Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia to escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon xxx

Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

Promised to the Sheikh

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE man silhouetted against the shuttered window was not known as the Lion of the Desert for nothing. His skin glowed with tawny good health and his black hair was as thick as an ebony mane. The magnificence of his honed, muscular body had left countless women sighing with wistful longing and he carried about him an air of leonine grace and stealth.

Sheikh Rashid of Quador was a man few would have the folly to cross, and consequently his mood was usually as lazily unperturbed as a lion who was master and king of all he surveyed.

But for now his eyes glittered with icy displeasure.

‘Repeat yourself, Abdullah,’ he commanded, his deep voice as tightly controlled as a coiled whip.

His manservant swallowed nervously. ‘Forgive me, Excellence—’

‘Repeat yourself!’ rang out the cold instruction.

Abdullah cleared his throat. ‘There are…er…rumours sweeping the city, Sheikh.’

A pair of jet eyebrows were raised in silent yet imperious question. ‘You dare to speak to me of rumours?’

‘When they concern you, Excellency, then, yes—it is necessary that I should do so.’

‘And?’ he clipped out.

‘Your people are growing restless, Sheikh.’

The black eyebrows were knitted together and fierce possessiveness gleamed like steel from the narrowed eyes. ‘There is more rebellion underfoot? Insurrection that I must quash?’

‘No, no—nothing like that, Sheikh. Your people accept that you rule them with an iron fist. The people of Quador live happily. They have food in their bellies and the security of knowing that our profile in the modern world is a shining one—’

‘Enough of compliments!’ snapped Rashid. ‘I have no need of them!’

‘Indeed.’ Abdullah sighed, the expression on his face not unlike that of a person who was anticipating a particularly painful visit to the dentist. ‘The people of Quador wish to know why you have not yet taken a…wife,’ he finished, with a weak smile.

‘A wife?’ The set of Rashid’s lean body became dangerously tense and the hard, proud profile became stony. ‘My people have no right to concern themselves in such matters! I shall take my bride when the time is right—and I alone will decide when that time is!’ He thought fleetingly of Jenna and the black eyes gleamed anew, his voice transforming itself into a deceptively silky snare. ‘But there is something else you are not telling me, is there not, Abdullah?’

‘Indeed.’ Abdullah swallowed. ‘Reports from foreign newspapers have begun to infiltrate the internet—’

‘The internet!’ spat out Rashid. ‘This internet is nothing but the work of the devil! It should be forbidden!’

‘Yes, Exalted One,’ agreed Abdullah placatingly. ‘But if we are a member of the modern world, then it is impossible to halt progress!’

‘And what exactly has infiltrated the internet?’ demanded Rashid, his lush mouth flattening into a line of undisguised anger.

‘Your…er…your relationship with a certain woman in Paris is causing some disquiet.’

‘With Chantal?’ Rashid felt the instinctive heavy pull of desire as he allowed his mind to linger briefly on the physical attributes of his most long-standing mistress. ‘My friendship with Chantal is nothing new.’

‘Precisely!’ agreed Abdullah triumphantly. ‘And its very endurance has provoked concern that you are perhaps planning to make her your wife!’

Rashid swore in French—one of the seven languages he was fluent in. ‘Are my people mad?’ he questioned incredulously. ‘You know which woman is promised to me!’

‘Indeed,’ murmured Abdullah.

‘Do they not know that a man has many needs?’ continued Rashid. ‘What Chantal brings to me has nothing to do with marriage!’ His mouth curved. ‘It is not my destiny to marry a woman ten years my senior who will be unable to provide me with the many offspring I will one day desire!’

‘That is as I thought, Exalted One.’ Abdullah breathed a barely perceptible sigh of relief. He hesitated. ‘Would you not make that message clear to the world? Has the time for offspring not now arrived?’

Rashid gave a heavy sigh and turned his face towards the window once more. Through the shutters, shafts of sunlight from the bright heat of the midday sun filtered through and illuminated his dark and golden beauty. In his tense, angry silence he was unmoving, as still as some hawk-nosed statue of a predatory conqueror.

Was the time now come? Was he indeed—ready?

He was known and feared for his resolute nature, for his steely intelligence and his decisiveness. It took him no more than a second or two to consider what had been plotted out for him since childhood, and then he nodded his dark head in answer to the silent question he asked himself.

Abdullah was his most trusted advisor, and the rumours must be gathering apace if he had summoned up the courage to alert his ruler to their existence.

