‘The sleeping arrangements are entirely your choice.’ His eyes slid from her face to the low divan piled with silken cushions and then back to her face. ‘But it can get lonely at night.’

Molly swallowed and folded her arms across her chest in an instinctively protective gesture. ‘I’m quite comfortable with my own company, thank you.’

‘My taste doesn’t run to beige creatures, anyway.’ His critical gaze ran over her crumpled skirt and blouse before he gave a faint grimace. ‘Why are you wearing those things? I asked Sabra to give you some fresh clothes.’ Although anything less beige than the woman glaring at him with luminous eyes would have been difficult to imagine, he admitted.

Molly knew there were some women who got told by beautiful men they were gorgeous, and she knew that she was not one of them. All the same, his dismissive contempt stung.

‘She did, but I prefer to wear my own clothes. And while we’re on the subject of taste, mine doesn’t run to…’ Molly struggled to speak past the sudden constriction in her aching throat as she stared straight at his chest. ‘To men who kidnap me.’

Kim Lawrence lives on a farm in rural Anglesey. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

Recent titles by the same author:

SECRET BABY, CONVENIENT WIFE

THE DEMETRIOS BRIDAL BARGAIN

CLAIMING HIS PREGNANT WIFE

DESERT PRINCE, DEFIANT VIRGIN

BY

KIM LAWRENCE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DESERT PRINCE, DEFIANT VIRGIN

MILLS & BOON

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CHAPTER ONE

PEOPLE assumed that Tair Al Sharif was a natural diplomat, but they were wrong.

He was so not a diplomat—though there had been many occasions when that role had been forced upon him by necessity—that as his cousin’s glance once more drifted from him to the young Englishwoman seated on the opposite side of the table he wanted quite badly to drag the other man from his chair, give him a good shake and demand to know what the hell he thought he was playing at.

‘How is your father, Tair?’

The soft buzz of conversation around the table stilled as Tair removed his steely stare from the Crown prince of Zarhat’s profile and turned his attention to the man who was the hereditary ruler of that country.

‘Hassan’s death was a shock to him.’

The king sighed and shook his head. ‘A man should not outlive his children. It is not the natural order of things. Still he has you, Tair, and that must be a comfort to him.’

If this was the case his father was hiding it well.

There was an ironic glitter in Tair’s blue eyes as his thoughts were drawn back to his last verbal exchange with his father.

‘I trusted you and what did you do, Tair?’ King Malik’s face had been suffused with a dark colour as he’d slammed his fist down on the table, causing all the heavy silver to jump.

Years ago when he had been a boy, Tair had struggled to hide his reaction to his father’s sometimes violent and unpredictable outbursts, though such displays of unbridled fury had left him sick to the stomach. Now he did not need to struggle, as his father’s rages no longer seemed frightening to him, just vaguely distasteful.

‘It is a pity it wasn’t you who walked in front of that car instead of your brother. He knew what loyalty and respect is due me. He would have supported me in this, not taken advantage of my grief to go behind my back.’

‘I tried to contact you in Paris.’

His father’s grief had not interfered in any noticeable manner with his social life.

King Malik dismissed this comment with a wave of his short, heavily ringed fingers and a contemptuous snort.

‘But I was told you were not to be disturbed.’ Tair knew this had been shorthand for his father being in the middle of a very high-stakes poker game.

The king’s eyes narrowed further as he glared at his remaining son without a hint of affection.

‘Your problem, Tair, is you have no vision. You do not think on the grand scale, but of such things as a water-treatment plant…’ His sneer registered utter contempt for such a project. ‘You exchanged those mineral rights for a water-treatment plant instead of a new yacht!’

‘Not just a water-treatment plant, but an undertaking to recruit locally whenever possible, a training programme for our people and fifty per cent of the profits for them once they have recouped a percentage of their initial outlay.’

The deal he had renegotiated had not made the international firm he was dealing with exactly happy. They had been under the impression he was there to rubber stamp the contract as it stood, but they had at least viewed him with grudging respect as they had walked away looking like men who were not quite sure what had just happened to them.

Of course, Tair conceded, he’d had the element of surprise on his side. Next time—though considering his father’s reaction that might not be any time soon—he would not have that advantage.

But Tair was not a man to avoid challenges.

‘Profits!’ His father had dismissed those intangible projected figures with a snap of his swollen fingers. Overindulgence had left its mark on his coarsened features and his once athletic body. ‘And when will that be? I could have had the yacht next month.’

His suggestion that it would perhaps be no great hardship to make do with last year’s yacht had not been received well! And though Tair had not expected, or fortunately needed, praise, the lecture had been hard to take.

It was much easier to accept the censorious finger his uncle waved in his direction because Tair knew that, unlike his own father, King Hakim’s remonstrance was well intentioned. His uncle was a man who had always put the welfare of his people above his own comfort and would be able to appreciate what Tair was trying to achieve.

‘Remember the next time you feel the urge to fly into a desert storm…alone…that you are all your father has left.’

It was hard to tell from his manner which action appalled his uncle the most: the danger of the desert storm or the fact his nephew had not travelled with an entourage of hundreds as befitted his station in life.

‘There are responsibilities in being heir.’

Tair inclined his head in courteous acknowledgement of the royal rebuke. ‘I am new to the role, Uncle, so I’m bound to make some errors.’

From the moment Tair had become heir to the throne many had considered his life public property and he accepted this, but there were some freedoms that he was not willing to relinquish. He needed places, moments and people with whom he could be himself in order to preserve his sanity.

‘But you are not new to fobbing off old men. Do you think I don’t know that you smile, say the right things and then do exactly what you want, Tair? However I know that, despite your action-man antics, you are aware of your duties. More aware than your brother ever was. I know one should not speak ill of the dead, but I say nothing now that I would not have said to his face and nothing I have not in the past said to your father.

‘Malik did nobody any favours when he turned a blind eye to your brother’s scandals and as for the dubious business dealings…?’ Clicking his tongue, King Hakim shook his leonine head in disapproval. ‘I have always been of the opinion that your country would have been better off if you had been born the elder.’

It wasn’t often that Tair struggled for words, but, more accustomed to defending his actions from criticism, he was stunned to uncomfortable silence by this unexpected tribute from his uncle.

