, strong and virile. She’d never imagined a man could look so potent, so perfect.

Maggie pushed back a moment’s doubt, wondering if she should tell him she was a virgin. He wouldn’t have taken seriously her crack about being untouched.

But she didn’t want him having second thoughts now. A man such as this must have had many lovers. Would he be disappointed? Maggie quashed the worry as soon as it entered her brain.

For this one night she’d live for the moment, thrust caution aside and take what life had to offer.

Heat washed her as he reached into a bedside drawer to retrieve a foil packet and put it on the table.

She was grateful he’d thought of protection, but somehow this reminder of real-world responsibility made her feel awkward and nervous.

‘You have too many clothes on.’ His words short-circuited her thoughts. The sound of his voice drew her skin tight over her bones. Then his hands were on her, drawing the belt from her robe, slowly opening it, laying the sides wide so she lay virtually naked. He stood there, not saying a word as his gaze travelled the length of her body. She had time to feel anxious again, wondering what he thought of it.

He drew in a deep breath and Maggie watched, mesmerised, the movement of muscle and tendon tightening across his torso. He had the superb body of an athlete.

Then there was no chance for further thought as he bent and stripped the robe away, flinging it to the floor. A moment later he was crowding her back on the bed. His body was as hot as a furnace. Everywhere they touched she registered unfamiliar, exciting sensations. The brush of wiry hair as his legs tangled with hers. The impossibly erotic slide of his chest against her heated skin; hard-packed muscle and a drift of silky hair against her own sensitised breasts. And, lower, his heavy erection on her thigh.

Her breath shuddered as sensory overload hit.

But there was more to come. He lowered his head to her breast and ecstasy consumed her.

‘Khalid!’ Her hoarse cry was barely audible as she fought to catch her breath. The sensations coursing through her as he suckled, at first gently, then hard, stiffened her body in shocked delight. Then his hand was on her other breast, circling and teasing. She wondered if it was possible to die from pleasure. His body heat against hers was exquisitely exciting.

Her fingers speared through his thick hair, holding him close. Liquid heat throbbed through her bloodstream and pooled between her legs. An urgent longing filled her. She wanted him. Now.

But Khalid was in no hurry.

‘Patience, little one.’ He turned his attention to discovering her body with a single-minded intensity that made her head spin and her blood sing.

From her shoulder to her fingertips, from the sensitive place just behind her ear to her collarbone and her breasts, he took his time caressing, kissing, learning her. Arousing her. She sighed as he moved lower, to her navel, her hipbone, her thigh, even the back of her knee.

Pleasure rippled through her as sensation after sensation bombarded her. She grew alternately limp and stiff with excitement at his touch. The one constant was the ever-building need that grew stronger by the minute. Soon it was a throbbing ache.

Hours might have passed by the time he paused to reach out a hand to the bedside table. Then he was back, his hard hands tender, his breath hot on her sensitive inner thighs and higher, on the place where the heat scorched brightest and hottest.

She cried out as he caressed her there, at the very apex of her need, and she almost jolted off the bed as jagged lightning shot through.

She was burning up; she couldn’t breathe. Her pounding heart must surely suffocate her.

‘Khalid.’ Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she tried to drag him higher. Her legs twisted wide as instinctively she offered herself.

There was no doubt in her mind now. This was right. He was right. It was almost as if he was the one she’d been waiting for all this time.

The burgeoning realisation fractured into nothingness as he covered her body with his and she ceased to think.

He was heat and power, hard muscle and surprisingly silky skin. Maggie slipped her hands around his neck, her breath faltering as her breasts rubbed his chest.

Dark, fathomless eyes held hers and amidst the maelstrom of desire she felt…safe.

She hung on tight as he propped himself up on one arm and she felt the muscles in his shoulders ripple. His other hand moved down to touch her between her legs. His fingers glided through slick folds, over the throbbing nub and inexorably lower. Wildfire blazed in her bloodstream at his touch. Her body convulsed as he pushed inwards and her breath tore away.

For a long quivering moment she waited, eyes wide, fingers clenching tight in his hair as her body tugged at him. She saw his pulse jerk heavily in his throat and felt the throb of his erection against her.

She shifted against him, not sure how to proceed but knowing she’d die if he stopped now.

Clumsily she unwound an arm from around his neck and slid it down till her fingers curled around him. He came to life at her touch, pushing into her palm: hot, heavy and powerfully strong. Tentatively she squeezed.

A guttural rumble of Arabic near her ear might have been encouragement or an oath.

‘Stop!’

Instantly she loosened her hold.

Khalid’s lips were drawn back in a grimace of pain. Or pleasure? His eyes glittered febrile-bright as he stared down at her.

Then he moved and there were no more doubts. He braced himself over her as his palm spread her thighs wider. Her legs shook as she complied. He nudged at her entrance and instinctively she rose up to meet him.