And a man about whom uncertainty prevailed surely ran the risk of weakening his indomitable position…

He turned and surveyed the emotionless face of his envoy. ‘So be it,’ he said slowly. ‘Destiny must at last prevail.’ His eyes glittered with a cool acceptance and only the most lingering flash of regret, which was quickly replaced by the heat of sensual expectation. ‘I will send for Jenna,’ he stated softly. ‘And the wedding will take place as soon as it can be arranged.’

Inside the wild and wonderful interior of her New York apart ment the telephone began to shrill, and Jenna jumped.

‘Can you answer that for me, Brad?’ she called.

‘Got it!’

Still damp from the shower, Jenna walked into the sitting room, a towel wrapped around her slim, glistening body and another draped in an elaborate turban around her head, just as Brad picked the receiver up.

The moment she saw the look on his face tiny little shivers of apprehension began to prickle at her skin. It was him; she knew it. She wasn’t sure how, but she did.

Him.

Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, until she reminded herself that life had changed. That promises once made could be broken. The bond which had once existed between them had been silently yet inextricably severed. Surely it was inconceivable that he should demand what she had once most desired and now most feared.

‘Jenna?’ Brad was drawling in his soft American accent. ‘Yeah, sure! She’s right here. Hold on. I’ll get her for you.’ And he pulled a face as he handed her the phone.

Still trembling, Jenna took the receiver from him silently. ‘Hello?’

There was a pause. ‘Jenna?’

It was him. She would have known that voice anywhere, but then maybe that was because no other man in the world spoke like him. Steely-soft and velvet-hard. Sexy, predatory and distinctly unsettling. She swallowed, the modern woman she had become sorely tempted to say, Who’s that? But she thought better of it. To affect not to know him would be to cast a slur on his character as well as denting his ego—and everyone knew that Sheikh Rashid of Quador had an ego the size of the United States itself!

‘Rashid,’ she said cautiously. She heard his terse exclamation in response, and knew that she had somehow angered him. ‘How are you?’ she asked in English.

‘Who answered the phone?’ he shot back—rather unexpectedly in the same language.

She considered telling him that it was none of his business, but again thought better of it. Rashid assumed that everything was his business, and that he had an inalienable right to have absolutely everything he wanted. But then he had been denied nothing from the moment of his birth—so maybe that was not so surprising.

‘He’s a friend of mine,’ she informed him lightly. ‘Brad.’

There was a moment of silence, and when he began to speak again there was not a trace of velvet—the voice was pure steel. And anger. ’ Brad?’ he repeated on an incredulous note. ‘A man? You have a man in your apartment?’

The irony wasn’t lost on her: one rule for Rashid and another entirely different one for her. But much better to take the heat out of the situation with humour—for hadn’t she once been able to make him laugh, a lifetime ago, before all her foolish girlhood dreams had been crushed underfoot, vanquished by the knowledge of just what kind of man he was? And what he did.

‘I think so!’ she joked rather nervously. ‘Unless he’s a master of disguise!’

In his stately study in the Quador palace, Rashid felt the slow burn of anger sizzle into rampant life. ‘And how long has this Brad—’ he spat the word out as if it was poison ‘—been your friend?’

Jenna clenched her fist around the receiver, so that her knuckles grew pale, but the instinctive movement brought with it a return of her resolve. Enough was enough! She was no longer his subject—not really. Hadn’t her years in America and her new life here freed her from his influence?

But Rashid had the cunning of a fox—simple rebellion would not work with him. She did not yet know what he wanted, and until she did it was better to play the game. To slip into the role he would expect of her.

‘Oh, ages,’ she said vaguely, and then injected a note of docile interest into her voice. ‘Did you just ring up for a chat, Rashid? Or was there something in particular you wanted?’

The ‘something in particular’ he wanted right now would have been to burst into her apartment and tear this Brad from limb to limb, demanding to know just who he was and what he had been doing… But Rashid drew himself back from expressing an emotion as wasted as jealousy, and instead allowed himself an arrogant smile. The one thing he could count on was that Jenna was as pure as the snows which topped the Quador mountains. Jenna…

His.

His.

Only ever his.

‘I am displeased,’ he said, with a silky and dangerous menace. ‘Would you care to explain what he is doing there? Or do you make a habit of entertaining young men in your apartment?’

