Scandalous mistress...or desert queen?

Sheikh Zafir Al-Noury cannot forgive model Kat Winters for breaking off their engagement, but he cannot forget their burning-hot nights together. Hiring her to promote his kingdom’s most famous jewel creates an opportunity for renewed seduction...

Walking away from Zafir devastated Kat. The pain has made her strong, but the fire he ignites is stronger yet—Zafir tempts her to complete sensual surrender! Even if that means exposing every part of herself to the man who once ruled her soul...

‘There is no this time. This is just a job for me—that’s all. I’m not interested in anything else.’

Everything in Zafir rejected that, and he lifted one hand to cup Kat’s delicate jawline. Just the silken brush of her hair against the back of his hand had his body hardening all over again.

‘Why are you denying this, Kat? Whatever is between us, it’s mutual. And it’s even stronger than before.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not mutual.’

‘Liar…’ Zafir breathed as every part of his body went on fire with an urgent and undeniable desire to prove Kat wrong. And along with that desire he felt something much more dangerous: emotion.

To block it out, deny it, Zafir cupped his hand behind Kat’s neck and drew her into him until he could feel the length of her willowy body pressed against his. And then he bent his head and covered Kat’s mouth with his, and for the first time in eighteen months the roaring savage heat inside him was momentarily soothed.

It was so profound and overwhelming that for long seconds Zafir didn’t even deepen the kiss. He just relished the sensation of Kat’s soft, lush mouth under his. And then she made a soft mewling sound and Zafir fell over the brink of his control and hauled Kat even closer, kissing her deeply enough that he could see stars.

Mills & Boon welcomes you to the passionate world of Abby Green’s

Rulers of the Desert

These brothers might rule their kingdoms—but can they rule their own desire?

Zafir and Salim Al-Noury were born to be kings. These powerful monarchs have never had their wishes challenged—until they meet the women they’re determined to take to their beds!

Kat and Charlotte might find their seduction to be irresistible… But to claim them truly their seducers must make them their desert queens!

A Diamond for the Sheikh’s Mistress

Available now

A Christmas Bride for the King

Coming soon

A Diamond for the Sheikh’s Mistress

Abby Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Irish author ABBY GREEN threw in a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Mills & Boon with manuscripts they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit abby-green.com or e-mail abbygreenauthor@gmail.com.

Books by Abby Green

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Awakened by Her Desert Captor

Wedlocked!

Claimed for the De Carrillo Twins

Brides for Billionaires

Married for the Tycoon’s Empire

One Night With Consequences

An Heir to Make a Marriage

An Heir Fit for a King

Billionaire Brothers

Fonseca’s Fury

The Bride Fonseca Needs

Blood Brothers

When Falcone’s World Stops Turning

When Christakos Meets His Match

When Da Silva Breaks the Rules

Visit the Author Profile page at

millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Rulers of the Desert

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SHEIKH ZAFIR IBN HAFIZ AL-NOURY, King of Jandor, was oblivious to the exquisite mosaics on the path under his feet as he paced restlessly, and he was equally oblivious to the water burbling from the ornate central fountain. The tiny multicoloured birds darting between the lush exotic blooms also went unnoticed in this, just one of the many stunning courtyards of his royal palace in Jahor, the imposing capital city of his kingdom, which ran from snow-capped mountains in the east, across a vast desert to the sea in the west.

Zafir was oblivious to it all because all he could think about was her. It was getting worse. He’d had to call an important meeting to a premature end because he’d felt constricted and claustrophobic, aware of the heat in his blood and the ache in his core. An ache he’d largely managed to ignore for the last eighteen months.

Liar, whispered a voice, those first three months were hell.

Zafir scowled in remembrance. But then his father had died, and all his time and attention since then had been taken up with his accession to the throne and taking control of his country.

But now it was as if he finally had time to breathe again, and she was back. Infiltrating his thoughts and dreams. Haunting him.

Zafir loosened his robe at his neck with jerky movements. Sexual frustration, he told himself, momentarily coming to a halt on the path. It was just sexual frustration. After all, he hadn’t taken a woman to bed since...her, and that incensed him even more now.

It wasn’t due to lack of interest from women. It was due to Zafir’s single-minded focus on his job and his commitment to his people. But he was aware of the growing pressure from his council and his people to find a suitable Queen and provide heirs, so they would have faith and feel secure in their King and future.

Zafir issued a loud curse, scattering the birds around him in a flurry. Enough. He whirled around and strode back out of the courtyard, determined to set in motion the search for an appropriate match and put her out of his head once and for all.

