DEAR READER LETTER

By Sharon Kendrick

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Sharon xxx

He flung his shirt onto the desert scrub

“Now name your next command.”

“Take it off,” she instructed, enjoying the heady sensation of having such power over this man. This man.

“What?”

“Everything.”

He made his undressing as slow and as deliberate as he could, and Rose was shocked, startled and unbearably aroused. He read the expression in her eyes as the jodhpurs joined the shirt. “You worry that I am too much of a man for you?”

She laughed in soft delight at the arrogant boast. Maybe you worry that I am too much of a woman for you!”

He took one breathless look at her, before coming to lie on top of her.

Rose’s head fell back. “Oh! Khalim!”

“You want me to stop?” he suggested teasingly.

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

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

Surrender to the Sheikh

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the debonair Tom Roberts,

the world’s leading authority on Maraban,

and without whom this book would never have been written!

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was something about a wedding. Something magical which made everyday cynicism evaporate into thin air. Rose twisted the stem of her champagne glass thoughtfully as they waited for the best man to begin speaking.

She’d noticed it in the church, where even the most hardened pessimists in the congregation had been busy dabbing away at the corners of their eyes—well, the women, certainly. Women who would normally congregate in wine bars, denouncing the entire male sex as unthinking and uncaring, had been sitting through the entire service with wistful smiles softening their faces beneath the wide-brimmed hats.

Why Rose had even shed a tear herself, and she was not a woman given to a public display of emotion!

‘In my country,’ announced the best man, and his jet-black eyes glittered like ebony as they fixed themselves on the bride and groom, ‘we always begin the wedding feast with a toast. That their mutual joy shall never be diminished. And so I ask you to raise your glasses and drink to Sabrina and Guy.’

‘Sabrina and Guy,’ echoed the glittering crowd, and obediently raised their glasses.

Not for the first time, Rose found herself surveying the best man over the top of her glass, along with just about every other female in the room, but then it was hard not to.

He was certainly spectacular—and spectacular in the true sense of the word. But, there again, not many men were fortunate enough to have a real live prince acting as their steward!

His name was Prince Khalim, as Sabrina had informed her excitedly when she’d begun to plan the wedding. A real-life prince with a real-life country of his own—the beautiful Maraban—over which he would one day rule, as his forebears had ruled for centuries. He was an old schoolfriend of Guy’s, Sabrina had shyly confided to Rose—the two men being as close as two men who’d known each other since childhood could be.

Rose had been expecting the prince to be short and squat and rather ugly—but, for once, her expectations had been way off mark. Because Prince Khalim was quite the most perfect man she had ever set eyes on.

He was tall—though perhaps not quite as tall as the groom—and he wore the most amazing clothes that Rose had ever seen. Exotic clothes in sensual fabrics. An exquisite silken tunic coloured in a soft and creamy gold, with loose trousers worn beneath.

Such an outfit could, Rose reasoned, have made some men look as though they were on their way to a fancy-dress party—maybe even a little bit feminine. But the silk whispered tantalisingly against his flesh, and there was no disguising the lean, hard contours of the body which lay beneath. A body which seemed to exude a raw and vibrant masculinity from every pore.

Rose swallowed, the champagne tasting suddenly bitter in her throat. And then swallowed again as those onyx eyes were levelled in her direction and then narrowed, so that only a night-dark gleam could be seen through the thick, black lashes.

And with a slow and predatory smile, he began to move.

He’s coming over, Rose thought, her hands beginning to shake with unfamiliar nerves. He’s coming over here!

The gloriously dressed women and the morning-suited men parted like waves before him as he made an unhurried approach across the ballroom of the Granchester Hotel, his regal bearing evident with every fluid step that he took. There was a dangerous imperiousness about him which made him the focal point of every eye in the ballroom.

Rose felt her throat constrict with a sudden sense of fear coupled with an even more debilitating desire, and for one mad moment she was tempted to turn around and run from the room. An escape to the powder room! But her legs didn’t feel strong enough to carry her, and what would she be running from? she wondered ruefully. Or whom?

And then there was time to think of nothing more, because he had come to a halt in front of her and stood looking down at her, his proud, dark face concealing every emotion other than the one he made no attempt whatsoever to conceal.

Attraction.

Sexual attraction, Rose reminded herself, with a fast-beating heart.

It seemed to emanate from him in almost tangible waves of dark, erotic heat. He wanted to take her to his bed, she recognised faintly, the cruel curve of his mouth and the glint in his black eyes telling her so in no uncertain terms.

‘So,’ he said softly, in a rich, deep voice. ‘Are you aware that you are quite the most beautiful woman at the wedding?’

He sounded so English and it made such an unexpected contrast to those dark, exotic looks, thought Rose. She forced herself to remain steady beneath the dark fire of his stare and shook her head. ‘I disagree,’ she answered coolly—unbelievably coolly, considering that her heart was racing like a speed-train. ‘Don’t you know that the bride is always the most beautiful woman at any wedding?’

He turned his head slightly to look at Sabrina in all her wedding finery, so that Rose was given an unrestricted view of the magnificent jut of his jaw and the aquiline curve of his nose.

The voice softened unexpectedly. ‘Sabrina?’ he murmured. ‘Yes, she is very beautiful.’

And Rose was unprepared for the sudden vicious wave of jealousy which washed over her. Jealous of Sabrina? One of her very best friends? She sucked in a shocked breath.

He turned his head again and once again Rose was caught full-on in the ebony blaze from his eyes. ‘But then so are you—very, very beautiful.’ The mouth quirked very slightly as he registered her unsmiling reaction. ‘What is the matter? Do you not like compliments?’

‘Not from people I barely know!’ Rose heard herself saying, with uncharacteristic abruptness.

Only the merest elevation of a jet eyebrow which matched the thick abundance of his black hair gave any indication that he considered her reply offhand. It was clear that people did not speak to him in this way, as a rule.

He gave an almost regretful smile. ‘Then you should not dress so fetchingly, should you? You should have covered yourself in something which concealed you from head to foot,’ he told her softly, jet eyes moving slowly from the top of her head to the tip of her pink-painted toenails. ‘It is all your own fault.’

Even more uncharacteristically, Rose felt colour begin to seep heatedly into her cheeks. She rarely blushed! In her job she dealt with high-powered strangers every single day of her working life, and none of them had had the power to have her standing like this. Like some starstruck adolescent.

‘Isn’t it?’ he prompted, on a sultry murmur.

Rose blinked. She had dressed up, yes—but it was a wedding, wasn’t it? And every single other woman in the room had gone to town today, just as she had.

A floaty little slip-dress made of sapphire silk-chiffon. The same colour as her eyes, or so the cooing sales assistant had told her. And flirty little sandals with tiny kitten heels. She’d bought those in a stinging pink colour, deliberately not matching her dress. But then matching accessories were so passé—even the saleswoman had agreed with that. No hat. She hated confining her thick blonde hair beneath a hat—particularly on a day as hot as this one. Instead, she had ordered a dewy and flamboyant orchid from the nearby florists, in a paler-colour version of the shoes she wore. She’d pinned it into her hair, but she suspected that very soon it would start wilting.

Just as she would, if this exotic man continued to subject her to such a calculating, yet lazy look of appraisal.

She decided to put a stop to it right then and there, extending her hand and giving him a friendly-but-slightly-distant smile. ‘Rose Thomas,’ she said.

He took the hand in his and then looked down at it, and Rose found her eyes hypnotically drawn in the same direction, shocked by her reaction to what she saw. Her skin looked so very white against the dark olive of his and there seemed to be something compellingly erotic about such a distinctive contrast of flesh.

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight onto it, and as she drew her indignant gaze upwards it was to find the black eyes fixed on her mockingly.