No, she would not care to explain herself, but she knew him well enough to realise that prevarication would be pointless. If any other man had spoken to her in that tone of voice she would have slammed the phone down. But this was a man like no other.

She thought about the dreams she had once cherished. Dreams about him which had taken on the quality of nightmares when she had learned the truth about him. At least living in America had allowed her to pretend that she was a different person from that foolish dreamer—and after a while it had became second nature to her and the pretence had become real. She was a different person.

And she would not let him spoil it now!

‘What do you want, Rashid?’ she sighed.

‘I think that perhaps it was a mistake to allow you to study in America,’ he observed in a hard voice.

‘I disagree.’

‘You dare to disagree with your sheikh?’ he questioned mockingly, but Jenna realised that there was a hard ring of truth to his imperious question.

I dare to defy you! she wanted to shout, but if she did that then it would be all-out war—and there would only be one winner. She forced herself to put the sound of pleasure into her voice. Once it would have been genuine—there would have been delight there, too—but no more. ‘At the time you put up few objections,’ she pointed out.

‘Because you twisted your father around your little finger!’ he retorted. ‘Convinced him that you should be allowed to travel. How persuasive you were, Jenna.’

‘What is done is done, and the past is past,’ she murmured in true Quador fashion. ‘Now, come on, Rashid—do tell me to what pleasure I owe this phone call. Such a surprise,’ she finished truthfully.

Rashid frowned. A surprise indeed, and several things had still not yet been explained. ‘And where is your sister?’ he questioned. ‘Does she approve of this friend of yours, with whom you are so intimate that he sees fit to answer your phone for you?’

‘Oh, don’t be so old-fashioned!’

‘But I am old-fashioned,’ he told her silkily. ‘Extremely old-fashioned. And you still haven’t answered my question. Does your sister approve of this friend of yours?’

‘Nadia approves of Brad,’ said Jenna woodenly, but her eyes widened with an expression of fear as she stared into Brad’s frowning face. If only Rashid knew that her sister was in love with Brad—that they were virtually living in the flat as man and wife. How his old-fashioned sensibilities would be outraged! ‘He’s a nice man,’ she finished, and hoped that the fear had not crept into her voice.

‘Was a nice man,’ Rashid corrected coldly.

Now the fear was out in the open and she made no attempt to hide it. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she whispered hoarsely.

He gave a short, almost cruel laugh. ‘Oh, I mean nothing more sinister than stating a fact, my sweet Jenna—simply that Brad and your life in New York will now become things of the past.’

‘I think it’s your turn to explain yourself,’ said Jenna steadily, even though her heart was bashing madly against her ribcage.

‘Can’t you guess?’ His voice had deepened into a beguiling caress. He remembered with a sudden deep ache the silken golden-brown of her hair and her deep amber eyes—so at variance with the other women of Quador. But she owed more than her looks to the inheritance of her American mother, he realised, a pulse beginning to beat at his temple. He wondered just how independent her life in New York actually was. And he wondered how many men ‘friends’ she had over there.

He should have put a stop to it long ago!

‘The time has come, Jenna,’ he said softly, and a sense of the inevitable began to heat his blood. He had embraced his destiny with a passion for all his life, and this particular destiny was no hardship.

Now she didn’t care—she would affect to misunderstand him. Surely he could not mean what she suspected he was about to say next. ‘Time for what?’

Rashid’s mouth tightened. There had been little contact between them over the past four years, other than the formal and highly chaperoned meetings when she’d flown home to see her family, but that had been necessary for all concerned. Sensibilities had had to be preserved. And when he had gazed on the gleaming gold of her hair, and the lush, almost sinful curves of her body which even the traditional flowing Quador clothes could not disguise, he had been almost glad of the company of the chaperon. Had understood completely the need for their presence.

She had sent him dutiful letters from New York in which she portrayed a life which sounded almost dull due to overwork. And because of this he had been prepared to tolerate her short burst of freedom. As his wife she would be expected to dedicate her life to charitable works; this was surely not a bad way to begin?

And she was a highly intelligent woman… Far better to allow her a little leeway than to clip her wings completely.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I think you know very well what for, Jenna,’ he snapped. ‘It is time for you to return to Quador and become my wife!’

The hand that held the phone trembled. ‘That’s hardly the most romantic proposal I’ve heard!’ But her laughter bordered on the hysterical and she saw Brad, who was still listening in to the conversation, stiffen with disbelief and alarm.