It was Beatrice who came to his rescue.

‘I wouldn’t mind getting my pilot’s licence one day.’

The innocent comment from a heavily pregnant and glowing princess successfully diverted her father-in-law’s attention from his nephew—as Tair was sure it was intended to—and began a good-natured joking debate among the younger generation around the table that centred on the hotly disputed superior ability of men to master any skill that required hand-eye co-ordination.

Everyone joined in except the mouselike English girl, who either through shyness or total lack of social skills—Tair suspected the latter—had barely spoken a word throughout the meal unless directly addressed.

The second silent party was Tariq.

Tair’s irritation escalated and his suspicion increased as he watched the pair through icy blue eyes.

Tariq was the man who had it all, including a wife who adored him, a wife who was carrying his first child.

Tair’s expression softened as his glance flickered to the other end of the table where Beatrice Al Kamal sat looking every inch the regal princess even when she winked at him over the head of her father-in-law the king.

He turned his head, the half-smile that was tugging at his own lips fading as he saw that Tariq was still staring like some pathetic puppy at the English mouse.

Tair’s lip curled in disgust. He had always liked and admired the other man, and had always considered his cousin strong not only in the physical but also in the moral sense. Tair had felt it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man when Tariq had met and married the glorious Titian-haired Beatrice after a whirlwind romance.

If two people were ever meant to be together it was Beatrice and Tariq. Their clear devotion had touched even Tair’s cynical heart, and made him hope in his less realistic moments that there was such a soul mate waiting for him somewhere, though even if there was it seemed unlikely they were destined to be together.

His future was intrinsically linked with that of the country he would one day rule. What his country needed and deserved after years of neglect by his father and Hassan, who had both been of the opinion the country was their own personal bank, was political and financial stability. It was Tair’s duty to make a marriage that supplied both. Improving transport links and dragging the medical facilities of Zabrania, the neighbouring country to Zarhat, into the twenty-first century were more important things than true love.

He directed another icy glare at his cousin, and considered the other man’s stupidity. Tariq didn’t seem to have a clue as to how lucky he was!

Didn’t the man know he had it all?

And even if he wasn’t insane enough to risk his marriage by actually being unfaithful—though in Tair’s eyes the distinction between fantasy and physical infidelity was at best blurred—he was obviously stupid enough to risk hurting Beatrice by being so damned obvious.

Even a total imbecile could have picked up on the signals his cousin was being so mystifyingly indiscreet about hiding, and Beatrice was far from stupid.

It was totally inexplicable to Tair that Tariq could have so little respect for his wife that he would insult her this way, and for what…?

He allowed his own scornful gaze to drift in the direction of the English girl, who was clearly not the innocent she seemed because no man acted like Tariq without some encouragement. Tair tried and failed to see something in the mouselike girl that could tempt a man like Tariq…or for that matter any man!

Unlike red-headed, voluptuous Beatrice, this was not a girl who would turn heads. Small and slight, her brown hair secured in a twist at the nape of her neck—a good neck, Tair grudgingly noticed as he allowed his glance to linger momentarily on the slender pale column—she was not the sort of woman who exuded any strong allure for the opposite sex.

Trying to picture the small oval-shaped face without the large heavy-framed spectacles that were perched on the end of a slightly tip-tilted nose, Tair conceded that an investment in contact lenses might make her more than passable.

But such a change would not alter the fact that her body, covered at this moment in a peculiar sacklike dress the shade of mud, totally lacked the feminine curves which, like most men, he found attractive in the opposite sex.

His blue eyes narrowed as he watched the English girl turn her head to meet Tariq’s eyes. For a moment the two simply looked at one another as though there were nobody else in the room. The outrage, locked in Tair’s chest like a clenched fist, tightened another notch.

Then she smiled, her long curling eyelashes sweeping downwards creating a shadow across her smooth, softly flushed cheeks and the corners of her mouth. How had he missed the blatant sensuality of that full pouting lower lip?

Tair’s mild concern and annoyance at his cousin’s uncharacteristic behaviour morphed abruptly into genuine apprehension. Up until this point he had thought that his cousin had simply needed reminding that he was one of the good guys; now it seemed that more might be required.

This silent exchange suggested to him a worrying degree of intimacy. For the first time he seriously considered the possibility that this situation had progressed beyond mild flirtation.

Tair’s long fingers tightened around the glass he was holding. Under the dark shield of his lashes his blue eyes, now turned navy with anger, slid around the table. The other guests at the family party continued to talk and laugh, seemingly oblivious to the silent communication between Tariq and the deceptively demure guest.

His brows twitched into a straight line above his strong masterful nose. Were they all blind?

How was it possible, he wondered incredulously, that he was the only person present who could see what was going on?

Could they not see the connection between these two?

Then his study of his guests revealed that Beatrice was also watching the interchange between her husband and friend. Tair’s admiration of the woman his cousin had married went up another level when she responded to a comment made by her brother-in-law, Khalid, with a relaxed smile that hid whatever hurt or anxiety she might be feeling.

Beatrice was a classy lady. Clearly her mouse friend was not; she was a predator in mouse’s clothing and his cousin was her prey.

He briefly considered the option of speaking directly to Tariq and telling him point-blank he was playing with fire. Such a discussion would end at best in harsh words and at worst in an exchange of blows—not really ideal from either a personal or political perspective. On reflection he decided it would be better by far to speak to the woman who was pursuing Tariq.

He would warn Miss Mouse that he would not stand by and watch her ruin the marriage of his friends. And if Miss Mouse didn’t listen he would have to take direct action. He had no idea what form that direct action would take, but Tair’s inspiration had so far not let him down. He had frequently walked into a room full of dignitaries whom his brother had insulted with no idea what he was going to say, but the right words had always come.

Though maybe this situation would require more than words… He gave a mental shrug, as he was capable of that too. Capable, according to some, of great ruthlessness, but Tair did not think of it in such emotive terms, he just did what was necessary and he never asked anyone else to perform an unpleasant task that he himself was not willing to do.

He looked at the sexy curve of the Mouse’s mouth and wondered if that unpleasantness would take the form of sampling those lips…? Perhaps at a chosen moment when his actions could be observed by his cousin. The plan, unlike the lady, had some virtue as he was sure Tariq was not a man who would enjoy sharing any more than he would.