He stopped in his tracks, though, as he passed the overgrown entrance to the high-walled garden nearby. None of the gardeners had touched it in years, and Zafir hadn’t had the heart to enforce its clean-up since taking power. He knew that his staff viewed it almost superstitiously; some believed it was haunted.

Maybe it was, he thought bleakly, his thoughts momentarily diverted.

He went and stood at the entrance and looked at the wildly overgrown space and realised with a jolt that today was the anniversary. The anniversary of his sister’s death. Nineteen years ago. He’d been thirteen and she’d been just eleven. He stepped in, almost without realising what he was doing.

Unlike the rest of the pristinely manicured grounds, there was no water trickling into the circular pool that could barely be seen under greedy weeds. There were no lush flowers or exotic birds. It was dormant. Still. Dead.

He could still remember hearing the almost otherworldly scream of his brother Salim, Sara’s twin. When Zafir had burst into the garden he’d found his brother cradling Sara’s limp body, her head dangling over his arm at an unnatural angle. Her face had been whiter than white, her long black hair matted with the blood which had been dripping into the fountain’s pool behind them, staining the water.

Salim had screamed at him to do something... Save her... But Zafir had known instinctively that she was gone. He’d tried to take Sara out of Salim’s arms to carry her into the palace, to find help, see if there was any chance, but Salim, sensing Zafir’s grim assessment, had only tightened his hold on his twin sister’s body and shouted hoarsely, ‘If you can’t help, then don’t touch her... Leave us alone!’

Sara had died from a massive head and neck injury after falling from the high wall around this garden where they’d used to play and climb, in spite of Zafir’s protests. Salim hadn’t spoken for weeks afterwards...

To Zafir’s shame, the dominating thing he now recalled was the awfully familiar disconnect between him and his siblings. The sense of isolation that had pervaded his whole life. He’d always been envious of Salim and Sara’s very special and close bond, which had been to the exclusion of everyone else. But right then he would have gladly given up his own life to see his sister’s brought back...

‘Ahem... Sire?’

Zafir tensed. Very few people managed to catch him unawares and he didn’t appreciate this intrusion into such a private moment.

He didn’t turn around as he responded curtly, ‘Yes?’

There was some throat-clearing. ‘The...ah...Heart of Jandor diamond, Sire. There are things we need to discuss about it, and the upcoming diplomatic tour.’

Zafir closed his eyes briefly, letting the painful past fade back to where it belonged, and when he was ready turned around to survey the young aide he’d taken on after his father’s death almost fifteen months ago—much to his council’s disapproval. They’d wanted him to keep his father’s old guard and not rock the boat, but Zafir favoured a more modern outlook for his country’s future and was slowly but surely implementing his ways.

He started walking back towards the palace, his aide hurrying alongside him, used to keeping up with his demanding King by now.

The Heart of Jandor diamond was a mythically rare gem. Thought for years to have been either stolen or lost, it had been found recently during archaeological excavations outside the palace walls. There had been much rejoicing and fervent whispering of it being a good omen. It was the largest known red diamond in the world, famed for its beauty. When it had first been discovered it had had a natural heart shape, and so had been cut and refined into its current incarnation, retaining its distinctive shape.

It had originally been unearthed in the eastern mountains of Jandor and given as a gift to woo Zafir’s French great-grandmother. The fact that her marriage to his great-grandfather was the only one in his family history which had allegedly been a happy one merely confirmed for Zafir that love within marriage was as much of a rarity as the diamond itself—and about as improbable.

Irritated to find his mind deviating like this, Zafir said now, ‘Well? What are your thoughts, Rahul?’

‘We are starting the diplomatic tour in New York next week, as discussed.’

New York.

No one else would have noticed the slightest misstep in Zafir’s authoritative stride. But he noticed. And he despised himself for it. Suddenly all thoughts of his sister and the lingering grief he felt were eclipsed by her again. The ease with which she could get to him after all this time only made him angrier.

What the hell was wrong with him today?

Manhattan was primarily where their relationship had played out over several months. And in spite of his best efforts his blood simmered, reminding him of just how far under her spell he’d fallen. Until it had been almost too late.

Zafir’s strides got longer, as if he could outrun the past nipping at his heels, but even by the time he’d reached his palatial offices she was still there, those amber-hazel eyes looking up at him slumberously while a sinful smile made that famously sexy and lush mouth curve upwards. As if she’d known exactly what she was doing to him, drawing him deeper and deeper into—

‘Sire?’