‘And do you know who I am, Rose Thomas?’ he questioned silkily.

It was a moment of truth. She could feign ignorance, it was true. But wouldn’t a man like this have been up against pretence and insincerity for most of his life?

‘Of course I know who you are!’ she told him crisply. ‘This is the only wedding I’ve ever been to where a real-life prince has been acting as best man—and I imagine it’s the same for most of the other people here, too!’

He smiled, and as she saw the slight relaxation of his body Rose took the opportunity to remove her hand from his.

Khalim felt the stealthy beat of desire as she resisted him. ‘What’s the matter?’ He gave her an expression of mock-reproach. ‘Don’t you like me touching you, Rose Thomas?’

‘Do you normally go around touching women you’ve only just met?’ she demanded incredulously. ‘Is that a favour which your title confers on you?’

The beat increased as he acknowledged her fire. Resistance was so rarely put in the way of his wishes that it had the effect of increasing them tenfold. He saw the clear blue brilliance of her eyes. No, a hundredfold, he thought and felt his throat thicken.

He gave a shrug. A little-boy look—the black eyes briefly appealing. It was a look that had always worked very well at his English boarding-school, especially with women. ‘You took my hand,’ he protested. ‘You know you did!’

Rose forced a laugh. This was ridiculous! They were sparring over nothing more than a handshake! And Khalim was Guy’s friend. Sabrina’s friend. She owed it to them to show him a little more courtesy than this. ‘Sorry.’ She smiled. ‘I’m a little overwrought.’

‘Is it a man?’ he shot out, and before she had time to think about the implications she shook her head.

‘What an extraordinary conclusion to jump to!’ she protested, but the admonishment made no difference.

‘What, then?’ he persisted.

‘Work, actually,’ she said.

‘Work?’ he demanded, as though she had just said a foreign word.

But then maybe to him it was a foreign word. A man like Prince Khalim had probably never had to lift his hand in work. ‘Just a busy week.’ She shrugged. ‘A busy month—a busy year!’ She sipped the last of her champagne and gave him a look of question. ‘I’m getting myself another one of these—how about you?’

Khalim sucked in a breath of disapproval. How he hated the liberated way of women sometimes! It was not a woman’s place to offer a man drinks, and he very nearly told her so, but the fire in her eyes told him that she would simply stalk off if he dared to. And he wanted her far too much to risk that…

‘I rarely drink,’ he said coolly.

‘Good heavens!’ said Rose flippantly. ‘How does your body get hydrated, then? By intravenous infusion?’

The black eyes narrowed. People didn’t make fun of him. Women never teased him unless invited to, by him. And never outside the setting of the bedroom. For a moment, he considered stalking away from her. But only for a moment. The bright lure of her flaxen hair made him waver as he imagined unpicking it, having it tumble down over his chest—its contrast as marked as when he had pressed his fingers against her soft white skin, just minutes ago.

‘Alcohol,’ he elaborated tersely.

‘Well, I’m sure they run to a few soft drinks,’ said Rose. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to, anyway. It was nice talking to you, Pr—’

‘No!’ He caught hold of her wrist, enjoying the purely instinctive dilating of her blue eyes in response to his action, the way her lips fell open into an inviting little ‘O’. He imagined the sweet pleasures a mouth like that could work on a man, and had to suppress a shudder of desire. ‘Not Prince anything,’ he corrected softly. ‘I am Khalim. To you.’

She opened her mouth to say something sarcastic, like, Am I supposed to be flattered?—but the ridiculous thing was that she was flattered. Absurdly flattered to be told to use his first name. She told herself not to be so stupid, but it didn’t seem to work.

‘Let me go,’ she said breathlessly, but she thrilled at the touch of his skin once more.

‘Very well.’ He smiled, but this time it was the smile of a man who knew that he had the ability to enslave a woman. ‘But only if you agree to come and find me once the music starts, and then we shall dance.’

‘Sorry. I never run after a man.’

He could feel the rapid thundering of her pulse beneath his fingertips. ‘So you won’t?’

The silky voice was nearly as mesmeric as the silky question. ‘You’ll have to come and find me!’ she told him recklessly.

He let her go, taking care to conceal his giddy sense of elation. ‘Oh, I will,’ he said quietly. ‘Be very sure of that.’ And he watched her go, an idea forming in his mind.

He would make her wait. Make her think that he had changed his mind about dancing. For he knew enough of women to know that his supposed indifference would fan the desire she undoubtedly felt for him. He would tease her with it. Play with her. He knew only too well that anticipation increased the appetite, and thus satisfied the hunger all the more. And Rose Thomas would sigh with thankful pleasure in his arms afterwards.

On still-shaking legs, Rose headed for the bar, hoping that the bewilderment she felt did not show on her face. She did not fall for men like Khalim. She liked subtle, sophisticated and complex men. And while she recognised that he had a keen intelligence—there was also something fundamentally dangerous about this black-eyed stranger in his exotic robes.

Inside, she was jelly. Jelly. Her hands were trembling by the time she reached the corner of the ballroom where a white-jacketed man tended an assortment of cocktails and champagne.

She could see Sabrina at the far end of the room, a vision in white as she giggled with one of her bridesmaids—Guy’s youngest niece.

‘Champagne, madam?’ smiled the bartender. ‘Or a Sea Breeze, perhaps?’

Rose opened her mouth to agree to the former, but changed her mind at the last minute. Because something told her she would need her all her wits about her. And alcohol might just weaken an already weakened guard.

‘Just a fizzy water, please,’ she said softly.

‘Too much of a good thing?’ came a voice of dry amusement, and she looked up to find Guy Masters smiling down at her.

Rose liked Sabrina’s new husband enormously. He was outrageously handsome, outrageously rich and he loved Sabrina with an intensity which made Rose wistful, and determined that she would never settle for second-best.

Rose had met Sabrina when she had gone in search of a rare book, and Sabrina had helpfully scoured all the index-files until Rose had found what she’d been looking for. It had been the day after Sabrina had become engaged to Guy, and she had excitedly shown off her ring to Rose—a plain and simple but utterly magnificent diamond.

Sabrina hadn’t really known anyone in London, other than Guy’s friends, and the two women had been of similar age and similar interests.

‘Or are you driving?’ questioned Guy, still looking at her glass of mineral water.

‘Er, no,’ she said, in a faint voice. ‘I just want to keep a clear head about me.’

‘Quite wise,’ remarked Guy, and he lowered his voice by a fraction. ‘Since my old friend Khalim seems to have set his sights on you.’

‘He…he does?’ And then thought how obscenely starstruck that sounded. She cleared her throat and fixed a smile onto her lips. ‘Not really. We just had a chat, that’s all.’

‘A chat?’ asked Guy, now sounding even more amused. ‘Khalim exchanging small talk? Now, that’ll be a first!’

‘Wonderful wedding!’ said Rose valiantly, with an urgent need to change the subject. ‘Sabrina looks absolutely stunning.

At the mention of his new wife’s name, Guy’s face softened into a look of tenderness, the intentions of his schoolfriend instantly forgotten. ‘Doesn’t she?’ he asked indulgently, and then a slight note of impatience entered his voice. ‘Between you and me, I just wish we could forget the damned dancing and just leave!’

Rose smiled. ‘And deny your wife her wedding day! I think you can wait a little longer, don’t you, Guy? After all, you’ve been living together for well over a year now!’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Guy. ‘But this is the first time it will have been, well, legal…’ He looked down into Rose’s face. ‘Why, you’re blushing!’ he observed incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, Rose—I certainly didn’t mean to embarrass you—’

‘No, you weren’t. Honestly,’ Rose assured him hastily. She wasn’t going to point out that it was a pair of glittering jet eyes being lanced provocatively in her direction which had the heat singing remorselessly in her veins. In a way, she wished that maybe Guy and Sabrina would leave. And then she could leave, too. And she wouldn’t have to dance with Khalim and put herself in what was clearly becoming apparent would be a very vulnerable position indeed.