She was, he mused, staring at that mouth, nothing like any woman he had ever kissed. She had nothing to recommend her beyond neatness, a conniving nature and a sexy—actually very sexy—mouth, and he had done worse to help a friend.

The Mouse, perhaps sensing his study, suddenly stopped gazing at Tariq and turned her head, the action briefly causing her gaze to collide with his cold, hostile stare.

He watched with clinical detachment, the guilty colour rise up her slender neck until her small face was suffused with heat.

His lip curled in contempt as he smiled and watched her literally recoil before she looked away. At least she now knew that there was someone who was not fooled by her meek and mild act.

Tariq was still wearing the dark formal suit that he had been wearing at dinner, but his tie now hung loose around his neck.

Molly closed the door and motioned him to a chair. She perched on the edge of the big canopied bed suspecting her cotton pyjamas looked totally incongruous against the silken opulence, much the same way as she looked totally incongruous and out of place in the palace.

Some of the awkwardness and wariness she felt in Tariq’s presence had dissipated over the past couple of weeks but she still couldn’t totally relax around him.

She got the impression that he too was still feeling his way. Which wasn’t that surprising given this relationship was still very new for them both. Fortunately Khalid, with his naturally outgoing nature, had not been similarly stilted and Molly felt much more at ease in his company.

Tariq, tall and lean, took the chair, turned it round, then straddled it, resting his hands on the back as he looked across at her. Molly realised that Beatrice had not been exaggerating when she had told her that her husband was not a man who felt any need to fill silences. Molly, impatient to know the reason for his visit, stifled her impulse to demand an explanation.

‘I have not disturbed you? You were not asleep?’

She shook her head and there was another lengthy silence while she wondered some more why he had come.

‘Khalid is concerned he might have offended you.’

Molly’s bewilderment was genuine. ‘Why would he think that?’

‘He introduced you to Tair as Beatrice’s friend.’ For once Tariq had not been pleased to see his cousin and he had been hard put not to show his lack of enthusiasm for the extra dinner guest. ‘He is afraid,’ he explained, ‘that you might mistake his reasons for not revealing your true identity.’

Tariq’s voice receded into the distance as an image rose in Molly’s head of the tall man with the electric blue eyes who had arrived at dinner looking dusty but remarkably good considering he had apparently just made an emergency landing at the airport after flying through an unexpected dust storm.

‘The families are connected, loads of intermarriage. He’s a cousin and heir to the throne of Zabrania.’ Beatrice had explained the stranger’s presence in a quiet aside to Molly while the men spoke together in a bewildering mixture of rapid Arabic, French and English.

‘He has blue eyes!’ Deep cerulean blue, the most intense shade that Molly had ever seen.

‘You noticed?’

Hard not to!

‘Apparently blue eyes crop up every so often in the Al Sharif family. There’s a nice story about that, according to family legend. How true it is, I don’t know, but they say a Viking got lost way back when. Rumour has it he got a bit too friendly with a royal princess and since then the blue eyes pop up every few generations. Tair is quite a looker, isn’t he?’

Vaguely aware of Beatrice’s amusement but totally unable to control her own expression, Molly closed her mouth with an audible snap and lowered her gaze, wondering if it was the incredible level of testosterone circulating in the room that was responsible for her erratic heartbeat.

‘Really…?’ she said, adopting a look of wide-eyed, exaggerated innocence. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

Her humour was a little shaky, though Beatrice seemed not to notice, responding to the husky irony with an appreciative chuckle.

Molly’s gaze was drawn back to their dinner guest.

Not notice! There was no way women hadn’t been noticing this man from the moment he began shaving, a task that the shadow on his firm angular jaw suggested he had not performed since at least that morning.

Casting a covert look at the newcomer through her lashes, she noted the rest of his skin was the shade of vibrant gold and blemish-free if you discounted a fine white scar that began just beneath one razor-sharp cheekbone and terminated at the corner of his wide, mobile and almost indecently sensual mouth.

Actually there was no almost about it—his mouth was indecent. The maverick thoughts that popped into her head when she looked at it certainly were!

His strongly delineated brows were the same raven shade as his hair, which looked like black satin and touched the collar of the open-necked shirt he wore. Under the layer of red dust the shirt might be the same colour as his eyes, though she doubted it—that unique shade of blue was not one that would be easy to duplicate.

Fortunately nobody seemed to notice her compulsion to look at him as her eyes roamed across the angles and strong planes of his face. She was staring, but how could she not? Beauty was a term that people flung around casually but here was someone who actually merited the description, although not in a Hollywood type of way. The newcomer had looks that affected the onlooker on a much earthier and more primal level.

Or maybe it’s just me, she thought.

It was a worrying thought, but she doubted her reaction was unique. She doubted any woman would not be inclined to stare open-mouthed when they saw the six feet four inches of lean muscle and hard sinew that was Tair Al Sharif. He really was the most extraordinary-looking man Molly had ever seen.

But the prim voice in her head reminded her that looks were not everything.

It was something her father, thinking he was being kind, had told her frequently as she grew up beside two stepsisters who were as beautiful as they were lovely-natured. Sometimes, Molly reflected, it would have been easier if Rosie and Sue had been mean and nasty. At least then she could have been jealous without feeling guilty. And there was something much more romantic about being oppressed and exploited by mean stepsisters than spoilt and indulged and told you were lovely inside.

Only last month Rosie had offered her a makeover when she had wailed in frustration that she’d prefer to be lovely on the outside and happily exchange ten points of her impressive IQ for another inch on her flat chest.

She snapped out of her reverie and drew herself back to the present to respond to Tariq. ‘I completely understand why Khalid said what he did. Please tell him not to worry. However, I don’t think the prince…’ She stopped, realising this did not narrow the field much in the circles she was currently moving in, where princes were pretty thick on the ground! She gave a rueful grin as she added, ‘Your cousin—I don’t think he likes me much.’

The grin died as she recalled sensing, feeling, his extraordinary and unbelievably eloquent eyes upon her.

‘Tair?’ Tariq said, shaking his head. ‘You must be mistaken. He does not know you. Why should he dislike you?’

Good question, but Molly knew there had been no ambiguity about the message she had seen in those glittering azure depths.