Zafir gritted his jaw against the onslaught of memories and turned around to focus on his aide. ‘Yes, Rahul.’

The young man looked nervous. ‘I...ah...have a suggestion to make regarding the jewel.’

‘Go on,’ Zafir bit out, curbing his impatience. His aide was not to know that he’d unwittingly precipitated the storm currently raging inside him.

‘The diamond is being brought on your diplomatic tour as an exhibit and a stunning example of Jandor’s many attractions in a bid to promote business and tourism.’

Zafir’s impatience spiked in spite of his best efforts. ‘I know very well why we’re bringing it on the diplomatic tour. It was my idea.’

The man swallowed, visibly nervous. ‘Yes, and we’d planned on displaying it in each city in a protected glass case.’

‘Rahul...’ Zafir said warningly, coming close to the end of his tether.

His aide spoke quickly now. ‘The suggestion I want to make is this—rather than show it off in a sterile and protected environment, I thought it might prove to be far more dynamic if it were seen up close... We could let people see how accessible it is and yet still exclusive and mysterious.’

Now he had Zafir’s attention. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about hiring someone—a model—someone who will actually wear the jewel and come with us on the tour. Someone who will walk with us among the guests at each function, so they can appreciate the jewel’s full beauty, see how it lives and breathes—just like Jandor’s beauty.’

Zafir looked at Rahul for a long moment. This was why he’d hired the younger man after all—to inject new blood into his father’s archaic council.

The idea had merit, and Zafir assessed it in seconds. However he was about to dismiss it for various reasons—not least of which were to do with security—but just as he opened his mouth to speak an image exploded into his head, turning his words to dust.

He immediately turned away from the younger man, for fear that something would show on his face. All he could see was her, lying on a bed, with her long, sinuous limbs and her treacherously hypnotic beauty, naked but for the jewel that nestled between her high, full breasts. It would glow fiery red against that perfect pale skin.

As red as his blood—which wasn’t simmering now. It had boiled over.

He’d allowed the floodgates to open, and right at that moment Zafir knew there was only one way to rid himself of this ache and move on. And he had to move on. His country depended on it.

Zafir’s mind reeled as the idea took root and embedded itself deep inside him. Was he really considering revisiting the past and the one person he’d vowed never to think or speak of again?

A spurt of rebelliousness and something much more ambiguous ignited inside him.

Why not?

This could be the perfect opportunity to sate his desires before he committed to his full responsibilities and the people of Jandor owned him completely. And there was only one woman Zafir wanted.

She owed him, he told himself grimly. She’d lied to him. She’d betrayed him by not revealing her true self, her true nature. She’d walked out of his life eighteen months ago and he hadn’t had enough of her. She’d left him aching and cursing her.

The fact that he’d once considered her suitable to be in his long-term future was a reminder that was unwelcome. This time when he took her he would know exactly who she was. And he would feel nothing but lust and desire. He would have her long legs wrapped around him again and he would sink deep enough inside her to burn away this irritating lingering lust.

He turned back to Rahul, who was looking nervous again.

‘Sire, it was just a—’

Zafir cut him off. ‘It was a brilliant suggestion and I know exactly who will be our model.’

Rahul frowned. ‘Who, Sire?’

Zafir’s pulse thundered in his veins. ‘Kat Winters—the American supermodel. Find out where she is. Now.’

A week later, Queens, New York

Zafir observed her from the back of his car, with the window rolled down. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes—that Kat Winters was working in a busy midrange restaurant in Queens. But, yes...one of the world’s arguably most beautiful women was currently wearing skinny jeans and a white T-shirt with a black apron around her small waist. Her hair was piled up in a messy knot on her head and there was a pencil stuck through it, which she was now fumbling for as she took an order.

Everything in Zafir recoiled from this very banal scenario—except it wasn’t disgust he was feeling, seeing her again. It was something much hotter and more urgent. Even dressed like this and without a scrap of make-up she was exquisite. A jewel such as she could not be hidden in a place like this. What the hell was she doing here? And what the hell was she doing going under another name—Kaycee Smith? And how dared she refuse to even consider the offer he’d sent to her via her agent?

Her agent had sent back a terse response:

Kat Winters is no longer available for modelling assignments.

Please do not pursue this request.

No one refused Zafir. Or warned him off. Least of all an ex-lover.

He issued a curt instruction to his driver now, and his window rolled up silently as he got out of the car and stretched to his full height of six foot four. He recalled Kat in vertiginous heels, the way it had put her mouth well within kissing distance. The way her added height had aligned their bodies so perfectly. He watched her walk away from the table and grimaced when he saw she was wearing sneakers.

