As they passed through the mountains into the wide sweep of the desert, he saw the wind picking up, swirling little spirals of sand, twisting them up into the sky. Kareef felt the same way every time he looked at her. Tangled up in her.

He felt her dark head nestle on his shoulder. Looking down at her in surprise, he saw her eyes were closed. She was sleeping against him. His gaze roamed her face.

God, he wanted to kiss her.

More than kiss. He wanted to strip her naked and feast on every inch of her supple flesh. He wanted to explore the mountains of her breasts and the valley between. The low, flat plain of her belly and the hot citadel between her thighs. He wanted to devour her like a conqueror seizing an ancient land for his own use, beneath his hands, beneath his control.

But the old days were over.

He was King of Qusay, yet unable to have the one thing he most desired. No strength could take her. No brutality could force her. He couldn’t act on his desire. Not at the expense of her happiness.

Many years ago there were two Mediterranean islands, ruled as one kingdom—Adamas. But bitter family feuds ripped Adamas apart and the islands went their separate ways. The Greek Karedes family reigned supreme over glamorous Aristo, and the smouldering Al’Farisi sheikhs commanded the desert lands of Calista!

When the Aristan king died, an illegitimate daughter was discovered—Stefania, the rightful heir to the throne! Ruthlessly, the Calistan Sheikh King Zakari seduced her into marriage, to claim absolute power, but was over-awed by her purity—and succumbed to love. Now they rule both Aristo and Calista together, in the spirit of hope and prosperity.

But a black mark hangs over the Calistan royal family still. As young boys, three of King Zakari’s brothers were kidnapped for ransom by pirates. Two returned safely, but the youngest was swept out to sea and never found—presumed dead. Then, at Stefania’s coronation, a stranger appeared in their midst—the ruler of a nearby kingdom, Qusay. A stranger with scars on his wrists from pirates’ ropes. A stranger who knows nothing of his past—only his future as a king!

What will happen when Xavian, King of Qusay, discovers that he’s living the wrong life?

And who will claim the Qusay throne if the truth is unveiled?

Find out more in the exciting, brand-new Modern Romance™ mini-series

DARK-HEARTED DESERT MEN

A kingdom torn apart by scandal; a throne left empty; four smouldering desert princes…Which one will claim the crown—and who will they claim as their brides?

Book 1. WEDLOCKED: BANISHED SHEIKH, UNTOUCHED QUEEN

by Carol Marinelli

Book 2. TAMED: THE BARBARIAN KING

by Jennie Lucas

Book 3. FORBIDDEN: THE SHEIKH’S VIRGIN

by Trish Morey

Book 4. SCANDAL: HIS MAJESTY’S LOVE-CHILD

by Annie West

Tamed: The Barbarian King

by

Jennie Lucas

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Jennie Lucas grew up dreaming about faraway lands. At fifteen, hungry for experience beyond the borders of her small Idaho city, she went to a Connecticut boarding school on scholarship. She took her first solo trip to Europe at sixteen, then put off college and travelled around the US, supporting herself with jobs as diverse as gas station cashier and newspaper advertising assistant.

At twenty-two she met the man who would be her husband. After their marriage, she graduated from Kent State with a degree in English. Seven years after she started writing, she got the magical call from London that turned her into a published author.

Since then life has been hectic, with a new writing career, a sexy husband and two babies under two, but she’s having a wonderful (albeit sleepless) time. She loves immersing herself in dramatic, glamorous, passionate stories. Maybe she can’t physically travel to Morocco or Spain right now, but for a few hours a day, while her children are sleeping, she can be there in her books.

Jennie loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her website at www.jennielucas.com, or drop her a note at jennie@jennielucas.com

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To my fellow authors of the Dark-Hearted Desert Men series: Carol Marinelli, Trish Morey and Annie West. You girls rock!

Plus an extra heap of thanks to Trish Morey, who’s the one who got me into all this trouble in the first place.

CHAPTER ONE

MARRYING a man she didn’t love was surprisingly easy, Jasmine Kouri thought as she handed her empty champagne flute to a passing waiter. Why had she wasted so much time struggling to be alone? She should have done this a year ago.

Her engagement party was in full force. All of Qusay’s high society—everyone who’d once scorned her—was now milling beneath the white pavilion on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea, sipping Cristal in solid gold flutes as they toasted her engagement to the second richest man in Qusay.

Her fiancé had spared no expense. Jasmine’s fifteencarat diamond ring scattered prisms and rainbows of refracted sunlight every time she moved her left hand. It was also very heavy, and the pale green chiffon dress he’d chosen for her in Paris felt hot as her skirts swirled in the desert wind. Across the wide grassy vista, the turrets of his sprawling Italianate mansion flew red flags emblazoned with his personal crest.

Then again, Umar Hajjar never spared any expense—on anything. Everything he owned, from his world-class racehorses to his homes around the world, proclaimed his money and prestige. He’d pursued Jasmine for a year in New York, and yesterday, she’d suddenly accepted his proposal. This party was Umar’s first step in making the people of Qusay forget her old scandal. He would shape Jasmine into his perfect bride, the same as he trained a promising colt into a winner: at any cost.

But that wasn’t why Jasmine’s heart was pounding as she looked anxiously through the crowds in the pavilion. She didn’t care about money. She was after something far more precious.

Jewel-laden socialites pressed forward to congratulate her, including some whose vicious gossip had ruined her when she was young and defenseless. But it would be bad manners to remember that now, so Jasmine just thanked them and smiled until her cheeks hurt.

Then she caught her breath as she saw the people she’d been waiting for.

Her family.

The last time she’d seen them, Jasmine had been a scared sixteen-year-old girl, packed off into poverty and exile by her harsh, heartbroken father and quietly weeping mother. Now because of this marriage, no one would ever be able hurt Jasmine—or her family—ever again.

With a joyful cry, she held her arms wide, and her grown-up sisters ran to embrace her.

“I’m proud of you, my daughter,” her father said gruffly, patting her on the shoulder. “At last you’ve done well.”

“Oh, my precious child.” Her mother hugged her tearfully, kissing her cheek. “It’s too long you’ve been away!”

Both her parents had grown older. Her proud father was stooped, her mother gray. The sisters Jasmine remembered as skinny children were now plump matrons with husbands and children of their own. As her family embraced her, the wind blew around Jasmine’s ladylike dress, swirling around them all in waves of sea-foam chiffon.