Having never in her life inspired any strong feelings in gorgeous-looking men—obviously they remained oblivious to the fact she was lovely inside—to have someone looking at her with that level of hostility and contempt had been quite disturbing.

His face floated into her mind gain; she tried to expel the image but it lingered. It was a face with a ‘once seen never forgotten’ quality. Even if you wanted to forget the golden skin stretched over hard angles and intriguing hollows, the sensual mouth and searing blue stare.

‘You must have been mistaken, Molly.’

‘I expect so,’ she said, already wishing she had not introduced the subject. But no matter what Tariq said she knew she was not mistaken—Tair Al Sharif could not stand the sight of her.

Not that she was going to lose any sleep over his opinion of her. As first impressions went she hadn’t taken to him either.

‘If it will make you feel better I will explain our relationship to him straight away.’

‘There’s really no need.’ She wondered if the flicker she saw in her brother’s eyes was relief. The possibility shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. ‘And I’d actually prefer if you didn’t.’

On a practical level she knew the searing dislike she had read in the Arab prince’s face was not going to alter just because he knew she was Tariq and Khalid’s English half-sister.

No, it had been loathing at first sight.

Besides, there were some people you didn’t want to like you, and he was one of them, she decided. She mentally ticked off the qualities that made him undesirable—off-the-scale arrogance, no sense of humour, and he was in love with himself. The last seemed a reasonable assumption to Molly, who reasoned a person who looked at that face in the mirror every day would have to be just a little fond of himself.

‘It is up to you, Molly, but what I came to say to you is that it is not a relationship that we are ashamed to acknowledge, quite the contrary…though,’ Tariq conceded with a grimace, ‘obviously it would be difficult to go public because…’

‘This isn’t easy for your father.’

Tariq looked grateful for her understanding of the situation. ‘It was hard for him when our mother left… He is a proud man and the scandal of a divorce in our society, the gossip and stories, left its mark.’

It had been hard for Tariq too, but this was something Molly had not appreciated until very recently.

‘Your father has been very kind to me and I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass him. I’m not about to go public. I promise you I won’t breathe a word to a soul. If anyone asks I’m Bea’s friend.’

It was not a hard promise to make, as the level of hospitality she had received from the king had touched her deeply. However, she realised it could not be easy for him to have his ex-wife’s child as a guest.

Molly knew enough about Zarhat culture to recognise that when Tariq had touched on the subject of the royal divorce he had, if anything, been downplaying the situation, yet the king had welcomed her into his home when many in his position might not have even wanted reminding of her existence.

Her solemnity as she made her vow of silence brought an affectionate smile to Tariq’s face ‘I appreciate that, Molly. But you do know that Khalid and I would both have been proud to have introduced you as our sister tonight.’

Warm moisture filled Molly’s amber eyes as emotion clogged her throat. ‘Really…?’

‘You can doubt this?’ he asked, before a spasm of self-condemnation twisted his dark features. ‘Of course you can. Why would you not after I have ignored you for the past twenty-four years? If you had told me to go to hell it would have been what I deserved.’

A grin spread across Molly’s face as she flicked away a strand of waist-length hair that had drifted across her face. It was still slightly damp from the shower. ‘The way I recall it I pretty much did just that.’

The reminder of that meeting brought a rueful grin to his face.

‘If it wasn’t for Beatrice coming to see me I wouldn’t be here now,’ she said frankly.

It was true. When the half-brother who had ignored her since birth had suggested they should get to know one another, her response had been to angrily reject his overtures. What did she need with a brother who she knew had caused their mother so much heartache by refusing any contact with her after her second marriage to Molly’s father?

They were strangers and Molly had been happy for it to stay that way; she’d wanted nothing to do with him.

Why would she?

She owed Tariq nothing. He hadn’t just ignored the fact she existed, he had pressured Khalid, whom she had seen and adored as a small child before their mother’s premature death, to reject her too.

It had been a visit in person from Beatrice pleading her husband’s case that had persuaded her to accept the invitation.

Molly had come prepared, almost wanting, to despise this brother, but to her amazement after a slightly rocky start she had found herself liking Tariq.

‘And you are glad you did come?’

Molly uncurled her legs from underneath her as she lifted her chin and scanned the lean dark face of the brother she still barely knew. ‘Very glad,’ she admitted huskily.

Tariq smiled and got to his feet. ‘And you will think about what I have said?’

‘I will,’ she promised, walking with him to the door.

‘Tariq!’

Standing framed in the doorway, he turned back.

‘I do understand, you know…why you wouldn’t come and visit Mum when she was alive.’

She hadn’t always. As a small child the only thing she had understood was the desperate hurt in her mother’s eyes when the eldest son she had been forced to leave behind when she’d divorced the King of Zarhat had not accompanied his brother for the arranged visit.

It had not crossed her mind at the time that Tariq had been hurting too and perhaps feeling betrayed that the mother he had loved had chosen her freedom over her sons.

‘Dad told me, when he knew I was coming here, how she never stopped feeling guilty about leaving you and Khalid, but she knew you would be safe and loved. She always knew that your place was here.’

‘And hers was not.’

There was no trace of criticism in Tariq’s manner but Molly felt impelled to defend the choice their mother had made.

‘She must have been very desperate.’

Molly could only imagine the sort of unhappiness that would make a woman make that choice. She knew nothing about the strength of maternal bonds, but something deep inside her told her that to leave a child would be like ripping away part of yourself and you’d walk around with that awful emptiness the rest of your life.

Without being judgemental, Molly really couldn’t imagine a situation where she would make the same decision.

‘But she knew you and Khalid would be well cared for and I think me being here would have made her very happy.’

Without a word Molly stepped into arms that opened for her and the years of rejection and anger melted away.

‘God, look at me, I’m crying,’ she said as she emerged from a crushing brotherly hug. She wiped the moisture from her face with one hand and pushed back her hair with the other.

‘Go on,’ she sniffed. ‘Or Beatrice will be sending out the search party.’

CHAPTER TWO

FROM where he was standing, Tair witnessed the embrace and heard Molly’s parting warning. He could feel the anger burning inside him like a solid physical presence.

He stayed where he stood concealed in the shadows until the echoes of Tariq’s footsteps on the marble floor died away. Then he began to walk towards the door that had just closed, his long stride filled with purpose.