Not for long, he vowed as he moved forward to the door of the restaurant. Soon she would be in heels again, and soon that lush mouth would be his again. All of her would be his again.

He had no idea what she was playing at, with this meek little game of being a waitress, but he was certain that once she heard what he had to say she’d be demonstrating her gratitude that he was prepared to give her another chance to be in his life and in his bed again, even just for a few brief weeks, in the most satisfactory way.

* * *

‘Kat.’

It took a second for the significance of that word to sink in. No one here called her Kat. They called her Kaycee. And then there was the voice. Impossibly deep. And the way Kat had been pronounced, with the flat inflection that had always made it sound exotic. And authoritative—as if her name was a command to look at him, give him her attention.

It took another second for the realisation to hit her that there was only one person who could have spoken.

With the utmost reluctance, vying with disbelief, she looked up from the countertop.

Zafir.

For a moment she simply didn’t believe it. He couldn’t be here. Not against this very dull backdrop of a restaurant in Queens. He inhabited five-star zones. He breathed rarefied air. He moved in circles far removed from this place. This man was royalty.

He was a King now.

And yet her agent had told her only a couple of days ago that he’d asked for her, so she should have been prepared. But she’d blocked out any possibility of this happening. And now she was sorry, because she wasn’t remotely prepared to see the man she’d loved with such intensity that it had sometimes scared her.

She blinked, but he didn’t disappear. He seemed to grow in stature. Had he always been so tall? So broad? But she knew he had. He was imprinted on her brain and her memory like a brand. The hard-boned aristocratic features. The deep-set dark grey eyes that stood out against his dark olive skin. The thick dark hair swept back off his high forehead. That perfect hard-muscled body without an ounce of excess fat, its power evident even under a suit and overcoat.

He was clean-shaven now, instead of with the short beard he’d worn when she’d known him, and it should have made him look somehow less. But it didn’t. It seemed to enhance his virility in a way that was almost overwhelming.

She hadn’t even realised she’d spoken his name out loud until the sensual curve of those beautifully sculpted lips curved up slightly on one side and he said, ‘You remember my name, then?’

The mocking tone which implied that it was laughable she could have possibly forgotten finally broke Kat out of her dangerous reverie and shock. He was here. In her space. The man she’d had dreams and nightmares about meeting again now that her life had changed beyond all recognition.

In her nightmares he looked at her with disgust and horror, and to her mortification she woke up crying more often than not. Her dreams were no less humiliating—they were X-rated, and she’d wake up sweating, believing for a second that she was still whole...still his.

But she was neither of those things. Not by a long shot.

Her pulse quickened treacherously, even though his presence heralded an emotional pain she’d hoped had been relegated to the past but which she was now discovering not to be the case.

She spoke sharply. ‘What are you doing here, Zafir? Didn’t you get my agent’s message?’

He arched a brow and Kat flushed, suddenly aware of how she’d just addressed a man before whom most people would be genuflecting. A man who had two conspicuous bodyguards dressed in black just outside the main door.

She refused to be intimidated. It was almost too much to take in, thinking of the last time she’d seen him and how upset she’d been, and then what had happened...the most catastrophic event of her life.

‘I got her message and chose to ignore it,’ Zafir said easily, his tone belying the curious punch to his gut when he registered Kat’s obvious reluctance to see him again.

Kat folded her arms, as if that could protect her from his all too devastating charisma. Typical arrogant Zafir. He hadn’t changed.

Tersely she said, ‘I’m working, so unless you’ve come here to eat this isn’t appropriate.’ It’ll never be appropriate. But she stopped herself from saying that with some desperation.

Zafir’s smile faded and those unusual dark grey eyes flashed. ‘You refused to engage with my offer, which I do not accept.’

‘No,’ Kat said, feeling the bitterness that was a residue from their last tumultuous meeting, when she’d left him. ‘I can well imagine that you don’t accept it, Zafir, because you’re used to everyone falling over themselves to please you. But I’m afraid I feel no such compulsion.’

His eyes narrowed on her and she immediately felt threatened. She’d always felt as if he could see right through her—through the desperate façade she’d put up to try and convince people she wasn’t a girl who had grown up in a trailer with a drug-addicted, mentally unstable mother. A girl who hadn’t even graduated from high school.

Yet Zafir hadn’t—for all that she’d thought he might. Until he’d had the evidence shoved under his nose and he’d looked at her with cold, unforgiving eyes and had judged and condemned her out of his life.