You don’t have to dance with him, she reminded herself sternly. It wasn’t a royal command. Well, of course it was, she realised with a slight edge of disbelief. But even if it was, she was not one of Khalim’s subjects and London was not part of his kingdom! She could just give him a small, tight smile and tell him that she wasn’t really in the mood for dancing.

Couldn’t she?

But in the event she didn’t have to. Because Khalim came nowhere near her. She found herself observing him obsessively, while doing her level best not to appear to be doing so.

He stood out from the crowd of fabulously dressed guests, and not by virtue of his own glorious and unconventional attire. No, it went much deeper than that. Rose had never met anyone of royal blood before, and of course she had heard the expression of regal bearing—but up until now she realised that she hadn’t really known what it had meant.

There was some innate grace about the way he carried himself. Some fundamental and rare elegance in the way he moved. She had never seen anything like it. People noiselessly slipped from his path. Women stared at him with looks of undisguised and rapacious hunger on their faces.

Did he notice? Rose wondered. His proud, handsome face did not seem to register any emotion at all. But maybe he was used to it. Why, he had only had to lay his hand autocratically on her wrist to have her virtually melting at his feet.

The meal was served and Rose found herself seated with a banker on one side of her, and an oceanographer on the other. Both men seemed amusing and intelligent and the oceanographer was handsome in the rugged kind of way which denoted a healthy, outdoor lifestyle. He flirted outrageously with Rose, and even an hour ago she might have been receptive enough to respond.

But the only man who burnt a searing image on her subconscious sat at the top table, picking at his food with the kind of indifference which suggested that conventional hunger was not uppermost in his mind.

At that moment, Khalim looked up and glittered a black look in her direction—a look which sent a shiver tiptoeing down her spine. Quickly, she put her fork down and pushed the plate away.

‘So what do you do, Rose?’ asked the oceanographer.

She turned to look at him with a smile. ‘I’m a head-hunter.’

‘Really?’ He grinned. ‘I guess you earn lots of money, then!’

Which was what people always said! ‘I wish I did!’

The waitress leaned over, a look of concern on her face. ‘Is everything all right with the salmon, miss?’

Rose nodded, looking guiltily at the untouched plate. ‘It’s fine! I’m just not very hungry, that’s all!’

The waitress had the kind of build which suggested that no plate of hers was ever returned unless completely clean. ‘Someone in the kitchen just said that we shouldn’t bother offering the top table any pudding—so much food has come back from there as well! Maybe you should be sitting with them!’ she joked.

‘Maybe!’ laughed Rose politely, half of her thankful that she was nowhere near Khalim, while the other part of her wished desperately to be within his exciting and yet dangerous proximity. She risked another look, seeing how the diamond lights of the chandeliers emphasised the creamy-gold silk of the robes he wore and the raven gleam of his black hair.

Valiantly she forced a few raspberries down her throat, but even the plump and succulent fruit failed to tempt her. And then at last it was time for the cutting of the cake, and the speeches.

Rose could barely take in a word of the best man’s speech—she was so mesmerised by his dark, proud face. Her eyes feasted on his features—the hard, bright eyes and the stern expression which made her feel she’d won the lottery when it softened into affection. His mouth was a contrast of lush, sensual curves, but the upper lip had a hard, almost cruel streak. She shivered. Be warned, she thought.

Guy’s speech had every woman in the room all misty-eyed with emotion as he gazed down in open adoration at Sabrina and spoke of his love for her.

And then the band struck up and people drifted onto the dance-floor and Rose’s heart was in her mouth as she remembered Khalim’s intention to dance with her.

But he did not come near her, just returned to his seat and sat there imperiously, his gaze drifting over her from time to time, the black eyes luminous with sensual promise.

Rose allowed herself to dance with whoever asked her, but her heart wasn’t in it. She moved mechanically as the oceanographer took her in his arms, stiffening with rejection when he tried to pull her a little closer.

She sat down and was just beginning to seriously hope that Guy and Sabrina would depart for their honeymoon, so that she could leave as well, when Khalim appeared in front of her, the black eyes narrowed in mocking question.

‘So,’ he said softly. ‘I have taken you at your word and come to find you.’ The black eyes glittered. ‘Though you made yourself very easy to find, Rose—you sweet, blushing flower. Now—’ his voice dipped in sultry question ‘—shall we dance?’

Her cheeks were stinging at the implication that she had just been sitting there, waiting for him—but then, hadn’t she?

‘Is that supposed to be an invitation I can’t resist?’ she shot back at him.

A smile hovered at the edges of his mouth. ‘No, Rose,’ he purred. ‘It is a royal command.’

She opened her mouth to object, but by then it was too late, because he had taken her hand with arrogant assurance and was leading her onto the dance-floor.

‘Come,’ he said quietly.

She moved into his arms as though her whole life had been a dress rehearsal for that moment. He placed his hands at the slim indentation of her waist, and Rose’s fingers drifted with a kind of irresistible inevitability to his shoulders. She breathed in the faint scent of sandalwood about him, its soft muskiness invading her senses with its sweet perfume.

Rose considered herself a modern, independent woman, but a minute in Khalim’s embrace was enough to transform her into a woman who felt as helpless as a kitten.

Khalim felt the slow unfurling of desire as he moved his hands down to rest on the slender swell of her hips. ‘You dance beautifully, Rose,’ he murmured.

‘S-so do you,’ she managed breathlessly, gloriously aware of the hard, lean body which moved with such innate grace beneath the silken robes. ‘L-lovely wedding, wasn’t it?’ she commented, and said a silent prayer that her sanity would return. And soon!

He didn’t reply for a moment. ‘All women like weddings,’ he mused eventually.

She thought she heard deliberate provocation and lifted her head to stare him straight in the eyes, the bright sapphire of her gaze clashing irrevocably with glittering jet. ‘Meaning that men don’t, I suppose?’

He raised a mocking brow and thought how bright her hair, and how white her soft skin, against which the soft curves of her lips were a deep, rich pink. Like the roses which bloomed in the gardens of his father’s palace and scented the night air with their perfume. His pulse quickened. ‘Do you always jump to conclusions, I wonder?’

‘But you meant me to,’ she parried. ‘It was a remark designed to inflame, wasn’t it?’

He shook his head, his desire increased by her feisty opposition. ‘It was simply an observation,’ he demurred. ‘Nota…how-do-you-say?’ He frowned, as if in deep concentration. ‘Ah, yes—a sexist comment!’

Rose leaned away from him a little, and felt the almost imperceptible tightening of his hands on her hips, as though he couldn’t bear to let her go. ‘You can’t pretend to be stumbling over the language with me, Khalim!’ she said crisply, trying to ignore the thundering of her heart beneath her breast, ‘when I happen to know that you went to school in England and are as fluent as I am!’

She was very fiery, he thought with a sudden longing. ‘And what else do you know about me, Rose Thomas?’ he mused.

Briefly she considered affecting total ignorance. This was a man with an ego, that was for sure! Yet how often did people speak their minds to a man with his power and his presence?

‘I know that you are the heir to a mountain kingdom—’

‘Maraban,’ he elaborated softly, and his voice deepened with affectionate pride.

Something imprecise shimmered over her skin at the way he said that single word and a sense of hazy recognition made her shiver. ‘Maraban,’ she repeated wonderingly, until she realised that she was in danger of sounding starstruck again.

‘What else?’ he prompted, intrigued by that dreamy look which had softened her features when she had said the name of the land of his birth. And then his mouth hardened. Maraban was an oil-rich country—and didn’t fabulous wealth always produce enthusiasm in the greedy hearts of most Westerners?