A muscle clenched in his firm jaw as he imagined her in the room feeling pleased with herself because nobody suspected her game. Her mask was good, he conceded, but he had seen through her disguise.

There was no effort involved in recreating in his head the image of her standing in the doorway.

He had barely recognised the mouse minus the glasses and with her hair hanging loose to her narrow waist like a silken screen. The light streaming from the bedroom had acted like a spotlight shining through the fine fabric of her demure nightclothes, revealing every dip and curve of a slender but undeniably female form. Female enough to cause a lustful surge of his own undiscriminating hormones.

Who would have guessed, other than Tariq, that under the baggy top there was that body?

He stopped a few feet from the door and forced himself to think past both the memory of those small plump breasts and his anger—the two seemed inextricably linked in his head—and took a deep breath, forcing the fury boiling in his veins to a gentle simmer.

To confront her would give him pleasure of a sort, but what would it achieve? Other than to watch her struggle as she tried to explain away what he had seen. She would have her work cut out, Tair thought. He was not a man to jump to conclusions, but in this instance he felt he was fully justified to assume the worst.

However, what he had witnessed showed how deeply she had her unvarnished claws into Tariq, and threats from him were not going to make her back off. Him barging in might even have the opposite effect and actually make the situation worse. Right now the situation was retrievable, but if the affair became public knowledge…?

He needed to think. He needed to think about this like any other problem. He needed to analyse the problem, decide what he wanted to happen and then choose how he was going to make it happen.

Tair inhaled deeply, then released the breath slowly. With one last look at the door he turned and strode away in the opposite direction to the one his cousin had taken.

Tariq, who had been walking across the courtyard, stopped when he saw his cousin. ‘Tair!’

Tair stepped towards him thinking, You idiot, as he smiled. Tariq looked exhausted. Perhaps guilt made him lie awake at night?

He too had lain awake the previous night, but he was not feeling any effects from the lack of sleep; he was actually feeling quite pleased with himself.

Some might consider his plan reckless, but Tair preferred to think of it as inspired.

‘I’m glad I bumped into you.’

The relief he saw on the other man’s face struck Tair as darkly ironic.

‘Actually—’ Tariq, his brow furrowed, glanced down at the watch on his wrist ‘—you could do me a favour. I don’t suppose you would take a message to Molly for me?’

Tair inclined his head to indicate his willingness to help out and thought that this was working out much better than he’d anticipated.

It wasn’t very often the victim of a scam actively helped facilitate the scheme. Not that he had a lot of personal experience with scams, and this was one being perpetuated with the most altruistic of motives. He didn’t expect that Tariq would immediately he able to make the differentiation, though obviously when he had come to his senses he would appreciate his good fortune.

‘You’ll find her in the glasshouses,’ he explained, glancing down at his watch in a manner that seemed uncharacteristically distracted to Tair. ‘She’s interested in that sort of thing. Well, she would be, wouldn’t she?’

‘She would?’ Tair, who was mentally bringing forward his plan by an hour, pretended an interest he did not feel.

‘Well, yes, she’s head of the science department but her first degree was in botany. When I told her about the glasshouses built by great-grandfather and his collection she was fascinated. I was looking for Khalid to do the honours for me, but I can’t track him down.’

‘She is a teacher?’ he said, unable to hide his doubt. Surely in order to command the respect of pupils a teacher needed to project an air of authority?

Tariq looked amused. ‘Have you spoken to her at all? She teaches at a girls’ school.’ He named a prestigious establishment that even Tair had heard of and added, ‘Molly is really very bright.’ He said this with an obvious pride that set Tair’s teeth on edge.

‘I know she seems quiet, but once you start talking to her…she’s actually got a great sense of humour and—’

‘She seems to have a most articulate advocate in you,’ Tair cut in before his cousin waxed even more lyrical and was unable to keep a guard on his tongue. ‘I will,’ he promised, ‘certainly make the effort to know her better.’ He knew all he needed to know about Miss Mouse.

‘So we have you for a few more days?’

‘My travel plans are not certain yet,’ Tair lied, thinking of his refuelled plane and freshly charted flightplan.

‘Tell Molly I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a rain check. Bea had a bad night. They think it’s a good idea if she checks into the hospital.’ He glanced down at his watch again. ‘I’ve been banished while she packs a bag. She says I’m driving her mad fussing.’ Despite his joking tone the lines of strain around his mouth made it clear that Tariq was worried.

‘You should have said something!’ Tair exclaimed. ‘Is she—?’

‘It’s just a precaution,’ Tariq cut in quickly. ‘Her blood pressure is up a little and, well, the fact is she’s been doing too much. It’s my fault—I shouldn’t have left her alone.’

Tair thought it was a little late for the other man to realise this, but given his obvious agitation it seemed unnecessarily cruel to labour the point so he contented himself with an abrupt, ‘Your place is with your wife.’

‘So you’ll explain the situation to Molly?’

Could he not forget the woman even now? ‘I will make sure she understands.’

Tariq laid a hand on his arm. ‘Thanks, Tair, and try not to scare her. Poor Molly has the impression you can’t stand the sight of her.’

The girl was highly perceptive, Tair thought, while lifting his brows in an attitude of amazement.

‘I know, crazy,’ Tariq remarked with an indulgent smile that made Tair’s teeth grate, ‘but I think you make her nervous… I know you can be charming, Tair, and I’d be grateful if you’d make the effort for me. This is her first visit here and I want her to come back.’

Not if I have anything to say about it. ‘For you, yes, cousin, I will make the effort.’

‘Thanks for this, Tair.’

‘It is my pleasure.’ And if not his pleasure, it was certainly his duty to remove temptation from Tariq’s way.

The perfectly preserved glasshouses built in the Victorian era covered acres of ground and they contained not only historical and rare fruit and vegetable varieties, but a unique and priceless collection of orchids.

Tair was familiar with the glasshouses as when he was a boy visiting his cousins they had played there. It took him a short time to locate Molly, though he almost walked past her, only catching sight of the shiny top of her head at the last minute.

He backtracked and saw she was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, her attention divided between the sketch-book balanced on her knee and an orchid in full fragrant bloom. Its heady scent filled the air around them.