It was all worth it, she thought in a rush of emotion. To be with her family again, to be back at home and have a place in the world, she would have given up a hundred careers in New York. She would have married Umar a thousand times.

“I missed you all so much,” Jasmine whispered. But all too soon, she was forced to pull away from her family to greet other guests. Moments later, she felt Umar’s hand on her arm.

He smiled down at her. “Happy, darling?”

“Yes,” she replied, wiping away the streaks of her earlier tears. Umar hated to see her mussed. “But some of the guests are growing impatient for dinner. Who is this special guest of yours and why is he so late?”

“You’ll see,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Tall and thin and in his late forties, Umar Hajjar was the type of man who wore a designer suit to his stables. His face was pale and wrinkle-free with the careful application of sunscreen; his dark gray hair was slicked back with gel. He tilted his head. “Listen.”

Frowning, she listened, then gradually heard a sound like thunder. She looked up, but as usual in the desert island kingdom, there were no clouds, just clear sky blending into sea in endless shades of blue. “What is that?”

“It’s our guest.” Umar’s smile widened. “The king.”

She sucked in her breath.

“The…king?” Sudden fear pinched her heart. “What king?”

He laughed. “There is only one king, darling.”

As if in slow motion, she looked back across the wide grass.

Three men on horseback had just come through the massive wrought-iron front gate. The Hajjar security guards were bowing low, their noses almost to the ground, as the leader of the horsemen rode past, followed by two men in black robes.

They all had rifles and hard, glowering faces, but the leader was far taller and more broad-shouldered than the others. A ceremonial jeweled dagger at his hip proclaimed his status while the hard look in his blue eyes betrayed his ruthlessness. Beneath the hot Qusani sun, his robes were stark white against his deeply tanned skin as he leapt gracefully down from his black stallion.

Shaking in sudden panic, Jasmine looked at him, praying she was wrong. It couldn’t be him. Couldn’t!

But when she looked at his handsome, brutal face, she could not deny his identity. For thirteen years, she’d seen his face in her dreams.

Kareef Al’Ramiz, the barbarian prince of the desert.

The party guests recognized him with a low gasp that echoed her own.

Kareef. The man who’d seduced and deserted her to shame and exile. The man who’d caused the loneliness and grief of half her life. The man who’d made her pay so dearly for the crime of loving him.

And in a few days, Kareef Al’Ramiz would be crowned king of all Qusay.

Fierce hatred flashed through her, hatred so pure it nearly caused her to stagger. She clutched at Umar’s arm. “What is he doing here?”

His thin lips curved in a smile. “The king is my friend. Are you impressed? It’s part of my plan. Come.”

He pulled her across the grass to greet the royal arrival. She tried to resist, but Umar kept dragging her forward in his thin, sinewy grip. The colors of white tent and green grass and blue sea seemed to blend and melt around her. Trying to catch her breath, to regain control, she twisted her engagement ring tightly around her finger. The enormous diamond felt hard and cold against her skin.

“Sire!” Hajjar called jovially across the lawn. “You do me great honor!”

“This had better be important, Umar,” the other man growled. “Only for you would I return to the city in the middle of a ride.”

At the sound of Kareef’s voice—the deep, low timbre that had once sounded like music to her—the swirls of color started to spin faster. She started to fear she might faint at her own party. How would Umar react to that?

Marry me, Jasmine. Kareef’s long-ago whisper echoed in her mind. He’d stroked her cheek, looking down at her with the deep hunger of desire. Marry me.

No! She couldn’t face Kareef after all these years. Not now. Not ever!

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. “I have to go,” she croaked, pulling frantically away from Umar’s grasp. “Excuse me—”

Startled by her strength, Umar abruptly let go. Knocked off balance, she stumbled forward and fell across the grass in an explosion of pale green chiffon.

She heard a low exclamation. Suddenly hands were on her, lifting her to her feet.

She felt the electricity of a rough touch, so masculine and strong, so different from Umar’s cool, slender hands. She looked up.

Kareef’s handsome, implacable face was silhouetted against the sun as he lifted her to her feet. His ruthless eyes were full of shadow. Blinding light cast a halo around his black hair against the unrelenting blue sky.

His hand was still wrapped over hers as their eyes locked. His pupils dilated.

“Jasmine,” he breathed, his fingers tightening on hers.

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even breathe. She dimly heard the cry of the seagulls soaring over the nearby Mediterranean, heard the buzz of insects. She was barely aware of the two hundred highborn guests behind them, watching from the pavilion.

Time had stopped. There was only the two of them. She saw him. She felt his touch on her skin. Exactly as she’d dreamed every night for the last thirteen years, in dark unwilling dreams she’d had alone in her New York penthouse.

Umar stepped between them.

“Sire,” the older man said, beaming. “Allow me to present Jasmine Kouri. My bride.”

Kareef stared down at her beautiful face in shock.

He’d never thought he would see Jasmine Kouri again. Seeing her so unexpectedly—touching her—caused a blast of ice and fire to surge through his body, from his hair to his fingertips.

Against his will, his eyes devoured every detail of her face. Her long black eyelashes trembling against her creamy skin. The pink tip of her tongue darting out to lick the center of her full, red lips.

Jasmine’s dark hair, once long and stick-straight, now was thickly layered past her shoulders, cascading over a flowy, diaphanous dress that seemed straight out of a 1930s Hollywood movie. The gown skimmed her full breasts and hips, tightly belted at her slim waist. Her graceful, slender arms could be seen through long sheer sleeves.

She was almost entirely covered from head to toe, showing bare skin only at the collarbone and hands, but the effect was devastating. She looked glamorous. Untouchable. He wanted to grab her shoulders, to touch and taste and feel her all over and know she was real. Just the mere contact of his fingers against hers burned his skin.

Then he realized what Umar Hajjar had said.

Jasmine—Hajjar’s bride?

As if he’d been struck by a blow, Kareef abruptly released her. He glanced down at his fingers and was almost bewildered to find them whole. After the electricity he’d felt touching her hand, he’d half expected to find his fingers burned beyond recognition.

With a deep breath, he slowly looked up at her. “You—are married?”

Jasmine’s dark eyes met his, stabbing into his soul as deeply as a blade. Licking her lips nervously, she didn’t answer.

“Not yet,” Umar purred beside her. “But we will be. Immediately following the Qais Cup.”

Kareef continued to look at Jasmine, but she didn’t speak. Not one word.