‘If romance is what you seek from me, then better you should take the first plane home,’ he instructed silkily, and he felt the blood heat in his veins, for opposition was rare enough to excite him!

Romance? She doubted whether he would understand romance if it came up and kicked him in the teeth! Gritting her own teeth together, she forced herself to stay calm with a huge effort of will.

‘Rashid, you cannot still wish me to become your wife.’ A note of desperation had now crept into her voice.

The heat died as her opposition began to irritate him. A little offered resistance was a game he could play as well as the next man, but enough was enough! She should be breathing soft sighs of gratitude down the phone at him by now! Planning her trousseau in her head!

‘My wishes are not paramount,’ he emphasised coldly. ‘The agreement was made many moons ago, as well you know. But I will satisfy your every need as my wife, Jenna—of that you need have no doubts.’

She heard the raw, sexual boast which had deepened his voice and she shivered for all kinds of reasons—most of which she dared not even begin to analyse. Oh, yes, she knew exactly what he meant—and she didn’t have any doubts. His prowess in the bedroom was legendary.

But Jenna had learnt much during her time in America—not least that women expected equality in a relationship. And equality with Rashid would be nothing but a distant dream.

Women expected something more, too—and that something was called love. Hopeless. For not only did she doubt Rashid’s ability to give and receive love, she knew deep down that he would see such behaviour as a sign of weakness. Love made you vulnerable, and Rashid was the personification of invulnerability.

‘Rashid,’ she said, more weakly than she would have wished. ‘You cannot mean that.’

There was an icy silence. Then, ‘You may have the mistaken idea that sustained resistance is provocative, but let me tell you, Jenna, that you are wrong. You will be mine and you will return to Quador immediately. Is that understood?’

She forced herself to accept the inevitable, knowing that it was pure folly to deny him at least the second part of his command. She would return to Quador and she would be forced to play a cunning game herself. Soon Rashid would no longer want to marry her, but he must appear to have taken the decision himself. She must just make sure that he did.

The steely voice was speaking again. ‘Still you hesitate,’ he observed dangerously. ‘Perhaps you wish for me to send someone to collect you?’

She blanched. Imagine one of Rashid’s aides coming here and discovering the cosy domestic relationship between Nadia and Brad!

‘No!’ she protested. ‘I’ll book myself on the first available flight.’

‘I will make sure that the first flight is available,’ he said smoothly. ‘A car will be awaiting you when you touch down in Quador, to bring you to the palace.’

And the connection was ended with a click.

CHAPTER TWO

JENNA put the receiver down with a hand which continued to tremble and looked up to see that Brad was standing there, the narrowed look of question still in his eyes.

‘Jenna, what the hell is wrong?’

She stared at him. ‘You do realise who that was?’

Brad nodded. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve heard enough stories from Nadia about his arrogant authority. I would have to be pretty dumb not to have guessed that it was Rashid. What the hell did he say to you? You look awful.’

It occurred to her that she was still standing wrapped in nothing but a towel, and a frisson of fear cooled her skin like ice-water being splashed on it.

What if Rashid sent one of his New York contacts to the apartment to make sure that she was obeying his command and preparing to leave? Someone could ring on the doorbell any second now, and wouldn’t the situation look frighteningly compromising? She shuddered as she imagined his reaction to a report that she was cavorting half-naked in front of another man.

‘Let me go and get dressed,’ she said urgently, ‘and then I’ll tell you everything.’

In her bedroom she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a crisp white shirt, and combed through her long, damp hair before studying her reflection in the mirror.

She needed to act, and to act quickly! Rashid would never marry a woman whom he did not find attractive, and she would have to do everything in her power to make sure that he didn’t. She would embrace the American side of her personality with a vengeance—and Rashid’s immovable conservatism should do the rest!

Nodding resolutely at her pale face and widened amber eyes, she returned to the sitting room, where Brad had made a pot of coffee. She took a mug from him gratefully, wrapping her long fingers around its steaming warmth and hoping that a little of it might creep its way into her heart.

She sat down on the sofa.

‘So spill the beans,’ he said quietly.

Jenna sighed, knowing that she did not have to ask Brad to keep what she was about to tell him completely confidential; he more than anyone knew how to keep secrets. ‘He wants to marry me.’

Brad almost choked on his coffee. ‘Say that again?’ he demanded incredulously.