She was so intent on her task that she didn’t hear his approach and as she continued to remain unaware of his presence Tair had the opportunity to study her unobserved.

Her body was hidden once more behind another unattractive outfit—an oversized shirt and shapeless skirt that reached mid-calf. But his attention remained on her face. Like last night, she was not wearing the librarian glasses, but unlike last night he was close enough to appreciate the delicacy of her bone structure and the smooth creaminess of her skin. Still oblivious to his presence, she turned her head as she laid down the pencil in her hand to pick up another from the tin that lay open beside her and he was able to see that her face was a perfect oval.

Her delicate winged brows drew together in a frown of concentration as she turned her attention back to the drawing, her slim fingers flying over the paper.

When she finished the frown deepened into a grimace of dissatisfaction as she compared what was on the paper to the waxy petalled bloom she was studying.

‘Hopeless!’ she muttered in apparent disgust at her inability to do her subject justice.

‘A lack of talent can be frustrating.’

She started as though shot and turned her head jerkily, causing several strands of hair to break loose from the knot tied at the base of her slender neck. Their eyes connected and Tair was struck by two thoughts simultaneously. Her eyes were pure gold and she was looking at him as though he were, if not the devil himself, then certainly a very close relation. She appeared not to notice as the pencil slipped from her nerveless fingers and slid into the decorative grating of an air vent.

He raised one brow and she astonished him by blushing to the roots of her hair. Hair that turned out not to be boring mousy brown, but a subtle combination of shades ranging from soft gold to warm conker.

The knot on the nape of her neck appeared to be secured by a single barrette; presumably if it was removed her hair would spill like silk down her back.

Had Tariq done this?

He pushed the thought away, baring his teeth in a smile. Tariq wouldn’t be doing that or anything else that involved Miss Mouse any more.

Even before she turned Molly had known who was standing there. Tair Al Sharif’s voice had to be just about the most distinctive on the planet! He could have made the ingredients on a cereal packet sound like an indecent proposition. The velvet smoothness had an almost tactile quality that sent tiny secret shivers up and down her spine.

Even when he stopped speaking she could hear it in her head.

Molly kept her head down and got to her feet slowly to allow the heat in her cheeks time to dissipate.

Even when she was standing straight he remained a full foot, probably more, taller than her. Molly would have liked to believe it was simply the extra inches alone that made her feel at such a disadvantage. But even without looking directly at him she could feel the effect of the leashed power and blatantly sexual aura he radiated lying like a stone fist in her chest. It made her conscious of each breath she took.

He was dressed smart-casual, or in his case sexy-casual, in jeans, secured across his lean snaky hips with a leather belt, and a blue open-necked shirt.

Molly had never thought before that the words denim and disturbing could be in the same sentence as she glanced at the way the material clung to his long muscular thighs.

Last night Molly had tossed and turned in bed unable to get this man’s voice or face from her mind although she had tried to blame her inability to sleep on the second cup of coffee she’d had at dinner.

At about two a.m. she had decided that she had imagined the hypnotic quality of his searing blue eyes and the inexplicable hostility she saw in them when they were turned in her direction.

Now a caffeine-free zone, she had to admit she had been fooling herself.

Even after having adjusted her stare to a point over his shoulder she could feel his eyes on her. The sort of eyes that layers of skin and bone seemed a poor defence against—it felt as if he could see inside her skull.

When she was this close to him she felt as though every protective layer she had built up over the years had been peeled away. Chastising herself crossly at the whimsical illusion, she kept staring into the safety zone over his shoulder, deciding it was preferable to have him assume she was cross-eyed than maintain direct eye contact and do something stupid like trip over her own feet, drool or forget her name.

This is stupid—you look ridiculous, Molly thought. Look at the man—you can’t talk to the wall! Surely nothing should scare a person who had stood in at the last minute for an absent colleague and delivered a sex-education lecture to a hall of sixteen-year-old girls?

It had turned out the girls knew a lot more than she did!

‘You startled me,’ she said, brushing the dust off the seat of her skirt before tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I didn’t hear you.’ And if I had I would have run in the opposite direction.

It was still an option, she thought, staring at his shiny boots.

‘Sorry,’ he said, not looking it, but not actually sounding as openly antagonistic as he had the previous evening.

It was possible she’d been wrong about the hostility, not that he had the sort of face that was easy to read if he didn’t want you to. And right now it would seem he didn’t want her to.

Her gaze flickered across the hard contours and angles of his lean face and a sigh snagged in her throat. He might not be easy to read, but he was damned easy to look at! A lot more than easy!

Her glance dropped to his feet shod in leather boots and then, as though drawn by an invisible magnet, worked its way upwards, lingering over some areas more than others, until she reached his face. Everything about him was worth looking at.

She applied the tip of her tongue to the moisture that broke out along her upper lip and struggled to disguise the fact that her feet were nailed to the ground with lust.

No man had ever elicited this type of raw response from Molly in her life and she found it both utterly mortifying and deeply scary.

As he reached across to take the sketch-book from her she opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. With fingers clenched almost as tight as her teeth, she injected amusement into her voice as she held out her hand.

‘I doubt my scribbling will interest you, Mr al… Prince…’

His eyes lifted, meeting hers momentarily. He ignored the hand. ‘Or my opinion interest you?’

‘I’m holding my breath.’ Actually the entire breathing thing was currently something of a chore. She was twenty-four and had never been in a situation where sexual awareness caused her brain to malfunction before.

The acid sweetness of her retort caused his eyes to narrow before they dropped. Biting her lip, Molly watched in dismay as Tair Al Sharif, his dark head tilted a little to one side, continued to study the sketch.

So far he hadn’t been overly impressed by anything about her, so why, she asked herself dourly, should now be any different?

She stopped and blinked… Will you just listen to yourself, Molly? Have you any idea how pathetic and needy you sound?

She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and advised herself sternly to grow up. For goodness’ sake, he was not an art critic. Why should she give a damn what he thought?

She didn’t!

So why was she standing here shuffling her feet like a kid called to the headmaster’s study?

This was ridiculous. She was acting like some needy loser who wanted everyone to love her… Someone might be nice, but that someone was not going to bear any resemblance to Tair Al Sharif.

The internal dialogue came to an abrupt end as he lifted his raven head.