Once, she used to chatter away in his company—she’d cajoled away his bad moods, making him laugh in spite of himself. He’d found her easy conversation relaxing. Charming. Perhaps because it was so natural—so unguarded and real. She’d been shy at first, a bookish girl more comfortable with reading newspapers and studying charts than speaking to the son of a sheikh. But once he’d coaxed her out of her shell, she’d happily told him every thought in her head.

They’d both been so young then. So innocent.

Fire burned through him now as he looked at her. Jasmine. Her name was like a spell and he could barely stop himself from breathing it aloud. He had to force his face to remain expressionless, his body taut and implacable as if ready for battle.

To attack what? To defend what?

“I’m so pleased you could attend our party at such late notice,” Umar continued, placing his hands on Jasmine’s shoulders. “We await your permission to serve dinner, my king.”

Kareef found himself staring at Umar’s possessive hands on her shoulders. He had the sudden urge to knock them away—to start a brawl with the man who had once saved his life!

But this wasn’t just any woman. It was Jasmine. The girl he’d once asked to be his wife.

“Sire?”

“Yes. Dinner.” Still clenching his jaw, Kareef motioned to his two bodyguards to attend to the horses. He glanced toward the white pavilion and all the eager waiting faces. Several of the bolder guests were already inching closer to him, trying to catch his eye, hoping to join the conversation. After so many years of solitude in the northern desert of Qais, Kareef was not known for his sociability. But somehow being inaccessible and cold had just made him more desirable to the elite Qusanis of Shafar. Everyone in this godforsaken city seemed desperate for the barbarian king’s attention, his favor, his body or his soul.

He wasn’t even crowned yet, but according to Qusani tradition they already called him king—and treated him almost like a god. The people of Qusay had seen what he’d done for the desert people of Qais, and wanted that same prosperity for themselves. So they worshipped him.

Kareef hated it. He’d never wanted to come back here. But a few weeks ago, shortly after the death of the old king in a plane crash, his cousin, the crown prince, had abruptly removed himself from the line of succession. Xavian—no, Zafir, Kareef corrected himself, so strange to suddenly call the man he had thought his cousin by a new name!—had learned he had not a single drop of Al’Ramiz blood in his veins, and he’d abdicated the throne. He’d left to jointly rule the nation of Haydar with his wife, Queen Layla.

Zafir’s decision had been correct and honorable. Kareef would have approved his actions completely, except for one thing: it had forced him to accept the throne in his place.

And now—he would see Jasmine married to another man before his very eyes.

Or would he? Legally, morally, could he allow it?

He cursed beneath his breath.

“You honor us, sire.” Umar Hajjar bowed. “If I may ask another favor…”

Kareef growled a reply.

“Will you do my future bride the honor of escorting her into the pavilion?”

He wanted Kareef to touch her? To take her by the hand? Just looking at Jasmine was torture. She’d once been an enchanting girl with big dark eyes and a willowy figure. Now she’d grown into her curves. She’d become a mature woman. Her expression held mystery and hidden sorrows. A man could look into that face for years and never discover all her secrets.

Jasmine Kouri was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman Kareef had ever seen in his life.

And she continued to look at him silently with her dark gaze, her eyes accusing him of everything her lips did not. Reminding him of everything he’d nearly killed himself to forget.

Kareef closed his eyes, briefly blocking her from his vision. He forced his body to be calm, his breathing to become steady and even. He discarded emotion from his body, brushing it from his soul like dirt off his skin. After so many years of practice, he knew exactly what to do.

Then he opened his eyes and discovered he’d learned nothing.

Looking at Jasmine, years of repressed desire dissolved his will into dust. Heat flashed through him, whipping through his skin like a sandstorm flaying the flesh off his living bones.

He wanted her. He always had. As he’d never wanted any woman.

“Sire?”

Unwillingly, Kareef held out his arm, a mark of the highest respect for another man’s bride. When he spoke, his voice was utterly cold and controlled.

“Shall we go in to the banquet, Miss Kouri?”

She hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm. He could feel the heat of her light touch through the fabric of his sleeve. She tilted her head back to look up at him. Her beautiful brown eyes glittered. “You honor me, my king.”

No one but Kareef could hear the bitter irony beneath her words.

The party guests stepped back with deep, reverent bows as he led Jasmine up on the dais, Umar following behind them. Once they were on the dais, Kareef dropped her hand. He picked up a gold flute from the table.

Instantly, the two hundred guests went silent, waiting breathlessly for their new king to speak.

“I wish to thank my honored host and friend, Umar Hajjar, for his gracious invitation.” He gave his old friend a nod. In response, Umar bowed, elegant in his designer suit. “And I wish to welcome his future bride, Jasmine Kouri, back to her homeland. You grace our shores with your beauty, Miss Kouri.” He held up the flute, looking at the guests with hard eyes as he intoned forcefully, “To the happy couple.”

“To the happy couple,” the guests repeated in awed unison.

Jasmine said nothing. But as they sat down, he could feel the glow of her hatred pushing against him in waves of palpable energy.

Dinner was served, a meal of limitless, endless courses of lamb and fish, of spiced rice and olives and baked aubergines stuffed with meat. Each dish was more elaborate than the last. And through it all, Kareef was aware of Jasmine sitting next to him. She barely ate, even when encouraged by her fiancé. She just gripped her fork and knife tightly. Like weapons.

“You should eat, my dear,” Umar Hajjar chided her from the other side. “It would be unattractive for you to grow too thin.”

Unattractive? Jasmine?

Kareef frowned. Thin or fat, naked or dressed in a burlap sack, any man would want her. He clenched his hands into fists upon the table. He wanted her. Right now. On this table.

No, he told himself fiercely. He wouldn’t touch her. He’d sworn thirteen years ago to leave Jasmine in peace. And she was now engaged to another man—his friend.

Turning to Umar Hajjar, Kareef forced himself to speak normally. “I did not know you were friends.”

“We met in New York last year.” Umar gave her arm a friendly little squeeze. “After my poor wife died, I asked Jasmine many times to marry me. She finally accepted yesterday.”

“Yesterday? And you plan to wed in a few days?” he said evenly. “A swift engagement. There are no…impediments?”

Jasmine looked at Kareef sharply, with an intake of breath. He did not meet her eyes.

Umar shrugged carelessly. “Any wedding can be arranged quickly, if a man does not care about the cost.” He glanced down at Jasmine teasingly. “Beautiful women can be fickle. I’m not going to give this one a chance to change her mind.”