Jenna put the mug down and shook her head. ‘Maybe I phrased that badly. I don’t think he actually wants to marry me—it is just something he believes he must honour—an agreement which was made between our parents a long, long time ago.’

‘Jenna—I don’t have a clue what you’re saying!’

She supposed that it must sound positively barbaric to a modern professional American man—and in truth didn’t it sound more than a little barbaric to her? She sighed again, pushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek and fixing him with a candid look.

‘I’ll try to explain. Rashid’s late father and my father were great, great friends—and when I was still in my cradle they decided that, provided I fulfilled certain…’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Certain criteria, then I would one day make the perfect wife for Rashid.’

‘And those criteria were what?’ he questioned astutely.

Faint colour crept into her cheeks. ‘Physically, I must be pleasing to Rashid’s eyes—’

‘Well, there couldn’t be any doubt about that, surely?’ he laughed.

False modesty would help no one. She shrugged. ‘I understand that in that particular condition I met his specifications,’ she answered slowly.

‘You make it sound like the guy is picking out decor for a house!’

‘Maybe it is a little like that,’ she admitted, but she felt a shiver of memory as she recalled their last chaperoned meeting when she had surprised a hot, fleeting look of hunger in Rashid’s enigmatic black eyes as he had greeted her. A look which had washed over her and made her skin tingle with awareness, even while the knowledge that Rashid desired her had filled her with fear and trepidation. ‘The Ruler’s needs must always be met. That is a given.’

‘What other criteria?’ asked Brad quietly.

Jenna bit her lip. ‘The obvious one, of course. That I must go to him unsullied—but I really don’t want to talk about that.’

Brad nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said understandingly. ‘So what is it that you aren’t telling me, Jenna? Surely the idea can’t be that abhorrent to you? I’ve seen pictures of the guy and he sure looks like he fits the bill of conforming to most women’s fantasy man!’

Jenna swallowed as unwilling images of his hard, lean body and cruel, dark face swam tantalisingly into her mind. ‘Oh, no one is disputing Rashid’s appeal,’ she said carefully. ‘Not even me. He is a most spectacular man. It’s just that America has changed me—or rather knowledge has changed what I thought I once wanted.’

Brad pulled a face. ‘You’ve lost me!’ he protested.

Time had deadened some of the pain of discovery, but not all of it, and it still hurt to say it. ‘When I first came to the States I had access to the free press for the first time in my life. I read newspapers with gossip columns—columns which documented Rashid’s lifestyle with disturbing clarity.’

Brad nodded. ‘I think I’m beginning to get the picture,’ he said slowly.

Jenna splayed her hands over her thighs and curled her fingernails so that they bit into her through the denim. ‘Rashid is almost twelve years older than I am,’ she said. ‘But when I was little he looked out for me—protected me.’

He had indulged her hero-worship of him. Taken her with him when he went falconing. And from the age of fourteen she had thought she would almost die with pleasure to see that formidable presence astride his night-dark stallion, subduing the bird of prey as if he could communicate with it by instinct alone. And maybe he could, she thought bitterly. For wasn’t he a creature of prey himself?

Somewhere along the way she had acquired the rare ability to make him laugh, to gently tease him, and she had been the only person allowed to get away with what he would have regarded as insurrection in others. She had thought that the world began and ended with Rashid, and had grown to long for the wedding she knew must one day come.

‘So what happened to make you hate him?’ asked Brad.

Jenna lifted her head, surprised. ‘Hate him? I’m not sure that I hate him.’

‘You sound like you do—the way you talk about him.’

Did she? Wasn’t hate too powerful an emotion to describe her feelings for Rashid? Too closely and dangerously linked to the flipside of such an emotion—love itself? A love which would never be anything more than one-sided and, consequently, never enough for the woman she had become.

Because when she had turned eighteen their relationship had changed fundamentally. Had it been the onset of womanhood which had made the magnificent sheikh grow so wary and distant in her company? she wondered. The atmosphere between them had been brittle with some kind of unnamed tension. Their earlier ease in each other’s company had evaporated like the rare desert rains which sizzled beneath the intensity of the fierce Quador sun.

And she had missed that ease. Desperately. Without Rashid as her confidant she had felt as though she was in limbo—existing and not really living at all.

‘Rashid made no move to marry me when I came of age,’ she said slowly. ‘And my pride wouldn’t let me show my disappointment. I had no wish to stay in Quador, just waiting and waiting for some distant wedding, and so I told him that I wished to learn something of my late mother’s country, that I wanted to study in America. It had always been her dearest wish that I should know something of her homeland.’