She wondered what had caused the fleetingly judgemental look which had hardened his face into a stern mask. She snapped out of her reverie to deliver a few home truths.

‘I’ve heard that you have something of a reputation where women are concerned,’ she told him crisply.

‘A reputation?’ It sounded too close to unaccustomed criticism for Khalim not to experience a sudden flicker of irritation. ‘Do elaborate, Rose.’

‘Do I need to? You like women, don’t you?’

His smile grew cynical. ‘And is it wrong to enjoy the many pleasures which the opposite sex can offer?’

His words were accompanied by the splaying of his fingers over her back, and Rose found herself wondering what it would be like if her skin were bare. And his…She swallowed. ‘You make women sound like an amusement arcade!’

He smiled. ‘It is an interesting analogy,’ he remarked, and resisted the urge to move his fingertips to lie just below the jut of her breasts. He wanted her, and he never had to try very hard, not where women were concerned. There had only ever been one woman who had turned him down, and that had been Sabrina.

He moved his head slightly as the bride and groom passed by, and saw Sabrina gazing up into the face of her new husband. Khalim had instantly forgiven and understood her rejection, because she had been in love with his best friend.

Resisting the urge to explore Rose’s breasts, he kept his hands right where they were. For while his seduction of Rose Thomas was a certainty, he suspected that he would have to take things slowly…

‘So,’ he said huskily. ‘You are at an advantage, are you not? Since you know something of me, while I know nothing of you, Rose—other than the fact that you are the most beautiful woman in the room.’

‘So you said earlier,’ answered Rose sweetly, pleased to see the fleeting look of irritation which hardened the dark face. She teased him a little more—just for the hell of it. ‘I can’t see why women fall for your charms if you keep coming out with the same old compliment!’

‘Oh, can’t you?’ he questioned silkily, and with a fluid movement of grace caught her closer still, so that their bodies melded together with shocking intimacy. He noted with satisfaction the instant darkening of her eyes, the two high spots of colour to her cheeks. Through the thin layers of silk which covered him, and her, he could feel the tiny tight buds of her breasts as they flowered against his chest and he felt another sharp pull of desire.

‘D-don’t,’ protested Rose weakly, shaken by a sweet flood of need, stronger and more powerful than anything she had ever experienced before.

Triumphantly, Khalim felt her tremble against him and pressed his lips close to where the bright, flaxen hair gleamed against her ear. ‘Don’t what?’ he whispered.

‘Don’t.’ But her voice shook so that the word was unrecognisable and she had to try again. ‘Don’t stand so close to me.’

With the instinctive mastery of the conqueror, he did exactly as she asked, moving a little away from her, and he heard her unmistakable little of gasp of protest. ‘Is that better?’ he questioned silkily.

Better? Rose felt as bereft as if someone had just shorn off her long hair and left her neck bare and cold. She found herself wanting to beg him to pull her back into that warm, enticing circle, until common sense began to reassert itself. She was not the kind of woman to beg a man to do anything. ‘Much better,’ she agreed levelly.

He didn’t believe her for a moment. Khalim smiled, acknowledging what he knew to be a universal truth—that the chase was often the most exciting part of the conquest. ‘So why don’t you tell me something about yourself?’ he murmured.

She turned her face upwards, her eyes sparking a challenge. ‘What would you like to know?’

‘Everything. Absolutely everything.’

Rose’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘You’ll have to be a little more specific than that, I’m afraid!’

He wondered what she would say if he told her the only thing he really wanted to know was what her naked body would look like. Stretched out in rapturous abandon on the slippery-soft sheets of his enormous bed. ‘So tell me what you do,’ he murmured.

‘You mean, work-wise?’

He nodded, thinking that she had no need at all to work. She could easily be a rich man’s mistress, he thought. His. Why had he never met her before? ‘Or shall I guess what kind of work you do, Rose?’

‘You can try!’

‘Simple. A model?’ he mused.

‘I’m not tall enough,’ she objected, hating herself for the warm glow which his compliment produced. ‘Or thin enough.’

Irresistibly, his eyes were drawn to the luscious swell of breast and hip. ‘You are perfect,’ he said huskily. ‘Quite perfect.’

Within the circle of his arms, Rose shivered. She wasn’t used to men saying things like that, and certainly not within minutes of meeting her! Mostly, she mixed with lofty intellectuals who might occasionally pay her a clever-clever compliment. Not men who made no attempt to hide a primitive and compelling kind of desire. ‘That’s outrageous flattery!’ she protested.

‘Flattery, yes. Outrageous, no!’ He turned her round in time with the music, admiring her natural and subtle grace.

He really was the most wonderful dancer, thought Rose. She rarely danced properly like this—and never with a prince! It was heavenly to glide around the dance-floor in the arms of a man. Instead of everyone jigging about doing their own thing and usually managing to connect with her on the way!

He was staring down at her in a thoughtful way, and she immediately wiped the look of dreamy bliss off her face. ‘So you’ve given up, have you? You’re not very good at guessing, are you?’ she challenged.

‘Maybe not, but there are many things I am extremely good at, Rose,’ he boasted silkily, and chose just that moment to move a silken thigh between hers, immediately losing himself in an erotic dream of making love to her.

In time with the sexual boast, Rose felt the pressure of his leg, and the unmistakable iron of the steely muscle which lay beneath the delicate fabric. An unfamiliar hunger shot through her as she felt her heart-rate soar and something deep inside her began to slowly dissolve. She had to stop this. Now.

‘I’m a head-hunter,’ she said quickly.

Khalim’s dream was shattered by her words. ‘Head-hunter?’ he questioned, and frowned, his mind firing up with savage imagery.

‘Yes, you know—I find people for jobs!’

‘I know what a head-hunter is! And you are successful in your line of work?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Then, you must be a very intuitive woman, Rose.’ The tip of his finger rippled slowly over the curve of her waist and he felt her shiver in response. ‘Ve-ry intuitive.’

Warning bells began ringing in her mind. ‘I-I think I’ve had enough dancing,’ she said breathlessly, feeling ridiculously disappointed when he took her at her word and let her go.

‘I agree.’ The tug of desire had become persistent and uncomfortable. It made him want to take her. To…Khalim found himself having to fight for the rigid self-control which had been a fundamental part of his upbringing. And it was many years since he had had to fight for anything. He took a step backwards, steadying his suddenly shallow breathing.

Missing the feel of silk and the scent of sandalwood, Rose placed her hands over her flushed cheeks and could feel pulses fluttering absolutely everywhere. And it was only then she noticed that the floor was completely empty and that everyone was standing watching them.

‘Oh, my God!’ she moaned. ‘Look!’

‘It seems that we have inadvertently been providing the floor show,’ said Khalim, in some amusement, as he followed the direction of her gaze.

Rose’s distress grew even more intense, especially as Guy had chosen that moment to approach them and had clearly overheard Khalim’s remark.

‘A very erotic floor show,’ he teased.

Rose suppressed a groan. They had been acting like a couple of irresponsible teenagers!

‘We were simply dancing.’ Khalim shrugged, his black eyes sending out a conspiratorial gleam to Rose.

‘Is that what you call it?’ joked Guy. ‘Anyway, Sabrina and I are planning to leave now.’ His grey eyes crinkled as he looked at his best man. ‘And thanks for the honeymoon, Khalim.’

Silken shoulders were raised in a careless shrug. ‘It is nothing other than my pleasure to give,’ he drawled.

‘Sabrina told me the destination was a secret,’ said Rose.

The two men exchanged glances.

‘And so it is. Traditionally, a secret shared between the groom and best man. But do not fear, I will tell you later, beautiful Rose,’ promised Khalim softly.

‘Later?’ she asked, with a quick glance at her wrist-watch. Who had said anything about later?