Jasmine looked down at her full plate, her cheeks bright red. She ran tracks through her rice with her fork.

“I would have married her immediately, in New York,” Umar continued, “but Jasmine wished to be reconciled with her family. After my horse wins the Qais Cup, we will move to America for half the year to pursue my next goal—the Triple Crown. And of course I will take over Jasmine’s business in New York. Her only job will be as mother to my four sons. But her connections in America will be useful to me as I…”

He paused when one of his servants bent to whisper in his ear. Abruptly, Umar rose to his feet. “Excuse me. I must take a phone call. With your permission, sire…?”

Kareef gave him a single nod. After he left, as all the guests on the lower floor buzzed loudly with their own discussions, he lowered his head to speak in a low voice to Jasmine alone.

“Does he know?”

Her whole body became strangely still. “Don’t even think about it,” she ground out. “It doesn’t count. It meant nothing.”

“You know you cannot marry him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Jasmine.”

“No! I don’t care if you’re king, I won’t let you ruin my life—again!” Her eyes flashed at him. “I won’t let you ruin my family’s hopes with this wedding—”

“Your family needs the wedding?” he interrupted.

Clenching her jaw, she shook her head. “I won’t let them be crushed by my old scandal again, not when everyone’s still buzzing about my sister!”

“Which sister?”

Staring at him, she exhaled. “You haven’t heard? I thought everyone in Qusay knew.” She gave a sudden humorless laugh. “My youngest sister Nima was at boarding school in Calista. She had a one-night stand with some sailor whose name she can’t even remember. Now she’s pregnant. Pregnant at sixteen.”

The word pregnant floated between them like poisoned air.

Ripping his gaze away, Kareef glanced at her large family, now seated at a lower table. At Umar Hajjar crossing the grass near the tent. At all the guests watching the king surreptitiously beneath the white pavilion. Then he looked back at Jasmine, and it all faded away. He couldn’t see anything but the beauty of her face—the endless darkness of her eyes.

“Nima’s staying in New York now, living in my apartment, trying to wrap her head around the thought that she will soon be a mother.” She blinked back tears. “My baby sister. When she showed up on my doorstep two days ago, I suddenly realized how much time I’d lost. Thirteen years without my family.” Her voice cracked. “No money can replace that.”

“So you got engaged to Umar Hajjar,” he said quietly. He narrowed his eyes. “Do you love him?”

With a sigh, she rubbed her neck. “When my father sent me away thirteen years ago,” she whispered, “he said not to bother coming home again. Not until I was a respectable married woman.”

Kareef set his jaw, furious as he glared at her. “So that’s why you got engaged?” he bit out. “To please your father?”

She looked up at him, hatred suddenly blazing in her eyes.

“What do you care? You washed your hands of me long ago. In a few days I’ll be married and out of your life forever.” She lifted her chin, and her eyes glittered. “So leave me alone. Go get yourself crowned. Sire.”

In all the years he’d known Jasmine, he’d never heard that bitter tone from her lips. But could he blame her? What she’d gone through would make any woman’s soul grow brittle. Her young spirit had been so happy and bright, but he’d crushed that long ago. His hands tightened as he leaned forward over the table.

“But Jasmine,” he said in a low voice, “you have to know that I—”

“Forgive me,” Umar Hajjar interrupted, his voice high and strained. They turned almost guiltily to find him standing behind them. “My children’s nanny was on the phone. There is an emergency. I must go.”

“Oh no!” Jasmine rose to her feet anxiously. “I will come with you.”

Umar held up his hand. “I must go alone.”

“What? Why? Please, Umar,” she begged. “Let me come with you. You might need my help!”

“No,” he said harshly. His eyes fell upon Kareef. “My king, I ask you to take Jasmine under your protection.”

“No! Absolutely not!” she cried, too loudly. Guests turned to look.

“Jasmine,” Umar cautioned in a low, hard voice, “do not create a scene.”

She swallowed. “I won’t,” she choked out softly. Her dark eyes glimmered, pleading with him as they turned away from the crowd. “Just don’t leave me with the king.”

“Why?” her fiancé demanded.

She licked her lips, glancing at Kareef beneath trembling lashes. “Though he is king…he is also still a man.”

“Don’t be foolish, Jasmine. He’s the king!” Umar said. “His word is unbreakable. His honor is respected across the world. He—”

“No, she is right,” Kareef interrupted. He looked down at Jasmine with glittering eyes. “Though I am king,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, “I am also still a man.”

Her long, black eyelashes swept across her pale cheeks as she visibly trembled beneath his gaze.

“And I would trust you with my life,” Umar said stoutly. “Please. You must take her, sire.”

Kareef slowly turned to his old friend. Bring Jasmine back to the royal palace? Beneath the same roof? The gleaming palace already felt like a prison with its thick walls, when Kareef hungered for the wide freedom of the desert. He couldn’t imagine being trapped in that gilded cage with the additional torture of Jasmine’s company—under his protection as he waited for her to marry another man!

“No,” he said coldly. “She cannot stay at the palace. It’s impossible.”

But even as Jasmine exhaled in relief, Umar pressed his lips together. “She cannot stay unchaperoned here until we are married. It would be improper. I have my children to consider.”

“Send her home to her family.”

“It will be far more useful if she stays at the palace, my king.”

Ah, so this was about status. Kareef’s lip twisted with scorn.

“For Jasmine’s sake,” the other man added in a low voice. “Your attention will go far to negate her old scandal. People will forget the whispers beneath the weight of your honor.”

Staring at him, Kareef frowned in sudden indecision.

Umar lowered his head. “My king, if I have ever done anything worthy of your esteem, I beg you this one favor. Place my bride formally under your protection until the day of the Qais Cup, when I will return to marry her.”

If he’d ever done anything worthy of Kareef’s esteem?

He’d helped Kareef bring prosperity to the desert. Made him the godfather of two of his four young sons. And most of all—he’d found Kareef in the desert, half-mad and dying of thirst thirteen years ago. He’d brought him home, brought him back to health. He’d saved Kareef’s life.

“Perhaps…” Kareef said grudgingly, and Umar pounced.

“Your mother is at the palace, is she not, sire? She will make a fine chaperone, if you are concerned about propriety.”

“No,” Jasmine whimpered softly. “I won’t do it.”

Umar ignored her. He kept staring at Kareef with hope—almost desperation.

If the bride had been any other woman, Kareef would have immediately agreed. But not this woman. He cursed beneath his breath. Damn it, didn’t the man see the risk?