Rashid had had a great deal to cope with as well. His own parents had been killed in a plane crash, and his rightful inheritance had come much sooner than anyone had anticipated. As well as coping with his grief he had had to come to terms with governing a vast country. It had not been an easy transition as power was transferred to the handsome young Sheikh. Many had doubted he would be able to stamp his dominance onto the demanding land and Rashid had been determined to prove them wrong.

She remembered the thoughtful way he had considered her request to study law in America, consulting long and hard with her father before they had both given her their consent.

‘I admit that I found his blessing to leave both upsetting and confusing, but the reason for this soon became crystal-clear.’ She let out a painful, shuddering breath as she remembered the newspaper clippings. ‘The truth hurt,’ she told him quietly.

‘What truth?’ Brad questioned.

‘The truth about his lifestyle. How very foolish I was,’ she said with a bitter laugh. ‘I thought that as I was promised to him he would forsake all others. How naive could you get? I soon discovered that Rashid had been involved with super-models and actresses since he was a teenager. The news had been kept from me while I lived in Quador, but I found out soon enough once I moved away. Why, he even has a mistress at the moment—it is well documented enough. He shares another woman’s bed in Paris even while he summons me back for our wedding!’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Brad, in a horrified voice.

‘Perfectly sure. Her name is Chantal and she is his favourite. No doubt she will occupy a nearby hotel even during our honeymoon—such are the customs in Quador!’

He flinched. ‘So what the hell are you going to do, Jenna? Surely you aren’t going to allow yourself to tolerate a union like that?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said with quiet fervour, and allowed herself a small smile of determination. ‘I shall go back to Quador and convince Rashid that I am not the woman he wishes to marry.’

‘And how will you do that?’

The smile died on her lips. She must waste no more time, and neither must she involve Nadia or Brad in her decisions—for Rashid would not tolerate collusion. She shivered. The consequences for her sister would be unimaginable. ‘I’ll think of something,’ she said airily, and smiled as she stood up. ‘Don’t worry about me, Brad,’ she said.

‘But I do,’ he said, with a shrug.

She looked affectionately at the man her sister loved with such a passion. ‘Well, don’t,’ she remonstrated softly. ‘I do not intend to let him bully me into doing something to which I am morally opposed.’

He didn’t look convinced. ‘Sure,’ he said. And neither did he sound it.

Jenna tossed the golden-brown hair off her shoulders like a feisty young mare preparing for flight. ‘And now I’m going to book my flight and pay a visit to the stores.’

Rashid’s plane touched down in Paris and a darkened limousine was waiting to whisk him away to the luxurious apartment situated in the sixth arrondissement, the city’s most prestigious area.

As always, one discreet bodyguard preceded him while another hovered unseen to the rear. When they reached the door Rashid nodded his head and held his hand out for the leather case the other man carried.

‘You may leave me now,’ he instructed.

‘But Exalted One—’

‘Leave me!’ Rashid rasped. ‘I will make my presence known to you shortly.’

The bodyguard narrowed him a look which said that he objected to the Sheikh’s insistence, but he knew that such objection was pointless.

‘Yes, Excellency.’

Rashid rang the bell. He had his own key, but he knew that he could no longer use it.

The door opened and Chantal stood before him. She had been expecting him—his phone call earlier that day had been rapturously received, as was normal. Just for a moment his mouth tightened as he thought how Chantal would have responded to his proposal of marriage. With pleasure, and joy, and with hunger. And the contrast between the almost insulting uninterest which Jenna had displayed filled him once more with the slow burn of anger.

‘Chéri, your unexpected visit has brought me much pleasure,’ murmured Chantal, and like a vixen she moved towards him, all perfume and silk and shockingly provocative experience as she held her arms out.

But he took a step back and shook his head, and although she shrugged with disappointment she still followed him unquestioningly into the huge sitting room with its spectacular views over Paris.

He watched her for one last time. As a mistress she had been matchless. Utterly matchless. Her looks belied her forty-four years and her body was sleeker and more toned than that of a woman half her age. The raven hair gleamed and moved with the careless abandon which only the finest hairdresser could construct, and the deceptively simple green silk dress must have cost a king’s ransom. And what Chantal didn’t know about the art of lovemaking simply wasn’t worth knowing.