‘You’ve changed.’

His words slammed into her like a physical blow. He was right. She had changed. Utterly. And this was her worst nightmare coming to life. Meeting Zafir again. And him finding out—

He wouldn’t, she assured herself now, feeling panicky. He couldn’t.

‘Is this gentleman looking for a table for one, Kaycee?’

Kat looked blankly at her boss for a second, but she didn’t mistake the gleam of very feminine appreciation in the older woman’s eyes as she ogled Zafir unashamedly.

Galvanised into action, she took the menu out of her boss’s hands and said firmly, ‘No, he’s not. He was just looking for directions and now he knows where to go.’ She looked at Zafir, and if she could have vaporised him on the spot she would have. ‘Don’t you, sir?’

Her boss was pulled aside at that moment by another member of staff, and Zafir just looked at Kat for a long moment, before saying silkily, ‘I’ll be waiting for you, Kat. This isn’t over.’

And then he turned and walked out.

* * *

Kat really didn’t want to leave the restaurant when her shift was over, because Zafir’s car was still outside. As was the very conspicuous black four-by-four undoubtedly carrying his security team.

She was more than a little shocked that he was still waiting for her. Two hours later. The Zafir she’d known a year and a half ago had never waited for anyone—he’d been famously restless and impatient. Fools had suffered in his presence. He’d cut down anyone wasting his time with a glacial look from those pewter-coloured eyes.

As Kat dragged on her coat and belted it she felt a sense of fatalism settle over her. If Zafir had ignored her agent and tracked her down this far, then he wouldn’t give up easily. She should know more than anyone that when he wanted something he pursued it until he got it.

After all, he’d pursued her until he’d got her. Until he’d dismantled every defence she’d erected to keep people from getting too close. Until she’d been prepared to give up everything for him. Until she’d been prepared to try and mould herself into what he’d wanted her to be—even though she’d known that she couldn’t possibly fulfil everything he expected of her.

Her hands tightened on her belt for a moment. He’d asked her to be his Queen. Even now she felt the same mix of terror and awe at the very thought. But it hadn’t taken much to persuade him of her unsuitability in the end.

She steeled herself before walking out through the door, telling herself that she was infinitely stronger now. Able to resist Zafir. He had no idea of what she’d faced since she’d seen him last...

As soon as she walked outside though, the back door of Zafir’s sleek car opened and he emerged, uncoiling to his full impressive height. Kat’s bravado felt very shaky all of a sudden.

He stood back and indicated with a hand for her to get in. Incensed that he might think it could be this easy, she walked over to him, mindful of her limp, even though disguising it after a long evening on her feet put pressure on her leg.

‘I’m not getting into a car with you, Zafir. You’ve had a wasted evening. Please leave.’

She turned to walk away and she heard him say,

‘Either we talk here on the sidewalk, with lots of ears about us, or you let me take you home and we talk there.’

Kat gritted her jaw and looked longingly down the street that would take her to her apartment, just a couple of blocks away. But if she walked away she could well imagine Zafir’s very noticeable car moving at a snail’s pace beside her. And his security team. Drawing lots of attention. As he was doing now, just by standing there, drawing lingering glances. Whispers.

A group of giggling girls finally made Kat turn around. ‘Fine,’ she bit out. ‘But once I’ve listened to what you have to say you’ll leave.’

Zafir’s eyes gleamed in a way that made all the hard and cold parts of Kat feel dangerously soft and warm.

‘By all means. If you want me to leave then, I’ll leave.’

His tone once again told Kat that that was about as likely as a snowstorm in the middle of the brutally hot Jandor desert, and that only made her even more determined to resist him, hating that his visit was bringing up memories long buried. Memories of his beautiful and exotic country and how out of her depth she’d felt—both there and in their relationship. Zafir had been like the sun—brilliant, all-consuming and mesmerising, but fatal if one got too close. And she had let herself get too close. Close enough to be burnt alive once she’d discovered that the love she’d felt had been unrequited.

She’d been prepared to marry him, buoyed up by his proposal, only to discover too late that for him it had never been a romantic proposal. It had been purely because he’d deemed her ‘perfect.’ Her humiliation was still vivid.

She stalked past him now and got into the car, burningly aware of his gaze on her and wondering what on earth he must make of her—a shadow of her former self. The fact that she didn’t seem to be repelling him irritated her intensely.

Zafir shut the door once her legs were in the car and came round and got in the other side, immediately dwarfing the expansive confines of the luxurious car. For a moment Kat felt herself sinking back into the seat, relishing the decadent luxury, but as soon as she realised what she was doing she stiffened against it. This wasn’t her life any more. Never would be again.