No, of course he did not. Umar had no idea Kareef was the one who’d taken her virginity and caused her accident in the desert thirteen years ago. No one knew Kareef was the man who’d been her lover, her partner in the scandal. Jasmine had made sure of that.

She still hated him. He saw it in her eyes. But he had no choice.

Slowly, Kareef rose to his feet. His voice was loud, ringing with authority beneath the white pavilion.

“As of this moment, and until the day of her marriage, Jasmine Kouri is under my protection.”

Another buzz rose across the crowd. They stared at Jasmine with awe. Even her old father cracked an amazed smile.

If only he knew the truth, Kareef thought grimly.

Nodding in relief, Umar turned to go.

“Wait,” Jasmine cried, grabbing her fiancé’s slender wrist. “I still don’t know what’s happened! Are your children sick? Is it the baby?”

“The children are well. I cannot say more.” The older man’s eyes were narrow and tight. “I will call you if I can. Otherwise—I will see you at the race. On our wedding day.”

And he was gone. Kareef and Jasmine sat alone on the dais, with two hundred pairs of eyes upon them.

Keeping his face impassive, Kareef threw down the linen napkin across his empty plate and glanced at Jasmine’s untouched dinner and stricken, forlorn face. “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” she whispered miserably, as if she were trying not to cry.

He held out his hand. “Then let us go.”

She focused her eyes on him. “Forget it. I’ve been under my own protection for years. I do not need or want yours.”

He continued to hold out his hand. “And yet you have it.”

“I will go stay at my family’s house.”

“Your betrothed wishes otherwise.”

“He is not the boss of me.”

“Is he not?”

She tossed her head. “I will stay at a hotel.”

She was trying her best to be insolent, making it clear she did not respect him. He should have been insulted, but as he watched the tip of her pink tongue dart out to lick her lips, he couldn’t look away from the lush, sensual mouth he’d kissed long ago. It seemed like only yesterday. His lips tingled, remembering hers.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to look up. “You will find no available hotel room, anywhere on this island. All the world has come for my coronation.” He tightened his jaw. “But that is not the point.”

“And that is?”

“I gave my word to Hajjar,” he ground out. “And I keep my promises.”

“Do you?” Her eyes glinted at him sardonically. “A new skill?”

Anger flashed through him. But he held it back, dousing it with ice. He deserved the jibe. He would accept it from Jasmine as he would from no other person alive.

He would still prevail.

“Are you afraid to be near me?” he quietly taunted.

“Afraid of you?” Her voice shimmered with hatred like moonlight on water. “Why should I be?”

He held out his hand. “Then come.”

Narrowing her eyes at him in fury, she pushed her hand into his. She never could resist a dare. But the same instant he knew he’d won, he felt the electric shock of her touch. And realized he was the one who should be afraid.

He, Kareef Al’Ramiz, the prince of the desert, soon to be absolute ruler of the kingdom of Qusay, should be afraid of what he’d do when left alone with this woman he craved. This woman he could not have. His friend’s betrothed. Because Jasmine wasn’t simply a woman to him.

She was the only woman.

CHAPTER TWO

TWILIGHT was falling over the gleaming towers and spires of the royal palace overlooking the city. Built over the ruins of a Byzantine citadel, the palace had been modernized in the last century and could be seen for miles across the Mediterranean, shining like a jewel.

So strange to be back here, Jasmine thought, in the place she’d grown up when her father had been the old king’s favored counselor. Although this was the first time she’d ever been in this particular wing. The maid had left her in a shabby garret in the oldest wing of the palace, where the servants lived.

Jasmine looked out through the grimy window toward the garden. This room was smaller than the walk-in closet of her Park Avenue penthouse, but all she felt was relief to be alone.

Her knees were still weak with shock as she hefted her small rolling suitcase on the single bed. When Kareef had led her away from the white pavilion to his waiting limousine, she’d been half-terrified that he would take her straight to his bedroom in the palace. Would she have been able to resist—even hating him as she did?

The thought was still staggering. After so many years, she’d seen Kareef again. Heard his voice. Felt his touch.

The air in the room felt suddenly stifling. She punched buttons on the control panel of the air-conditioning, then gave up and tried to open the window, but the glass wouldn’t budge.

Cursing aloud, she covered her face with her hands. Why had she ever come back to the palace? Because she was obeying Umar’s orders? She’d survived on her own in New York City for thirteen years. She did not need or want Kareef’s protection!

Or did she?

Against her will, she remembered the touch of Kareef’s hand against her own and felt like she was burning up with a fever. Sweating, she yanked off the chiffon dress. She wrenched off her stockings and sandals. Standing in just her white bra and panties, she felt relief.

Until there was a hard knock and the door swung open.

“Jasmine—”

Kareef stood in the door. He sucked in his breath when he saw her in the middle of her bedroom, halfnaked.

With a stifled scream, she grabbed the chiffon dress off the floor to cover herself. “What are you doing here?”

He stared at her, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. He was no longer in white robes, but more casually dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and black pants. He looked more devastating than ever, and his towering body was taut. “I want…I want you to join me for a late supper.”

“So call me on the phone and ask!” she cried. A servant passed by in the hallway, trying not to gawk. Frowning, Kareef stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.

“You can’t come in here!” she said, scandalized.

“I can’t let anyone else see you like this.”

“Anyone? What about you?”

Lifting a dark eyebrow, he looked her over slowly. “I’ve seen far more of you than this.”

Her cheeks flamed red-hot—and she truly wanted to kill him! “We can’t be alone in a closed bedroom! In some parts of the country, you would be required to marry me!”

He gave a low laugh. “It’s a good thing we’re in the city, then.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you realize how gossip can spread?”

“My servants can be trusted.”

She shook her head fiercely. “How do you know?”

“One servant betrayed us, Jasmine. One.” His eyes glinted. “And I made him pay. Marwan—”

“I’m not going to argue with you!” she nearly shrieked, grabbing a pillow off her bed and lifting it over her head. The dress fell to the floor but she barely noticed. Modesty was inconsequential compared to the blaze of her fury. “Just get out!”

He looked at her body in the white cotton bra and panties. She felt his gaze upon her bare skin from her collarbone to the curve of her breasts, down her flat belly to her naked thighs. Her mouth went dry.

Then, slowly, he met her gaze. “You’re threatening me with a pillow, Jasmine?”

Since he was a foot taller and probably eighty pounds heavier than her, she could see why that would seem like a joke. It only made her more angry. “Do you need a handwritten request? Get out!”