His mouth tightened again.

‘A drink, chéri?’ she murmured, and her voice dropped into husky entreaty. ‘Or shall I run you a bath?’

In the past he might have had both. Or neither. He might rip the expensive dress from her body and it would simply excite her, make her part her pale thighs eagerly for him.

But no more.

He shook his head. ‘My car is waiting.’

‘So?’

‘Chantal, there is something that I must tell you—’

She stilled, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as something in the tone of his voice must have warned her, and he realised that she was woman of the world enough to know that the news he had come to bring to her today would not be to her liking.

Defiantly, she reached for her cigarettes and lit one. ‘Then tell me, chéri—do not keep me in suspense!’

‘I’m getting married.’

She didn’t react, just blew the smoke out in one long, deep breath, the perfect arch of her eyebrows elevating only very slightly.

‘So I must offer my congratulations, must I?’ she questioned coolly.

He smiled. From the almost supercilious mask she wore it was impossible to guess at her true feelings. But then, she had never shown him her true feelings—and hadn’t that been one of qualities he had most admired about her? ‘Thank you.’

She drew deeply on the cigarette. ‘Who is she?’

‘Jenna.’

She nodded, and then the mask slipped and a calculating look sharpened her beautiful features. ‘The girl who is half-American? She lives in New York?’

Rashid frowned. Had he told her so much? ‘The very same.’

‘She must be overjoyed.’

Rashid’s mouth tightened again. She should be overjoyed, though her attitude had been a million miles away from the gratitude he had been expecting. But Jenna would soon learn never to try to resist his wishes again!

‘What woman wouldn’t be?’ asked Chantal sadly, before he could answer. She stubbed the cigarette out with a vicious movement of her fingers and began to unbutton her dress. ‘So this will be the last time for us, chéri? Or will you still have time for me once you are married?’

He could see the pale thrust of her breasts contrasted against the lace of the exquisite lingerie she wore and he felt his body hardening with the slow, relentless pulse of desire. But he quashed it as ruthlessly he would a scorpion which could sometimes be found lurking beneath stones in the unforgiving desert.

‘No,’ he said roughly. ‘Stop that!’

She moved her fingers beneath her dress, drifting her fingertips provocatively against herself, and her eyes widened alluringly as she began to move her hips with slow, sensual rhythm. ‘Are you sure, chéri?’ she whispered huskily.

A muscle worked in his cheek as he dropped the leather case he was carrying onto the chair in front of her. ‘Yes, I am certain!’ His voice was harsh. ‘Do your dress up! Now!’

She stared into his face for a long moment and began to do as he had ordered, the pallor of her cheeks the only outward sign of her distress.

‘The apartment is yours to keep,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said heavily.

He had known that she would not refuse. ‘And I have brought you something.’ He indicated the box with a stabbing movement of his finger.

‘What is it?’

He opened it up and row upon row of glittering diamond brooches lay there in dazzling array against a backdrop of dark velvet. He saw the look of natural indulgent pleasure as she surveyed them, before lifting her eyes to his in cool appraisal.

‘For services rendered?’ she enquired, with a wry smile.

He shook his head. ‘As a small symbol of my gratitude for such an enjoyable relationship.’

The pleasure was replaced by alarm. ‘It needn’t be over, Rashid,’ she said urgently. ‘You know that.’

Yes, he knew that. She could be his for the taking, whenever and wherever he wanted. Jenna need never know, need never find out—he had countless people who would cover for him without question. It would be almost expected of him to behave as his father had done.

But he shook his head. ‘It is over, Chantal,’ he said roughly, and indicated the jewellery with a casual wave of his dark-skinned hand. ‘Take your time. Choose the one which pleases you most, and I will arrange to have the remainder collected by Abdullah.’

She nodded and stared at him. ‘So that’s it?’

‘You knew that this would happen some day. It was as inevitable as the dawn which follows night. So let us have no regrets, and let us remember the past with affection.’ He glanced down at the costly timepiece which gleamed so palely gold against his dark wrist. ‘It is time for me to leave. My plane is waiting.’

She nodded, and abruptly turned away from him. ‘Goodbye, chéri,’ she whispered, but he heard the hint of tears in her voice.

‘Goodbye, Chantal,’ he said softly.

He was almost at the door when she halted him with a word.

‘Wait!’

He turned around, but he didn’t need to look into her face to know what was coming next.

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