‘Kat?’

She looked at Zafir, who had a familiar expression of impatience on his face. She realised she hadn’t heard what he’d said.

‘Directions? For my driver?’

She swallowed, suddenly bombarded with a memory of being in the back of a very similar car with Zafir, when he’d asked his driver to put up the privacy window and drive around until he gave further instructions. Then he’d pulled Kat over to straddle his lap, pulled up her dress and—

She slammed the lid shut on that memory and leaned forward to tell the driver where to go before she lost her composure completely.

She refused to look at Zafir again, and within a couple of minutes they were pulling up outside her very modest apartment block. Kat managed to scramble inelegantly out of the car before Zafir could help her. She didn’t want him to touch her—not even fleetingly. The thin threads holding her composure together might snap completely.

Her apartment was just inside the main doors of the apartment block, on the ground floor, and Kat could feel Zafir behind her. Tall, commanding. Totally incongruous.

As if to underline it she heard him say a little incredulously, ‘No concierge?’

Kat would have bitten back a smile if she’d felt like smiling. ‘No.’

She opened her door and went into her studio apartment. What had become a place of refuge for the past year was now anything but as she put her keys down and turned around to face her biggest threat.

Zafir closed the door behind him and Kat folded her arms. ‘Well, Zafir? What is it you have to say?’

He was looking around the small space with unmistakable curiosity, and finally that dark grey gaze came to land on her. To her horror, he started to shrug off his overcoat, revealing a bespoke suit that clung lovingly to his powerful body.

When he spoke he sounded grim. ‘I have plenty to say, Kat, so why don’t you make us both a coffee? Because I’m not going anywhere any time soon.’

Kat stared mutinously at Zafir for a moment, and for those few seconds he was transfixed by her stunningly unusual eyes—amber from a distance, but actually green and gold from up close, surrounded by long dark lashes. They were almond-shaped, and Zafir’s blood rushed south as he recalled how she’d look at him after making love, the expression in her gaze one of wonderment that had never failed to catch him like a punch to his gut.

Lies.

It had all been lies. She might have been a virgin, but she’d been no innocent. It had been an elaborate act to hide her murky past. Suddenly he felt exposed. What was he doing here?

But just then something in Kat’s stance seemed to droop and she said in a resigned voice, ‘Fine, I’ll make coffee.’

She disappeared into a tiny galley kitchen and Zafir had to admit that he knew very well why he was here—he still wanted her. Even more so after seeing her again. But questions buzzed in his brain. He put down his overcoat on the back of a worn armchair and took in the clean but colourless furnishings of the tiny space she now called home.

He’d never been in the apartment she’d shared with three other models when he’d known her before, but it had been a loft in SoHo—a long way from here.

She emerged a couple of minutes later with two steaming cups and handed one to Zafir. He noticed that she was careful not to come too close, and it made something within him snarl and snap.

She’d taken off her coat and now wore a long-sleeved jumper over the T-shirt. Even her plain clothes couldn’t hide that perfect body, though. High firm breasts. A small waist, generous hips. And legs that went on for ever...

He could still feel them, wrapped around his back, her heels digging into his buttocks as she urged him deeper, harder—

Dammit. He struggled to rein in his libido.

‘Take a seat,’ she said, with almost palpable reluctance.

Zafir took the opportunity to disguise his uncontrollable response, not welcoming it one bit. He put it down to his recent sexual drought.

She sat on a threadbare couch on the other side of a coffee table. Zafir took a sip of coffee, noting with some level of satisfaction that she hadn’t forgotten how he liked it. Strong and black. But then he frowned, noticing something. ‘Your hair is different.’

She touched a hand to the unruly knot on her head self-consciously. ‘This is my natural colour.’

Zafir felt something inside him go cold when he observed that her ‘natural colour’ was a slightly darker brown, with enticing glints of copper. Wasn’t this just more evidence of her duplicitous nature? Her hair had used to be a tawny golden colour, adding to her all-American, girl-next-door appeal, but in reality she’d made a mockery of that image.

He put down his cup. ‘So, Kat, what happened? Why did you disappear off the international modelling scene and who is Kaycee Smith?’

CHAPTER TWO

ALL KAT HEARD WAS, ‘Why did you disappear off the international modelling scene?’ For a moment she couldn’t breathe. The thought of letting exactly what had happened tumble out of her mouth and watching Zafir’s reaction terrified her.