“When you agree to join me for dinner.”

Staring at him, a jittery nervousness pulsed through her. The last time she’d seen Kareef, he’d been barely eighteen, the king’s eldest nephew, slender and tall and fine. She’d been the bookish eldest daughter of the king’s adviser; he’d been a wild, reckless horse racer with a vulnerable heart and joyful laugh.

But he’d changed since then. He was no longer a boy; he’d become a man. A dangerous one.

His once-friendly blue eyes were now ruthless; the formerly vibrant expression on his handsome, rugged face had become tightly controlled. His once-lanky frame had gained strength. Even the muscle of his body proclaimed him a king. He could probably pick up someone like Umar and toss him through the air like a javelin. She’d never seen any man on earth with shoulders like Kareef’s.

But the biggest change was the grim darkness she now saw beneath his gaze. She could sense the cold warrior hidden beneath his deeply tanned skin. He had only the thinnest veneer of civilization left. The danger both attracted her…and frightened her.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself desperately. In a few days she would become Umar’s wife and she would never have to see Kareef again. If she could just make it to her wedding…

“So you’ll join me?” he said coldly.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come anyway. We have…something to discuss.”

“No,” she said desperately. “We don’t.”

He lowered a dark eyebrow. “Do I really have to say it?”

She swallowed. No. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She’d just told herself many times that it didn’t matter, that it didn’t count, that it had just been a few whispered words between kisses.

The pillow dropped from her hands. She wrapped her arms around her body, glancing toward the deepening shadows of the garden. She whispered, “It’s all in the past.”

“The past is always with us.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a single step toward her. “You know you cannot marry him.”

Oh my God, Kareef was going to touch her! If he did—if he reached out and took her hand—she was afraid of how her body would react. Only her anger was keeping her hands wrapped around her own waist, when some uncivilized part of her longed to stroke the dark curl of his hair, the roughness of his jawline, to touch the hard muscles and discover the man he had become…

With a harsh intake of breath, she held up her hand sharply, keeping him at a distance.

“All right!” she bit out. “I’ll join you for your fancy dinner if you’ll just leave!”

His blue eyes held hers. “It won’t be fancy. Simple and quiet.”

“Right.” She didn’t believe him for a second. She’d never seen any Al’Ramiz king dine with fewer than fifty people and ten courses of meat and fish and fruit.

“The blue room.” He looked her over, and she felt that same flush of heat as his gaze touched her naked skin. “Ten minutes.”

The blue room? Now she knew he was lying. The blue room was for entertaining heads of state! But she’d worry about that later—when she wasn’t naked and confined with him in such a small space! Unwillingly, her eyes fell on the tiny bed between them.

He followed her gaze.

Suddenly, her heart was pounding so loud she could almost hear it. Then he turned toward the door.

“See you at dinner.”

“Yes.” She could suddenly breathe again.

He paused, as his large frame filled the doorway. “It’s good to see you, Jasmine.” And he closed the door behind him.

Good to see her?

As soon as he was gone, she dug frantically through her suitcase and found nothing at all to wear. She lifted up the crumpled green chiffon dress from the floor only to discover a stain on the bodice.

Why was Kareef doing this to her? Why couldn’t they just ignore the past? Why couldn’t they just pretend it did not exist?

You know you cannot marry him.

She took a deep breath. They’d share one meal. He would speak a few careful words, and it would be done. They could both go on with their lives.

She grabbed a white sundress, fresh and pretty with a modest neckline. It wasn’t nearly fancy enough for a fifty-person banquet in the blue room with the king, but it would just have to do. She added sandals and a string of pearls. All sweet and simple, and hers. Not selected for her by Umar from a designer boutique. She brushed her long hair, and looked at herself in the mirror.

Bewildered brown eyes looked back at her. She looked young and insecure, nothing like the powerful woman she’d become in New York. Being close to Kareef made her feel vulnerable again. As if she were sixteen.

Her feet dragged as she left her room and headed toward the east wing. The hallways were oddly quiet but she passed two women as she made her way to the blue room—the Sheikha, Kareef’s mother, and her much younger companion trailing behind in her black abaya. The Sheikha saw Jasmine and her wrinkled, kindly face lifted into a vague, benevolent smile. She probably didn’t remember who Jasmine was. Jasmine bowed deeply.

When she looked up, she saw the Sheikha’s companion smiling down at her. It was Sera, her childhood friend! But the Sheikha was in a hurry. Sera had only time to whisper, “Glad you’re back,” before she had to quickly follow her employer down the hall.

A surprised smile rose on Jasmine’s face as she stared after her old friend. Sera still remembered her after all these years? A surge of happiness went through Jasmine, then she turned back to hurry down the hall. The palace seemed strangely silent, almost desolate. Had the big fancy dinner been canceled? Was she late? With a deep breath, Jasmine pushed open the double doors.

The long dining table, big enough to seat forty-eight, was lit by long-tapered candles. Only one person was seated there.

“Jasmine.” Kareef rose to his feet with a short, formal bow. He moved to the place beside his at the table, standing behind her chair. “Please.”

Shocked, she looked right and left. “Where is everyone else?”

“There is no one else.”

“Oh.”

“I told you. Simple and quiet.”

She was having dinner with Kareef…alone? Feeling like she was in a surreal dream, she walked toward the table. The candles flickered light and shadow upon the white wainscoting and pale blue walls of the cavernous room. She swallowed, then lowered herself into her chair. He pushed it forward for her. As if they were on a date.

No—she couldn’t think that way! This was the opposite of a date!

Kareef sat down in the chair beside her, then nodded regally at two servants who appeared from the shadows. She jumped as they took silver lids off trays to serve two exquisite meals of cool salad, cucumbers, exquisite fruits, bread and cheeses. They opened a bottle of sparkling water, then a bottle of expensive French wine. After serving the trays, they backed away with a bow and disappeared, closing the double doors softly behind them.

They were alone. And Jasmine felt it. She licked her lips nervously. “What is all this?”

Kareef leaned forward to pour her a glass of wine. “You didn’t eat at your engagement party. You must be hungry.” His sensual lips quirked. “I allow no one to starve while under my protection.”

She watched him, involuntarily noticing the way the candlelight cast shadows across the astonishing masculine beauty of his face.

He looked up, and his blue eyes sizzled through hers with the intensity of his gaze. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” she stammered.