‘But of course. You and I are going for a drink together afterwards.’

Guy smiled. ‘Are you?’

Rose saw the black eyes being levelled at her consideringly, saw the arrogant expectation that she would simply fall in with his regal wishes! And who really could blame him, after her shameless display on the dance-floor?

‘But you told me you rarely drink, Khalim,’ she reminded him innocently. ‘So wouldn’t that be an awful waste of your time?’

He opened his mouth to object, and then shut it again. Somewhere deep in his groin, Khalim felt a pulse begin to beat with slow insistence. He felt the sweet, sharp tang of desire and yet he instantly recognised her determination to oppose him. It flashed in sapphire sparks from her beautiful blue eyes. No matter what he said, Rose Thomas was not planning on going anywhere with him tonight. ‘You don’t want to?’

The note of incredulity in his voice was unmistakable, and Rose was very tempted to smile. But something in the cold glitter of his gaze made her decide that smiling maybe wasn’t the best idea. ‘It’s been a long day,’ she told him apologetically. ‘And I’m bushed! Some other time, perhaps?’

Khalim’s face grew distant; indeed, he barely noticed Guy slipping away to find Sabrina. ‘I never issue an invitation more than once,’ he told her coldly.

Rose was aware of a lurching sense of regret. You’ve missed your chance, girl, she thought—even while the sane part of her rejoiced. This man was different, she recognised. Different and dangerous. He had the power to make her vulnerable, and he was the last person she wanted to be vulnerable around. Why, a man like that would chew her up and spit her out in little pieces!

‘What a pity,’ she said lightly.

His black eyes lingered on the lushness of her lips, the creaminess of her skin. ‘A pity indeed,’ he agreed, briefly bowing his dark head before sweeping away from her across the ballroom.

And she watched him go with a thundering heart.

‘They’re leaving!’ called someone, and Rose looked across the room to see that Sabrina had changed out of her bridal gown into a silvery-blue suit and was carrying her bouquet, Guy in an impressive dark suit at her side.

Everyone began to surge out of the ballroom to wave them off, but Rose hung back. She could see Khalim talking to Guy and she found herself unwilling to face him, aware of a dull sense of an opportunity lost, an opportunity never to be repeated.

She saw Sabrina turn and teasingly hold her bouquet of lilies above her head while every female present lifted their arms in hope of catching it. Even Rose eagerly raised her arms to catch the waxy blooms as they came flying in her direction, but the redhead beside her was more eager still.

‘Gotcha!’ she shouted as she leapt into the air and pounced triumphantly on the bouquet.

It’s only a tradition, Rose told herself dully as she watched the girl ecstatically smelling the flowers. Why would catching a bunch of flowers guarantee that you would be the next to be married? And it wasn’t as if she even wanted to get married, was it? These days lots and lots of women in their late twenties were electing to stay single.

But when she looked up again, it was to find herself caught in the lancing gaze of a pair of glittering black eyes.

I have to get out of here, she thought, with a sudden sense of panic.

CHAPTER TWO

IN A daze, Rose left the Granchester and found herself a taxi, but afterwards she couldn’t recollect a single moment of the journey. Not until the cab drew up outside the flat she shared in Notting Hill did reality begin to seep back into her consciousness as she tried to rid herself of the memory of the dark prince, with his proud, sensual face.

She let herself in through the front door and put her handbag on the hall table, relieved to be home. And safe.

She loved her flat—it was her very first property and occupied the first floor of a grand old high-ceilinged house. But it was an ambitious project for a first-time buyer and the repayments on her loan were high, which was why she had taken on a flatmate—Lara.

Lara was a struggling actress who described herself as Rose’s lodger, but Rose never did. Equality was something she strove for in every area of her life. ‘No, we’re flatmates,’ she always insisted.

It was a typical bachelor girls’ home—full of colour in the shared areas and rather a lot of chaos in Lara’s bedroom—because, much as she nagged, there didn’t seem to be anything Rose could do to change Lara’s chronic untidiness. So now she had given up trying.

There were brightly coloured scarves floating from a coat-stand in the hall, and vases of cheap flowers from the market dotted around the sitting room. And the bathroom was so well stocked with various lotions and potions that it resembled the cosmetics counter of a large department store!

‘Anyone at home?’ she called.

‘I’m in the kitchen!’ came the muffled reply, and Rose walked into the kitchen to find Lara busy crunching a chocolate biscuit and pouring coffee into a mug. Her staple diet and my coffee, thought Rose ruefully as Lara looked up with a smile and held a second mug up. ‘Coffee?’

Rose shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I think I need a drink.’

Lara raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘But you’ve just been to a wedding!’

‘And I barely touched a drop all day,’ said Rose grimly. She had deliberately avoided liquor so that she would have all her wits about her, and then just look at the way she had behaved on the dance-floor! She sighed as she poured herself a glass of wine from the cask in the fridge.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Lara curiously.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘You just seem a little…I don’t know…tense.’

Tense? Rose sipped at her wine without enjoyment. She could see her reflection in the pig-shaped mirror which hung on the kitchen wall. Her face was unbelievably pale. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Or a vision maybe…‘I guess I am,’ she said slowly.

‘So why? What was the wedding like? Awful?’

‘No, beautiful,’ said Rose reflectively. ‘The most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been to.’

‘Then why the long face?’

Rose sat down at the kitchen table and put her wineglass down heavily. ‘It’s stupid, really—’ She looked up into Lara’s frankly interested brown eyes. ‘Did I ever tell you that Sabrina’s new husband is best friends with a prince?’

Lara’s eyes grew larger. ‘You’re winding me up, right?’

Rose shook her head and bit back a half-smile. It did sound a bit far-fetched. ‘No, I’m not. It’s the truth. He’s prince of a country—more a principality, really—called Maraban—it’s in the Middle East.’

‘And next, I suppose you’ll be telling me that he’s outrageously good-looking and rich, to boot!’

Rose sighed. ‘Yes! He’s exactly that. Just about the most perfect man you’ve ever seen. Tall, and dark and handsome—’

‘Oh, ha, ha, ha!’

‘No, he is! Honestly. He’s divine. I danced with him…’ Her voice tailed off as she remembered how it felt to have his body so tantalisingly close to hers. ‘Danced with him, and—’

‘And what?’

‘And—’ No need to point out that she had got a little carried away on the dance-floor. She squirmed with remembered pleasure and glanced up to see Lara’s open-mouthed expression.

‘Oh, Rose, you didn’t?’

Rose blinked as the implication behind Lara’s question squeaked its way home. ‘No, of course I didn’t! You surely don’t imagine that I’d meet a man at a wedding and hours later leap into bed with him, do you?’ she questioned indignantly.

But you did it in thought if not in deed, didn’t you? mocked the guilty voice of her conscience.

Lara was looking at her patiently. ‘So what happened?’

‘He, well, he asked me to go for a drink with him once the bride and groom had left,’ explained Rose.

‘What’s the problem with that? You said yes, of course?’

‘Actually,’ said Rose, in a high, forced voice, not quite believing that she had had the strength of will to go through with it, ‘I said no.’

Lara was blinking at her in bemusement. ‘You’ve lost me! He’s gorgeous, he’s royal and you turned him down! Why, for heaven’s sake?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rose sighed again. ‘Well, maybe that’s not true, I suppose I do, really. He’s so utterly irresistible—’

‘That’s usually considered a plus where men are concerned, isn’t it?’

‘But he would never commit, I know he wouldn’t—it’s written all over his face!’

Lara stared at her incredulously. ‘Never commit?’ she echoed. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Rose, you’ve danced with the guy once and already you’re talking commitment? And this from the woman who has always vowed never to get married—’

‘Until I’m at least thirty-five,’ said Rose with a look of fierce determination. ‘I’ll have achieved something by then, so I’ll be ready! And people live longer these days—it makes sense to put off getting married for as long as possible.’