She’d come a long way in eighteen months, but some things she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for...namely revealing to him the full reality of why she was no longer a model, or who she was now. The graceful long-legged stride she’d become famous for on catwalks all over the world was a distant memory now, never to be resurrected.

She breathed in shakily. Answer his questions and then he’ll be gone. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to hang around in these insalubrious surroundings for too long.

‘What happened?’ she said, in a carefully neutral voice. ‘You know what happened, Zafir—after all you’re the one who broke it to me that I’d been dropped from nearly every contract and that the fashion houses couldn’t distance themselves fast enough from the girl who had fallen from grace.’

Kat had been blissfully unaware of the storm headed her way. She’d been packing for her new life with her fiancé—filled with trepidation, yes, but also hope that she would make him proud of her... What a naive fool she’d been.

Zafir’s face darkened. ‘There were naked pictures of you when you were seventeen years old, Kat. They spoke pretty eloquently for themselves. Not to mention the not inconsequential fact of the huge personal debt you’d been hiding from me. And the real story of your upbringing—enabling a drug-addicted mother to find her next fix.’

Kat’s hands tightened on her cup as she remembered the vicious headline Zafir had thrust under her nose. It had labelled her ‘a white trash gold-digger.’ A man like Zafir—privileged and richer than Croesus—could never have begun to understand the challenges she’d faced growing up.

Kat felt a surge of white-hot anger but also—far more betrayingly—she felt hurt all over again. The fact that he still had this ability to affect her almost killed her. Feeling too agitated to stay sitting, she put down her cup and stood up, moving to stand behind the couch, as if that could offer some scant protection.

Zafir was sitting forward, hands locked loosely between his legs. He looked perfectly at ease, but Kat wasn’t fooled by his stance. He was never more dangerous than when he gave off an air of nonchalance.

‘Look,’ she said, as calmly as she could, ‘if you’ve just come here to re-enact our last meeting, then I can’t see how that will serve any purpose. I really don’t need to be reminded of how once my so-called perfect image was tarnished you deemed me no longer acceptable in your life. We said all we had to say that night.’

Her hands instinctively dug into the top of the couch as she remembered that cataclysmic night—stumbling out of Zafir’s apartment building into the dark streets, the pain of betrayal in her heart, her tear-blurred vision and then... Nothing but blackness and more pain, the like of which she hadn’t known existed.

Zafir stood up too, dislodging the sickening memory, reminding her that this was the present and apparently not much had changed.

‘Did we, really? As far as I recall you said far too little and then left. You certainly didn’t apologise for misleading me the whole time we were together.’

Struggling to control herself as she remembered the awful shock of that night, Kat said, ‘You saw that article and you looked at those pictures and you judged and condemned me. You weren’t prepared to listen to anything I had to say in my defence.’

Kat’s conscience pricked when she recalled how she’d always put off telling Zafir the unvarnished truth of her background. And as for the debt... She’d never wanted to reveal that ugliness, or the awful powerlessness she’d felt. Not to someone like Zafir, who set such an exacting standard for moral strength and integrity.

‘Dammit, Kat, you told me nothing about yourself—when were you going to reveal the truth? If ever?’ He shook his head before she could respond, and repeated his accusation of that night. ‘You were obviously hoping that I’d marry you before the sordid details came out and then you’d be secured for life even if we divorced.’

Kat felt breathless, and nausea rose inside her. ‘It wasn’t like that...’

Zafir looked impossibly stern. As unforgiving as he had been that night. He changed tack, asking her again, ‘Who is Kaycee Smith?’

Kat swallowed painfully, not remotely prepared for her past transgressions to be visited upon her again like this. ‘Kaycee Smith is the name on my birth certificate.’

A dark brow arched over one eye. ‘A pertinent detail missed by the papers?’

She refused to let Zafir do this to her again. Humiliate her. Annihilate her.

Kat tipped up her chin. ‘It was about the only thing they did miss.’

Thankfully, she thought now. Otherwise she would never have been able to fade away from view as she had.

‘We have nothing to say to each other, Zafir. Nothing. Now, get out—before I call the police and tell them you’re harassing me.’

Kat moved decisively from her spot behind the sofa towards the door, powered by anger and the tumult inside her, only to be stopped in her tracks before she reached it when Zafir asked sharply, ‘Why are you limping?’

Immediately the adrenalin rush faded, to be replaced with a very unwelcome sense of exposure. There was nothing to hold on to nearby and it reminded her of how vulnerable she was now.