“Are. You. Hungry,” he said with slow deliberation, and she found herself looking at his lips and remembering the last time he’d kissed her. So long ago. Or was it? It seemed like it was yesterday, and all the long years since had just been a dream. “Jasmine.”

With an intake of breath, she looked up. “Starving,” she whispered.

He smiled, then indicated her plate. “One of the few perks of being king,” he said. “A world-class chef at my beck and call. A far cry from what I’m used to at my home in Qais.”

She took a bite of the food and noticed it was indeed delicious, and she was indeed starving. But as she ate, she couldn’t look away from Kareef’s face.

Oh, this was dangerous. She couldn’t trust him. He’d betrayed her! Ruined her! But her body didn’t seem to care. Every time he looked at her, she trembled from within.

She set down her fork. “Kareef. I don’t want to be here with you, any more than you want me here. So if you’ll just do what must be done—”

“Later,” he interrupted. He pushed the crystal goblet full of ruby-colored wine toward her. “We have all night.”

All night. Trembling, she took a bracing gulp of wine and wiped her mouth. “But with your coronation in a few days,” she stammered, “you must have many demands on your time. I heard something about fireworks tonight, given by the city council in your honor—”

“Nothing is more important—” he refilled her wineglass “—than this.”

Why was he stretching this out? Why? What possible reason could he have?

Helplessly, she took another sip of wine. Silence fell in the shadows of flickering candlelight as they ate.

He glanced at her enormous diamond ring, heavy as a paperweight on her hand. “An expensive trinket, even for a billionaire,” he said. “Hajjar values you high.”

Embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m not marrying him for his money, if that’s what you think!”

Something like a smile passed briefly over Kareef’s face. “No,” he said. “I know you are not.”

What was that smile hiding? Some private joke?

Once, she’d known him so well. The boy she’d loved had hidden nothing from her. But she did not know this man.

She watched him take a sip of wine. There was something sensual about watching his lips on the crystal glass, his tongue tasting the red Bordeaux. She could almost imagine those lips, that tongue, upon her body.

No! she ordered herself desperately. Stop it!

But every inch of her skin shivered with awareness that she was sitting beside the only man she’d ever loved.

The only man she’d ever hated.

“Do you like New York?” he asked, taking a bite of fruit.

“Yes,” she said, watching his sharp teeth crunch the flesh of the apple. “I did.”

“But you’re eager to leave it.”

She looked away. “I missed Qusay. I missed my family.”

“But you must have made many friends in New York.”

There was something strange beneath his tone. She looked back at him. “Of course.”

His tone was light, even as his hand tightened around the neck of the goblet. “Such an exciting city. You must have enjoyed the nightlife frequently with many ardent…friends.”

Was that an oblique way of asking if she’d taken lovers? With a deep breath, she took another sip of wine. She wasn’t going to tell him he’d been her only lover. It would be too pathetic to admit she’d spent the best years of her life alone, dreaming of him against her will. Especially since she knew he’d replaced her the instant he’d left her. She wouldn’t give Kareef the satisfaction of knowing he’d been not just her first—but her only!

Taking a bite of salad, so delicious with its herbs and spices and multicolored tomatoes, she deliberately changed the subject. “What’s your home like?”

He snorted. “The palace? It has not changed. A rich and luxurious prison.”

“I mean your house in the desert. In Qais.”

Taking another sip of wine, he blinked then shrugged. “Comfortable. A few servants, but they’re mostly for the horses. I like to take care of myself. I don’t like people hovering.”

She nearly laughed. “You must love being king.”

“No.” His voice was flat. “But it is my duty.”

Duty, she thought with sudden fury. Where had his sense of duty been thirteen years ago, when she’d needed him so desperately and he’d abandoned her?

Anger pulsed through her, making her hands shake as she held her knife and fork. But it wasn’t just anger, she realized. It was bewilderment and pain. How could he have done it? How?

Placing her hands in her lap, she turned her head away, blinking fast.

“Jasmine, what is it?”

“Nothing,” she said hoarsely. She would die before she let Kareef Al’Ramiz see her weep. She’d learned to be strong. She’d had no other choice. “I just remember you once dreamed of a house in the desert. Now you have it.”

“Yes.” His voice suddenly hardened. “And I will be your neighbor. My home is but thirty kilometers from Umar Hajjar’s estate.”

She turned with an intake of breath at mention of her fiancé’s name. Oh God, how could she have already forgotten Umar? She was an engaged woman! She shouldn’t be looking at another man’s lips!

But she could not stop herself. Not when the man was Kareef, the only man she’d ever loved. The only man she’d ever taken to her bed. And until yesterday—the only man she’d ever kissed.

Umar had kissed her for the first time only after she’d accepted his marriage proposal. His kiss had been businesslike and official, a pledge to seal the deal when a handshake wouldn’t do. He did not seem particularly keen to sweep her immediately into bed, which was just fine with Jasmine. Their marriage would be based on something far more important: family. And she wasn’t just getting back her parents and sisters. She would finally be a mother. She would help to raise his young sons, aged two to fourteen.

“Do you know his children?” she asked thickly.

He nodded. “I am godfather to his two eldest—Fadi and Bishr. They are good children. Respectful.”

Respectful? They hadn’t seemed that way when she’d met them last year in New York—at least not respectful to Jasmine. The four boys had glared at her, clinging to their father and their French nanny, Léa, as if Jasmine were the enemy. She sighed. But who could blame them for being upset, when their mother had just died?

“I hope they’re all right,” she whispered. “I met them only once. His poor children. They’ve had a hard time. Especially the baby,” she added, looking away.

“They need a mother,” Kareef said softly. “You will be good to them.”

She looked at him with an intake of breath. He leaned across the table, his gaze intense in the candlelight. He was already so close, his knee just inches from hers.

“Thank you,” she said softly. Sadness settled around her heart as unspoken memories stretched between them.

“Didn’t you know she was pregnant, my lord?” the doctor’s voice echoed in her ears, from the dark cave long ago. “She’ll live, but never be able to conceive again…”

Remembering, Jasmine dropped her silver fork with a clatter against her china plate. Clasping her hands tightly in her lap, she tried to close off the memories from her mind.

“You’ve always wanted children,” Kareef said. There was a grim set to his jaw. “And now you’re to be married to Umar Hajjar. A fine match by any measure. Your father must be proud.”

“Yes. Now,” she whispered. She shook her head. “He’s never cared about my success in New York. He even refused the money I’ve tried to send the family, as his fortunes have faltered while mine have grown.” She lifted her gaze. “But I’ve always believed some corner of his heart wanted to forgive me. My success in large part came from him!”