‘Very romantic,’ said Lara.

‘Very realistic,’ commented Rose drily.

‘So why the talk of commitment—or, rather, the lack of it?’

Rose took a thoughtful sip of wine. She wasn’t really sure herself. Maybe because she didn’t want to be just another woman in a long line of discarded women.

But wouldn’t it just sound fanciful if she told Lara that Khalim had a dangerous power about him which both attracted and yet repelled her? And wouldn’t it sound weak if she expressed the very real fear that he could break her heart into smithereens? Lara would quite rightly say that she didn’t know him—but Rose was intuitive, more so than usual where Khalim was concerned. She knew that with a bone-deep certainty—she just didn’t know why.

She had been ‘in love’ just twice in her life. A university affair which had occupied her middle year there and then, in her early days in advertising recruitment—she’d dated an account executive for nine fairly blissful months. Until she had discovered one evening that he wasn’t really into monogamy.

She wasn’t sure whether it was her pride which had been hurt more than anything else, but from that day on she had been sensible and circumspect where men were concerned. She could take them or leave them. And mostly she could leave them…

‘Do you fancy going to see a film?’ asked Lara, with a glance at the kitchen clock. ‘There’s still time.’

Rose shook her head. What would be the point of going to a film if you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything other than the most enigmatic face you had ever set eyes on? ‘No, thanks. I think I’ll take a shower,’ she said with a yawn.

Aware that he was being closely watched by his emissary, Khalim paced up and down the penthouse suite with all the stealth and power of a sleek jungle cat. Outside the lights of the city glittered like some fabulous galaxy, but Khalim was impervious to its beauty.

Whenever he was in London on business, which he usually arranged to coincide with Maraban’s most inhospitable weather—Khalim always stayed at the Granchester Hotel. He kept the luxurious rooms permanently booked in his name, though for much of the year they lay empty. They had been decorated according to his taste in a way which was as unlike his home in Maraban as it was possible to imagine. Lots of pale, wooden furniture and abstract modern paintings. But that was how he liked to live his life—the contrast between the East and the West each feeding two very different sides of his nature.

Once again, black eyes stared unseeingly out at the blaze of lights which pierced the night sky of London.

Eventually, he turned to Philip Caprice and held the palms of his hands out in a gesture which was a mixture of frustration and disbelief. He’d been bewitched by a pair of dazzling eyes so blue and hair so pale and blonde that he couldn’t shake her image from his mind. He had wanted her here with him tonight—on his bed and beneath his body. And he would fill her. Fill her and fill her and…he gave a groan and Philip Caprice looked at him in concern.

‘Sir?’ he murmured. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘I cannot believe it!’ Khalim stated bluntly and gave a low laugh. ‘I must be losing my touch!’

Philip smiled, but said nothing. It was not his place to offer an opinion. His role was to act as a sounding-board for the prince—unless specifically invited to do otherwise.

Khalim turned hectic black eyes towards his emissary, trying to forget her pale enchantment. He could feel the fever of desire heating his blood, making it sing like a siren as it coursed its way around his veins. ‘You are not saying anything, Philip!’

‘You wish me to?’

Khalim drew a deep breath, swamping down the unfamiliar feeling of having been thwarted. ‘Of course,’ he said coolly, and then saw Philip’s look of indecision. ‘By the mane of Akhal-Teke, Philip!’ he swore softly. ‘Do you think my arrogance so great, my ego so mighty, that I cannot bear to hear the truth from you?’

Philip raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Or my interpretation of the truth, sir? Every man’s truth is different.’

Khalim smiled. ‘Indeed it is. You sound like a true Marabanesh, when you speak like that! Give me your interpretation, Philip. Why have I failed with this woman, where never I have failed before?’

Philip intertwined his long fingers and spoke thoughtfully. ‘All your life you have had your every wish pandered to, sir.’

‘Not all.’ Khalim’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he mouthed the soft denial. ‘I learnt the rigours of life through an English boarding-school!’

‘Yes,’ said Philip patiently. ‘But ever since you reached manhood, little has been denied to you, sir, you know that very well.’ He paused. ‘Particularly where women are concerned.’

Khalim expelled a long, slow breath. Was he simply tantalised because for once something had eluded him? Why, some of the most beautiful women in the world had offered themselves to him, but his appetite had always been jaded by what came too easily. ‘Only one other woman has ever turned me down before,’ he mused.

‘Sabrina?’ said Philip softly.

Khalim nodded, remembering his easy acceptance of that. He tried to work out what was different this time. ‘But that was understandable—because she was in love with Guy, and Guy is my friend whom I respect. But this woman…this woman…’

And the attraction had been mutual. She had been fighting her own needs and her own desires, he knew that without a doubt. When he’d taken her in his arms, she’d wanted him with a fire which had matched his own. He’d been certain that he would make love to her tonight, and the unfamiliar taste of disappointment made his mouth taste bitter.

‘What is her name?’ asked Philip.

‘Rose.’ The word came out as if it were an integral line of the poetry he had learnt as a child. It sounded as scented-sweet and as petal-soft as the flower itself. But the rose also had a thorn which could draw blood, Khalim reminded himself on a shudder.

‘Maybe she’s in love with someone else?’ suggested Philip.

‘No.’ Khalim shook his head. ‘There is no man in her life.’

‘She told you that?’

Khalim nodded.

‘Maybe she just didn’t…’ Philip hesitated before saying ‘…find you attractive?’

Khalim gave an arrogant smile. ‘Oh, she did.’ He placed his hand over his fast-beating heart. ‘She most certainly did,’ he murmured, remembering the way she had melted so responsively against his body. And her reaction had not just been about chemistry—undeniable though that had been. No, hers had been a hunger sharpened and defined by the exquisite torture of abstinence.

As his had been. How long since a woman had excited him in this way? Since his father’s illness when much of the burden of responsibility for running the country had fallen onto his shoulders, there had been little time to pursue pleasure. And no woman, he realised, had ever excited him in quite this way.

Khalim swallowed. Her scent was still clinging to the silk of his robes. Unendurable.

‘I must take a bath,’ he ground out.

He had a servant draw him up a bath scented with oil of bergamot, and, once alone, he slipped off the silken robes, totally at ease in his nakedness. His body was the colour of deeply polished wood—the muscles honed so that they rippled with true power and strength.

It was a taut and lean body, though he had never stepped inside a gym in his life—that would have been far too narcissistic an occupation for a man like Khalim. But the long, muscular shaft of his thighs bore testimony to hard physical exercise.

Horse-riding was his particular passion, and one of his greatest sources of relaxation. He felt at his most free when riding his beloved Akhal-Teke horse across the salt flats of Maraban with the warm air rushing through his dark hair and the powerful haunches of the stallion clasped tightly between his thighs.

He lay back among the bubbles and let some of the tension soak from his skin, but not all—not by a long way. Rose Thomas and her pale blonde beauty were uppermost in his mind, and thoughts of her brought their own, different kind of tension. He felt the hardening of his body in response to his thoughts, and only through sheer determination of will did he suppress his carnal longing. But then, he had never once lost control over his body…

Should he woo her? he thought carelessly. Besiege her with flowers? Or with jewels perhaps? He rubbed thoughtfully at the darkened shadow of his chin. There wasn’t a woman alive who could resist the glittering lure of gems.

He smiled as he stepped from the circular bath and tiny droplets of water gleamed like diamonds on the burnished perfection of his skin.

He had no appetite. Tonight he would work on some of the outstanding government papers he had brought back with him from Maraban.