He was surprised that she actually did have the talent he accused her of lacking, a fact that was obvious even to his uneducated eye. The drawing leapt off the paper. It was detailed and delicate and if it did not meet with her approval the artist was an extremely harsh critic of her own skills.

He removed his eyes from the sketch-book and turned his attention to her, his dark gaze drifting over the outfit that was not what most women would have selected for a meeting with a lover, but clearly Tariq was able to see past the dowdy disguise. The thought of his smitten cousin brought a dark scowl of disapproval to his face and it was still in place when their eyes connected.

Molly went to push up the glasses on her nose only to discover they weren’t there. She experienced a moment of total panic, the sort she felt in nightmares.

She didn’t need his approval, she told herself sternly, and she didn’t need a safety blanket either. The glasses had been useful once, but she was no longer a precociously bright but gauche kid plunged into the university environment among people who were older.

Tair had seen the gesture. ‘You have mislaid your spectacles… Can you not see without them?’ It amused him that the teacher was looking at him as though she were a pupil expecting a reprimand from a headmaster.

She gave a shrug. ‘They’ll turn up.’

‘The picture is very good.’ He handed back the sketchbook, which she took and slowly closed.

A gratified smile lifted the corners of her sensual lips, and her eyes looked like polished amber as they shone with pleasure. The permanent groove above his hawklike nose deepened. Her reaction struck him as a wildly over-the-top response to what had been a grudging observation.

As if the same thought had suddenly occurred to her, the smile vanished and she lowered her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I CANNOT be the first person to tell you that you have…talent.’

The harsh emphasis Tair placed on the last word confused Molly. ‘It’s a hobby…it’s just for my own amusement.’

And did it amuse her to steal another woman’s husband? The muscles of his brown throat worked as he regarded her with distaste.

His rigid disapproving stance made her shift uncomfortably, and she dropped her gaze. Seeing her glasses lying on the floor, she bent to pick them up with a grunt of relief. Unfortunately Tair did too, his brown fingertips brushing the skin of her wrist as he reached them just before her.

The brief contact sent a surge of tingling sensation through her body. She stepped back, almost stumbled, then, breathing hard, she straightened up.

Tair watched as she nursed one hand against her chest, his eyes drawn to the visibly throbbing blue-veined pulse spot at the base of her throat.

The air was dense with a sexual tension you could have reached out and grabbed with both hands. It hung in the hot, humid air like a crackling field of electricity.

Tair viewed this unexpected development with as much objectivity as he was able—which wasn’t very much when he was seeing life through a hot hormonal haze.

It hadn’t been slow burn, it had just exploded out of nowhere and it still held him in its grip.

Tair’s jaw clenched as he struggled to reassert control; he was not a man who let his appetites rule him. Of course he had experienced his share of lustful moments but he’d never been drawn to anyone in such an elemental way before.

This personal insight into what this woman could do to a man ought to have made him feel sympathy for his cousin, but it was not empathy he felt when he thought of Tariq following up on the sort of impulse he had just resisted.

Resisted, even though he was free to follow his urges, unlike his cousin.

His hooded gaze slid to her mouth.

‘It’s just for my own amusement,’ she repeated hoarsely.

His own amusement was very much in Tair’s thoughts as his eyes stayed on the soft full outline of her lips. If he followed up on his impulses it would be because he chose to and not because he couldn’t help himself.

He had control.

So why had he been staring at her mouth for the last two minutes as if it were an oasis and he were a man who needed water?

Hands clenched at his sides, he removed his eyes from her lips. If he did kiss her it would be at a time and place of his choosing.

Pushing back strands of loose hair from her brow, Molly extended her hand towards him. ‘Thank you…’

As he looked at her fingertips Tair thought about them trailing over his damp bare skin. A spasm of irritation drew his lean features into a frown. His problem was that there had been too much work in his life recently and not enough sex.

His problem, he acknowledged, was her mouth.

To Molly’s utter dismay, instead of handing her the spectacles Tair held them up to his own eyes.

She watched his dark brows lift towards his hairline and thought how it was typical that the only person who had ever seen past her harmless charade had to be him.

‘Clear glass…?’

He struggled to hide his extreme distaste at his discovery. Presumably the clothes and unmade face were all part of the same illusion. The one that made other women dismiss her as no threat, but every man she came into contact with knew different.

He knew different.

Molly, feeling an irrational level of guilt as though she had been caught out in some shameful crime, shook her head mutely.

She was not about to explain that when arriving at university via an educational hothouse scheme for gifted children, aged sixteen and looking fourteen, she had come up with the inspired idea of looking older by adopting a pair of heavy spectacles. She realised now that they hadn’t made her look older but over the years they had become a safety blanket.

‘A fashion accessory.’

‘I think you should change your fashion guru.’

The suggestion drew a forced laugh from Molly. ‘Fashion isn’t really my thing.’

‘But wearing clothes two sizes too big is?’

He didn’t come right out and say that she looked like a dowdy bag lady, but that was clearly the message in his comment. The voltage of Molly’s smile went up and her muscles ached from the fixed and slightly inane grin her facial muscles had frozen into.

She was comfortable in her own skin, and if this man with his perfect face and better than perfect body couldn’t see past superficial things like make-up and clothes that was his problem. She only had a problem if she started caring what men she met casually thought about her.

It could be she had a problem.

She looked at his fingers holding her glasses. They were rather incredible; long, tapering and the lightest contact with them had sent her nervous system into meltdown. She was sure there was a perfectly logical explanation for what happened—a build-up of static electricity and a freakish set of circumstances that couldn’t be repeated if she tried.

But Molly wasn’t about to put her theory to the test. As far as Prince Tair was concerned she had a strict no-touch policy—her body was still shaken by intermittent aftershocks from his light touch. Anything more intimate and she might well end up hospitalised.

Just as well him getting more intimate with her was about as likely as snow in the desert.

With the fixed smile still painted in place, she reached out to carefully take her glasses from his fingers.

He gave a sardonic smile that Molly didn’t choose to respond to, her cheeks pink as she slid the spectacles onto her nose while expelling a shaky sigh of relief. Of course he knew he was gorgeous. Of course he knew women fainted away when he deigned to throw them a smile, but, God, she didn’t want to be one of them.