Kareef shifted in his chair.

She continued. “When I first arrived in New York at sixteen, I had nothing. No money. My only friend there was an elderly great-aunt, and she was ill. Not just ill—dying. In a rat-infested apartment.”

“I heard,” he said quietly. “Later.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a surge of bitterness. “I worked three jobs to support us both. Then,” she whispered, “out of the blue the month before she died, I got a check from my father for fifty thousand dollars. It saved us. I invested every penny, and gradually it paid off. But if not for him,” she said softly, “I might still be an office cleaner working sixteen hours a day.”

He picked up his glass, taking a sip of wine.

Jasmine frowned, tilting her head. “But when I tried to thank my father for that money today, he claimed not to know anything about it.”

Kareef stared idly at the ruby-colored wine, swirling it in the candlelight.

And suddenly, she knew.

“My father never sent that money, did he?”

He didn’t answer.

She sucked in her breath. “It was you,” she whispered. “You sent me that money ten years ago. Not my father. It was you.”

Pressing his lips together, he set down the glass. He gave a single hard nod.

“The letter said it was from my father.”

“I didn’t think you would accept it from me.”

“You’re right!”

“So I lied.”

“You…lied. Just like that?”

“I intended to send you more every year, but you never needed it.” Kareef’s voice held a tinge of pride as he looked at her. “You turned that first small amount into a fortune.”

“Why did you do it, Kareef?”

He turned to look at her. “Don’t you know?”

She shook her head.

Reaching over the table, he took her hand in his own. Turning it over, he kissed her palm.

A tremor racked her body, coursing through her like an electric current, lit up by the caress of his lips against her skin.

He looked up at her. His blue eyes were endless, like the sea in the flickering light. “Because you’re my wife, Jasmine.”

Silence filled the blue room, broken by sudden booms of fireworks outside, rattling the windowpanes.

She snatched back her hand. “No, I’m not!”

“You spoke the words,” he said evenly. “So did I.”

“It wasn’t legal. There were no witnesses.”

“It doesn’t matter, not according to the laws of Qais.”

“It would never hold up in the civil courts of Qusay.”

“We are married.”

Through the high arched windows, she saw fireworks lighting the dark sky. Struggling to collect her thoughts, she shook her head. “Abandonment could be considered reason for divorce—”

He looked at her. “Your abandonment?” he said quietly. “Or mine?”

She sucked in her breath. “I was forced to leave Qusay! It was never of my free will!”

He looked at her. “I had cause to leave you as well.”

Yeah. Right. Her eyes glittered at him. “We were barely more than children. We didn’t know what we were doing.”

As the explosions continued to spiral across the night sky, booming like thunder, he leaned forward and stroked her face.

“I knew,” he said in a low voice. “And so did you.”

The tension altered, humming with a hot awareness that coiled and stretched between them.

Her cheek sizzled where he stroked her. His gaze dropped to her mouth. She felt her body tighten. Her breasts suddenly ached, her nipples taut with longing.

No!

“If we once were married,” she choked out, “speak the words to undo it now. All I care about now…is my family.”

“And what of you?” he said, cupping her face in his strong hands. “What do you want for yourself?”

She wanted him to kiss her. Wanted it with every ounce of her blood and beat of her heart.

But she wouldn’t allow this insane desire to destroy the life that was finally within reach, the family life she hungered to have. She lifted her dark lashes to look into his eyes. “I want a home.” Her voice was as quiet as the whisper of memory. “A family. I want a husband and children of my own.”

A loud crash boomed in the night sky outside them, shaking the palace.

Kareef looked down at her, his eyes suddenly dark as a midnight sea. He dropped his hands from her face. “Umar Hajjar loves his children, his horses and his money—in that order,” he said harshly. “As his wife, you will be valued a distant fourth on his list.”

“He values my connections in America. He thinks I will be the perfect wife—the perfect hostess. That is enough.”

“Not enough for him.”

“What else could he want from me?”

He looked at her.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said thickly. “No man could resist you.”

She stared up at him for several heartbeats, then turned away, hiding her face.

“That’s not true,” she said in a low voice. “One man has had no trouble resisting me, Kareef.” She looked up. “You.”

He grabbed her wrist on the table. His fingers tightened on her skin. “You think I don’t want you?”

His voice was dangerous. Low. She felt tension snapping between them, rippling through her body, sharp against every nerve.

Her heart beat frantically in her chest. As he leaned toward her, she breathed in his masculine scent, laced with the flavor of wine and spice. His body, in all its strength and power, was so close to hers. She yearned to lean across the table, to lose everything in one moment of sweet madness and press her mouth against his.…

Another loud boom exploded outside. It broke the spell. Made her realize she was perilously close to doing something unforgivable.

Rising to her feet, she stumbled back from the table.

“Divorce me,” she whispered. “If you’ve ever cared about me, Kareef, if I was ever more than a warm body in the night to you…divorce me tonight.”

He stared at her, his jaw tight. Then he shook his head. Tears rose to her eyes and she fought them with all her might.

“You bastard,” she choked out. “You cold-hearted bastard. I’ve known for years you had no heart, but I never thought you could…never thought you would—”

But the tears were starting to fall from her lashes. Turning before he could see them, she shoved open the double doors. They banged loudly against the walls as she fled down the hallway.

“Jasmine! Stop!”

But she didn’t obey. She just ran.

Fireworks boomed outside the tall windows as she raced past the corner where she’d first crashed into Kareef—literally—by sliding on the marble floors in her socks, playing with her sisters. When she slid too fast around the corner, he’d grasped her wrists, catching her before she could fall. His blue eyes had smiled down at her with the warmth of spring’s first sun. She’d loved him from that first day.

Now, after thirteen years of trying to forget Kareef’s existence, this one day had brought it all back, times ten. A single word from his deep voice, a single look from his handsome face, and he’d caught up Jasmine’s soul like a fish in his net.

Racing down the hall, she pushed open the first door on her left and ran down the wooden stairs into the courtyard. Cloaked in darkness, she took deep rattling gasps of the warm desert air. She stood beneath the swaying dark palm trees of the garden, beside the dark water shimmering in the silvery moonlight, and wrapped her arms over her thin cotton sundress. She could not allow herself to cry. She could not allow herself to collapse.

Because this time, if she fell, there would be no prince to catch her.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.