He slipped on a silken robe in deepest, richest claret and walked barefoot back through the vast sitting room and into the adjoining study, where Philip was busy tapping away at the word processor.

He looked up as Khalim came in.

‘Sir?’

‘Leave that, now,’ ordered Khalim pleasantly. ‘I have something else for you.’

‘Sir?’

‘Find out where Rose Thomas lives. And where she works.’

CHAPTER THREE

EVEN after an hour-long bath and drinking chamomile tea, Rose slept surprisingly little that night. Especially considering that she had had a long and heavy week at work the previous week and then gone out with Sabrina on her ‘hen-night’ a couple of nights before the wedding.

She tossed and turned for most of the night as an aching sense of regret kept sleep at bay.

And a pair of black eyes kept swimming into her troubled thoughts. Eyes which glittered untold promise, and a body which promised untold pleasure.

She rose late, and was just getting dressed when she heard Lara’s voice calling her name excitedly.

‘Rose! Quickly!’

‘I’ll be there in a minute!’

She pulled on an old pair of jeans and a simple pale blue T-shirt and walked into the sitting room, where Lara was clutching excitedly at the most enormous bouquet of flowers she had ever seen.

There were massed blooms of yellow roses, studded with tiny blue cornflowers, and the heady fragrance hit her as soon as she entered the room.

‘Wow!’ said Rose admiringly. ‘Lucky girl! Who’s the secret admirer?’

‘They aren’t for me, silly!’ choked Lara jealously. ‘It’s your name on the card—see.’

Her fingers trembling, Rose took the proffered card with a dawning sense of inevitability. She stared down at the envelope, and the distinctive handwriting which spelt out her name.

‘Well, aren’t you going to open it?’ demanded Lara. ‘Don’t you want to know who they’re from?’

‘I know exactly who they’re from,’ said Rose slowly. ‘Khalim sent them.’

‘You can’t know that!’

‘Oh, yes, I can.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I may have had a few sweet and charming boyfriends, but not one who would spend this much on a bunch of flowers.’ But curiosity got the better of her, and she ripped the envelope open to find her hopes and her fears confirmed.

The message was beautifully and arrogantly stark.

‘The yellow is for your hair; the blue for the sapphire of your eyes. I will collect you at noon. Khalim.’

‘Oh, my goodness! How utterly, utterly romantic!’ squeaked Lara, who was busy looking over her shoulder.

‘You think so?’ asked Rose tonelessly.

‘Well, I’d be in absolute heaven if I got flowers like these from a man! And what a masterful message! You’d better get a move on!’

But Rose wasn’t listening. ‘What a cheek!’ she exploded as her eyes roved over the message again. ‘How dare he just assume that he can tell me a time and I’ll be meekly sitting here waiting, like a lamb to the slaughter?’

‘But you aren’t going out anywhere else today, are you?’ asked Lara in a puzzled voice.

‘That isn’t the point!’

‘Well, what is the point?’

‘The point is that I don’t want to go out with him!’

‘Don’t you? Honestly?’

Honesty was a bit more difficult. Rose had worked hard on her independence and her sense of self-possession—both qualities which she suspected Khalim could vanquish with the ease of a man who had sensual power untold at his fingertips.

‘A tiny bit of me does,’ she admitted, and saw Lara’s face go all mushy. ‘But the rest of me is quite adamant that he would be nothing but bad news!’

Lara sighed. ‘So what are you going to do? Tell him that to his face? Or just pretend to be out when he calls?’ She brightened a little. ‘I could go instead, if you like!’

Rose was unprepared for the shaft of jealousy which whipped through her with lightning speed. She shook her head. ‘I’m a realist,’ she said proudly. ‘Not a coward. If I turn Khalim down again, then he’ll just up the ante—and I am not prepared to be bombarded with charm and expensive trinkets.’

And wouldn’t he just wear her down anyway?

‘He’s the kind of man who thrives on the chase,’ she said slowly. ‘The kind of man who isn’t used to being rejected—it’s probably a first for him!’

‘So what, then?’

Little shivers of excitement rippled down Rose’s spine as a decision formed in her mind. ‘I’ll go,’ she said, in a voice which wasn’t quite steady. ‘And I’ll convince him that I’m not the sort of woman he wants.’

‘What sort of woman is that?’ asked Lara, mystified.

‘A temporary concubine!’ said Rose, and then, seeing Lara’s expression of mystification grow even deeper, added, ‘Someone who will live with him as his wife, until he tires of her, and then on to the next!’

‘You don’t sound as though you like him very much,’ said Lara thoughtfully.

And that was just the trouble. She didn’t. And yet she did. Though how could she form any kind of opinion about the man, when she didn’t really know him at all? She was simply sexually captivated by a man who exuded an animal magnetism which was completely foreign to her.

‘I’m going to go and get ready,’ she said, looking down at her faded jeans.

‘What shall I do with the flowers?’

At the door, Rose turned and smiled. ‘I’ll forgo the obvious suggestion! You keep them, Lara,’ she added kindly, and went back into her bedroom to change.

At least her wardrobe was adequate enough to cope with most things—even something like this. Her job meant that she had to look smart or glamorous whenever the occasion beckoned. Though an outing with a prince was so far outside her experience!

Still, a midday assignation was unlikely to call for much in the way of glitter, and she deliberately chose her most expensive and understated outfit. A demure shirt-dress in chalky-blue linen. It looked very English, she decided, and not in the least bit exotic. As she slid the final button into its hole she wondered whether that was why she had chosen it. To emphasise the differences between her pale restraint and his dark, striking beauty.

She swept her hair back and deftly knotted it into a French plait, and had put on only the barest touch of make-up before she heard the pealing of the front door bell. Drawing in a deep breath for courage and hoping that it might calm the frantic beat of her heart, Rose went out into the hall to answer it.

She pulled open the front door and saw that it was not Khalim who stood there, but a very tall dark-haired man dressed in an immaculate suit, his green eyes glittering with something akin to amusement as he looked down at her belligerent expression.

‘Miss Thomas?’ he asked smoothly.

He had a cool and rather beautiful face and was the kind of man who might, under normal circumstances, have made her heart beat a little faster. But these were not normal circumstances, Rose reminded herself.

‘That’s me,’ she said inelegantly.

‘The Prince Khalim is downstairs waiting for you in the car,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you ready?’

Rose frowned. ‘And you are?’

‘My name is Philip Caprice. I am his emissary.’

‘Really?’ Rose drew her shoulders back. ‘And did Prince Khalim not think it polite to come and call for me himself?’

Philip Caprice hid a smile. ‘It is quite normal for him to send me to collect you.’

‘Well, it is not normal for me!’ said Rose heatedly. ‘If he can’t even be bothered to get out of the car, then perhaps you would be so kind as to tell him that I can’t be bothered going downstairs!’

Philip Caprice frowned. ‘Look—’

But Rose shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said firmly. ‘I know you’re only doing your job—but your boss’s…invitation—’ she bit the word out sarcastically ‘—leaves a great deal to be desired. It might have been more polite if he’d actually phoned me to arrange a time, instead of calmly announcing it the way he did! Either he comes up here, or I’m staying put.’

Philip Caprice nodded, his green eyes narrowing, as if recognising determination when he saw it. As if recognising that, on this, she would not be budged.

‘I’ll go and tell him,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could leave the door open?’

‘Having to ring the doorbell would be too much of an indignity, I suppose?’ she hazarded, but she did as he asked.

She stood for a moment and watched him go, before stalking back into the sitting room where Lara, who had been listening to the entire conversation, was see-sawing between fascination and horror.

‘Oh, Rose,’ she whispered admiringly. ‘You’ve done it now! Bet you anything he just drives away!’

‘I sincerely hope he does,’ said Rose coolly.