It was all so shallow and silly. It seemed a good moment to remind herself that she was neither.

‘I’m meeting Tariq,’ she explained, hoping he would take the hint and go away. There were only so many times a girl could make a fool of herself. ‘He should be here any minute now.’

‘I know.’

‘You do?’ Then why hadn’t he just said so straight off instead of giving her the opportunity to act like a total imbecile?

‘He asked me to deliver a message.’

She gave an encouraging nod. Dragging a sentence out of this man was like dragging blood from the proverbial stone.

‘He is not coming.’

Molly’s face fell. ‘Right, well…thank you.’ She urged him to go—her system couldn’t take all this undiluted testosterone.

‘Beatrice is not well.’

Molly’s mask fell away. ‘Beatrice…’ She pressed one hand to her mouth and, all hint of self-preservation gone, she caught his arm with the other. ‘What happened?’ she asked, her mind turning over the events of two days earlier when she had come across Beatrice sitting with her head between her knees recovering from a slight dizzy spell.

Molly’s first inclination had been to get help, but Bea had begged her not to, saying that Tariq was already wildly overprotective and he would worry himself silly over a moment of light-headedness.

She shouldn’t have let Bea dissuade her, she thought. She should have told Tariq.

Tair felt the fingers curled over his forearm tighten.

‘Apparently she had a…troubled night.’

‘Troubled? What do you mean troubled?’

Anyone who hadn’t seen Tariq come out of her room the previous night might have believed that wide-eyed concern. The mouse was clearly a very good actress, although earlier she had not been good enough to hide her response to his touch. The shocked expression in her widely dilated eyes had been a total give-away.

‘The doctor came this morning.’

‘Doctor…oh, God!’

Tair watched the rest of the colour leave her face. Her fainting on him hadn’t been any part of his plan.

‘And he advised she be transferred to hospital.’ Presumably her reaction had more to do with guilt than genuine concern, or if it was it was a very selective form of that sentiment.

‘Is she…is the baby…? She hasn’t gone into labour yet?’ She quickly reminded herself that lots of babies were born perfectly healthily at thirty-five weeks.

‘As far as I know it is just a precaution…?’ He deliberately injected a questioning note into his voice.

Molly let go of his arm and lifted a hand to her head. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against a tier of elaborately carved cast-iron shelves spilling with lush greenery. ‘This is my fault.’

Tair saw no reason to let her off the hook. If she was beginning to realise that her selfish actions had consequences it was long overdue, he thought grimly.

‘What makes you say that?’

She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes. ‘A few days ago Bea sort of fainted—well, she said not, but I think she did. She asked me not to say anything to Tariq… I knew I should have told him…’ She shook her head and gave a self-recriminatory grimace as she slapped the heel of her hand hard against her forehead. ‘If she’s ill, if anything happens to the baby, it’s my fault.’

She was either a brilliant actress—and no one was that brilliant—or this woman had a seriously skewed take on morality. How could she care about the wife and cheat with the husband?

‘Do you know what’s wrong? Is there something you’re hiding? Is Bea in danger?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not hiding anything. Tariq wasn’t that forthcoming.’

‘He must be frantic!’ If anything happened to Bea or the baby she knew he would be utterly devastated. Her half-brother’s obvious adoration of his wife had been one of the first things that had made her warm towards him.

‘I’m going out to the hospital so I could take you if you like? I’m sure you will be a great comfort to Tariq.’

Molly, deaf to the ironic inflection in his steely addition, turned to him with a beam of gratitude.

‘Really?’

‘I’m sure Beatrice would like to have such an old friend around.’

She smiled and reached out impulsively to touch his arm again as she said, ‘It really is kind of you.’ Then Molly saw he was looking at her hand and with a self-conscious grimace she let it fall away.

‘Not kind.’

The strange way he said it made her throw him a frowning look of enquiry, but his expression told her nothing.

‘Come.’

Molly responded to the command, falling into step beside him as he went through a door that linked the glasshouses with the main building. ‘I was thinking, perhaps I should ring the hospital? They must have left in a hurry. Maybe,’ she mused, quickening her pace to keep up with Tair’s longer stride, ‘there is something Bea would like me to bring for her…’

Molly knew if the positions were reversed she would like to have a few personal things around her to make her hospital room seem more homely.

‘There is no shortage of people to bring the princess what she needs.’

Molly gave a rueful grimace and felt foolish. ‘Of course there is. I just can’t get used to that.’

‘To what?’

‘The fact that there are people to tie her shoelaces if she wants.’ And Beatrice seemed so normal.

‘I forget that you knew Beatrice before she was married. Have you been friends long?’

Molly, never comfortable with the lie, shrugged and mumbled, ‘It feels like for ever.’ Which was true; her rapport with Beatrice had been instant. She doubted she could have felt closer if Bea had been one of her own sisters.

When they reached the courtyard a four-wheel drive was waiting there for them. Tair spoke to the man behind the wheel, who got out and, with a courteous nod in her direction, retreated.

‘I prefer to drive myself.’

Molly dragged her eyes from the vehicle to the man she was going to share it with and felt her stomach muscles tighten nervously. Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a brilliant idea.

‘Should I change?’ she asked, lifting a hand to her head. ‘I should probably tidy up and get something to cover my hair. Look, you don’t have to wait for me—you go. I’ll make my own way to the hospital.’

‘You look fine as you are.’

Tair slid into the driving seat but still Molly hung back. She recognised the reason for her reluctance and knew it was ridiculous, but the thought of being in an enclosed confine with this man and his sexual magnetism scared her witless.

Though wasn’t magnetism meant to work both ways? If so this must be something else because he wasn’t drawn in her direction, reluctantly or any other way!

He glanced across at her, with one dark brow elevated, looking more like a dark fallen angel than ever. ‘Are you coming?’

‘I was just…’ She stopped, her eyes sliding from his as she realised she could hardly tell him his aggressive masculinity made her feel raw and uncomfortably vulnerable.

A spasm of irritation crossed his dark features as she continued to hesitate. ‘Do you want this lift or not?’

Molly told herself to calm down. This was just a lift; she wasn’t signing away her life. All she had to do for Tariq and Bea was to survive for twenty minutes in this man’s company.

‘Well, if it’s no bother.’

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