He dipped his head to her neck, kissing and grazing her tender skin with his teeth as he pushed in. The movement was smooth, easy and impossibly long. Maggie experienced a strange sensation of fullness, of stretching, of weight and heat. There was discomfort at first, but when he stopped she couldn’t believe the feeling of oneness.

Khalid raised his head, a pinch of a frown marking the centre of his brow. He stared down at her through narrowed eyes for a long moment. Then raised a hand to her cheek in the gentlest of caresses. To her amazement Maggie registered a tiny tremor in his touch.

She turned her face into his palm, revelling in the slide of his callused fingers against her cheek.

‘You are a treasure. So generous,’ he murmured in a deep husky voice that curled her insides.

His mouth took hers in a sensuous kiss. His body moved away, then slid back, again and again in an easy rhythm that set incendiary sparks flying through her body. Frantically she hugged him, giving him back kiss for desperate kiss as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside her.

Then the fire they’d built consumed her in a flare of white-hot light and the world exploded around her, blotting out everything but the perfection of that single climactic moment that went on and on and on.

It was dark when Maggie woke. Time for her early start in the stables. Yet she didn’t stir. She felt lethargic, yet energised. She tingled with effervescent energy as if her bloodstream ran with champagne.

Her lips curved as she snuggled down on her pillow, enjoying the remarkable sense of well-being that filled her. She felt like a different woman. Not plain old Maggie Lewis. Then she registered the heat behind her. The living heat of another body.

Khalid.

Memory crashed upon her in a bitter-sweet tide.

She thought of last night, of Khalid’s passion and the way he’d made her feel…beautiful. She’d never been given such a gift before. She hugged the memory tight to herself.

When he’d made love to her she’d even, for a moment, believed herself to be a desirable woman.

The tentative curve of her lips faded. Her mouth flattened into a grim line. Her—desirable? No, she couldn’t fool herself like that. She was strong enough to face the truth.

Khalid had made love to her because she’d thrown herself at him. She’d seen the pity in his eyes. She’d read his initial unwillingness. She’d played on his sympathy and he’d read her desperation.

It didn’t matter that she’d needed him so badly she’d felt she might shatter with the force of her feelings. Or that their love-making had been the most wonderful experience in all her twenty-three years.

Last night she’d told herself she should grab what she wanted. Anger had welled at Marcus’s duplicity, at the dull, demanding life she’d accepted for so long, at the hurt she’d endured. She’d wanted for one night the powerful pleasure she’d known instinctively Khalid could give her.

He’d probably spent the encounter thinking of some voluptuous beauty, not the awkward emotional woman in his arms.

Mortified, Maggie felt her face burn.

She was strong, a survivor. But did she have the nerve to face him this morning? She imagined him trying to stifle his distaste.

Maggie darted a furtive look over her shoulder. He lay asleep. Even in the pre-dawn gloom the set of his shoulders and deep chest above white sheets snared her gaze. Heat built inside her. That needy ache was back again.

No! She buried her face in her pillow, only to inhale the faint spicy scent that lingered there. The evocative scent of Khalid’s skin. Her resolve splintered. The temptation to stay was so strong.

But Maggie was done with fantasy. Last night had been a wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime experience, but it couldn’t lead anywhere. Better to let Khalid wake alone. He deserved that. He’d be relieved to find she wasn’t clinging to him still.

Slowly, her heart heavy, she pulled back the covers and slipped noiselessly from the bed.

Khalid woke at dawn. His recall of last night was instantaneous, evidenced by his early-morning erection. Despite the startling perfection of sex with Maggie Lewis it had been a frustrating night. Once was rarely enough for Khalid and last night his climax, despite its rare intensity, had barely scratched the surface of his need. He’d itched for more.

Only the knowledge that, incredibly, he was her first lover had restrained him from sating himself in her slim, sexy body again and again.

A powerful shudder ran through him.

Her first. The knowledge stirred a deeply primitive satisfaction in his belly. He didn’t deflower virgins. He sought pleasure with women who were worldly, experienced and unlikely to cling. Women who knew he no longer had a heart to bestow even on the most generous lover.

Yet here he was, rampant with sexual hunger for his next taste of Maggie.

Last night’s shock at her inexperience had worn off. So too had his reservations, that hint of guilt that he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. She’d wanted him. Had eagerly welcomed him. Then afterwards had curled into him with the trusting innocence of a kitten. No, there could be no regrets.

The liaison had been unlooked-for, but now it had begun he knew no qualms about pursuing it further. He was a generous lover and she would have no regrets. He’d change his flights to extend his stay. But first… He rolled over, seeking the warm, welcoming embrace of his new lover.

The bed was empty.

He swiped his arm over the sheets. There was barely a trace of her warmth. A single movement propelled him out of bed, striding across the room. She wasn’t in the bathroom. Her clothes had disappeared.

Khalid’s puzzled frown accelerated into a scowl.

She’d left him without as much as a word? As if he was some sordid secret to be ashamed of! He sucked in a deep breath and willed his clenched hands to relax. But nothing could stem the surge of annoyance, of…outrage.

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