‘Do you really?’ came a deep, velvety voice from behind her, and Rose whirled round to see Khalim standing there, with such a glint in his black eyes that she was unable to tell whether he was amused or outraged.

‘Y-yes! Yes, I d-do,’ she said breathlessly, her heart clenching tightly in her chest as she saw how different he looked today. The eyes glittered with the same predatory promise, but there was not a flowing robe in sight.

Instead he was wearing an exquisitely cut suit in deep charcoal-grey—a modern suit with a mandarin collar which set off the exotic perfection of his face. And where the flowing silk had only hinted at the hard, lean body which lay beneath—the suit left absolutely nothing to the imagination and Rose just couldn’t stop looking at him.

His shoulders were broader than she had realised, much broader, while the narrow hips were those of a natural athlete. And the legs…good heavens, those legs seemed to go on forever. Such powerful legs.

Rose opened her mouth to say something, but words just failed her.

‘You want me to go away?’ he prompted silkily.

Did she? ‘It would probably be for the best,’ she answered truthfully.

‘But you’ve dressed for lunch,’ he observed, his eyes sweeping over the elegance of the pale linen dress.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘So why waste all that effort?’

‘It wasn’t much effort.’ She shrugged. ‘It only took me a few minutes to change!’

‘I’m flattered,’ he said drily.

She fixed him with a reproving stare. ‘I’m used to men being courteous enough to collect their date, and not sending a servant to collect them!’

His eyes grew flinty. ‘Philip is no servant,’ he said coldly. ‘He is my emissary.’

‘Let’s not quibble about terminology!’ she returned. ‘Why didn’t you come yourself?’

Khalim sighed. What would her reaction be if he told her that he had never had to? That all his life he had only had to metaphorically click his fingers and whichever woman he’d wanted would come—if not running, then walking pretty quickly.

‘But I am here now,’ he said, in as humble an admission as he had ever made. Because he suspected that Rose Thomas was not playing games with him, and that if he pushed her too far then she would simply refuse to come. And he wanted her far too much to even countenance that.

He turned to where a tousled-headed brunette was gazing at him in wonder from the other side of the crimson-painted room, and gave her a slow smile.

‘Khalim,’ he said, with a slight nod of his head.

Rose was infuriated to see Lara virtually dissolve into a puddle on the carpet—but who could really blame her? It was something outside both their experiences, having a man of this calibre here, exuding vibrancy and sheer physical magnetism.

‘L-Lara Black,’ she stumbled. ‘And I’m very pleased to meet you…K-Khalim.’

Any minute now and her flatmate would start prostrating herself in front of him, thought Rose despairingly. She turned to find those impenetrable dark eyes now fixed on her.

‘Shall we go?’ he questioned quietly.

She knew that it would be impossible to backtrack, even if she had wanted to—and to her horror she discovered that there was no way she wanted to. She wanted one lunch with this magnificent man. One lunch to show him that she was his equal. That she wouldn’t crumble and capitulate in the face of all his undoubted charms.

One lunch, that was all.

‘Very well,’ she answered, in a quiet tone which matched his.

Khalim very nearly allowed a small smile of triumph to creep onto his lips, until he drew himself up short. There was no victory to be gained from that coolly dispassionate acceptance! he reminded himself. But instead of feeling irritation at her unwillingness to co-operate, he found that his senses were clamouring to life, making his blood sing out that heated, relentless rhythm once more.

‘Come, then, Rose,’ he said, and gestured for her to precede him.

In the hallway, however, he halted, and Rose’s mouth dried as she turned to see why. He was too close. The hall was too small. If she reached out her hand she could touch that proud, beautiful face. Could run her fingertips along his sculpted chin, and meet the faint rasp of shadowed growth there. She swallowed.

Khalim’s eyes gleamed. So. He had not been mistaken. It was for her just as it was for him. She wanted him. He noted the coiled-up tension of repressed desire in her rigid frame. He could read it in the dark helplessness of her eyes, and in the fulsome pout of her soft lips.

‘So,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Where would you like to go?’

‘Haven’t you booked anywhere?’ asked Rose in surprise. She had assumed that he would want the best table in one of the best restaurants—and Sunday was traditionally a very busy day for eating out.

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘That will limit our choice somewhat.’

‘I don’t think so.’ He saw the frown which had creased the milky-white space of skin between two exceptionally fine eyebrows. ‘I never have to book,’ he explained, and for the first time in his life he realised that he sounded almost apologetic.

And then Rose began to get her first glimmer of the implications of dating this man. She tried to make light of it and smiled. ‘One of the perks of being a prince, I suppose?’

‘That’s right.’ He found himself smiling back, unable to resist that sunny and unsettling curve of her mouth. ‘Where would you like to go?’

Rose wasn’t a head-hunter for nothing. Her ‘people skills’ were what kept her going in a competitive industry. She guessed that luxury would be second nature to Khalim—so wouldn’t he be a little bored with luxury?

‘There’s a local Italian restaurant called Pronto! on Sutton Street,’ she said. ‘Simple food—but good. And you can usually get a table there!’

He was pleasantly surprised, expecting her to plump for somewhere much more up-market than her local restaurant. ‘Then let’s go and find it,’ he murmured.

On the way downstairs, Khalim was hypnotised by the proud set of her shoulders and the plaited hair of brightest gold which had captivated him from the moment he had first seen her.

Outside sat the most luxurious car Rose had ever seen—a great black gleaming monster of a car, with tinted windows and a liveried chauffeur who was standing beside it, and who immediately sprang to open the door.

‘Take us to Pronto!,’ said Khalim. ‘On Sutton Street.’ And the chauffeur inclined his head respectfully.

Rose climbed into the back seat, noting that Philip was seated at the front, next to the chauffeur. And next to him, a dark-suited and burly individual. A bodyguard? she wondered nervously. Probably.

The car cruised slowly through the traffic-snarled streets, until it drew up outside a restaurant whose exterior was adorned with a giant picture of the Italian flag.

‘Vibrant,’ observed Khalim softly as the chauffeur opened the door for them and they both climbed out onto the pavement.

‘Isn’t Philip joining us?’ asked Rose.

Khalim suppressed a feeling very close to frustration, but even closer to jealousy. Jealousy? So she wanted his cool and handsome emissary to join them, did she? Was she attracted to him, he wondered in disbelief, or did she simply want a chaperon?

His mouth hardened. ‘No, he is not.’

Now, what had put that look there? puzzled Rose, shocked by the sudden surge of relief which washed over her. She wanted to be on her own with him, she realised sinkingly, her growing attraction to him becoming all too apparent by the moment. But with an effort she managed to shrug it away. ‘Fine by me,’ she said easily.

Inside the restaurant it was even more vibrant—with Italian music playing gently in the background.

The waitress gave Khalim an appreciative glance. ‘Have you booked?’ she asked him.

Khalim shook his head. ‘Can you fit us in?’

‘Sure can!’ The waitress grinned, and winked at him.

Rose glanced at Khalim rather nervously. Obviously the woman had no idea that she was being so familiar with a member of Maraban’s royal family—but would Khalim be forgiving, or outraged? I don’t care, she thought fiercely. I’m going to enjoy my lunch!

But, strangely, Khalim found that he was enjoying the unaccustomed pleasure of anonymity. Normally he would not sanction such an intimacy—and particularly not from a waitress in a rather basic restaurant.

And yet Rose looked incredibly relaxed—even in the cool linen dress which gave her the outward appearance of an icemaiden—and he wanted to relax with her. Not to pull rank.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

Something about the way he spoke made the waitress narrow her eyes at him, for she suddenly looked rather flustered and led them to what was undoubtedly the best table in the room.

The only one, thought Rose rather wryly, which was not sitting right on top of its neighbours!

He waited until they were seated opposite one another and had been given their menus, before he leaned forward.

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