She turned around slowly and realised that she was far too close to Zafir. Every part of her body seemed to hum with electricity. It was as if her libido had merely been waiting for his presence again, and now it was no longer dormant but very much awake and sizzling back to life.

His scent wound around her like a siren call to lean closer...to breathe in his uniquely male smell. It had always fascinated her—the mixture of earthy musk and something indescribably exotic which instantly brought her back to her first and last visit to Jahor, with its awe-inspiring palace on a hill overlooking the teeming ancient city on the edge of the ocean.

She’d felt so awed and intimidated at the prospect of becoming a Queen of that land, and yet deep within her she’d thrilled to the challenge. But when Zafir had deemed her unsuitable to be his wife she’d realised what a fool she’d been to indulge in such a fantasy. She was no Queen, and she had no right to the ache of loss that still had the power to surprise her when she wasn’t vigilant.

Her head snapped up. Zafir was still frowning. She moved back, aghast that her body could betray her like this. And then she remembered what he’d asked: Why are you limping?

Everything inside Kat recoiled from revealing herself to Zafir. The urge to self-protect was huge. He had no idea of the extent of the devastation in her life since she’d seen him—not all of which had to do with him. It also had to do with events totally beyond him.

But she knew that giving him nothing would only pique his interest even more, so reluctantly she said, ‘I was involved in a road traffic accident a while ago. I injured my leg and I was out of circulation for some time.’

Try at least a year, Kat thought to herself, and held her breath, praying he wouldn’t ask for more details.

Zafir looked at her assessingly. ‘Is that why you haven’t returned to modelling? And is that why you’re living like this? Because you still haven’t cleared your debts? You’re obviously recovered now though, and I can’t imagine the fashion world wouldn’t have renewed your contracts eventually, once the story had died down.’

Kat hid her reflexive flinch at ‘you’re obviously recovered now.’ But she wasn’t about to explain anything—not when Zafir was clearly no more ready to hear the truth now than he had been back then. And he was right—except when the fashion houses had come calling again she’d been in no position to consider going back...

Kat breathed out unsteadily. She avoided answering his questions directly and said, ‘I do some hand modelling, but that’s about it. And the waitressing.’

Zafir came closer, standing beside the chair. His gaze was far too keen on her and incisive. She could almost hear his brain working, trying to join the dots.

Kat just wanted him gone. He’d upended her world once before and she wouldn’t survive him doing it again.

‘Look,’ she said now, trying to hide the desperation in her voice, ‘did you really come here to rake over old ground, Zafir?’

She stopped and bit her lip as a dangerous thought occurred to her—perhaps in spite of everything he had come to listen to her side of the story? Even belatedly?

For a moment Kat felt something very delicate flower deep inside her, but after a moment Zafir shook his head and said curtly, ‘No. Of course not. That’s in the past and I’ve no wish to revisit it any further.’

Kat’s heart thumped. Hard. Of course he hadn’t come here to hear her side of things. Apparently she was as pathetically susceptible to this man as she’d ever been, and in spite of everything she’d been through that was somehow more devastating than anything else. She felt a dart of panic at the knowledge that time had done little to diminish her feelings or her attraction to him. If anything, everything felt more acute than it had before.

She forced out words through a tight jaw. ‘Then if you wouldn’t mind leaving? We had a past and you pretty definitively ruled out any future, so what more could there possibly be to say?’

She regretted asking the question as soon as she saw the calculating gleam come into those slate-grey eyes.

‘Our future is exactly what I’m here to talk about. A different future to the one previously envisaged, yes, but I don’t see why we can’t leave that in the past and move on.’

Kat’s insides tightened as if warding off a blow. ‘I’m not interested in discussing any kind of future or moving on with you, Zafir.’

* * *

Zafir’s jaw clenched and he had to consciously relax it. He wasn’t used to anyone talking to him like this—and he couldn’t remember Kat ever being so combative. But he couldn’t deny that somewhere deep inside him he thrilled to it. She had changed, and yet she was still intriguingly familiar. Achingly familiar. His whole body hummed with frustration to be so close and yet have her hold him at arm’s length and look at him as if he was an unwelcome stranger.

In truth, he hadn’t expected her to be so antagonistic towards him. He knew things had ended badly before, but she was the one who had kept the truth from him, clearly in a bid to avoid risking his commitment to marry her—which was exactly what had happened. Yet she was acting as if she was the injured party!

He cursed himself. He hadn’t planned on rehashing the past, but obviously it had been inevitable. But, as he’d said, he was done talking about the past now—it was time for him to lay out his plans for Kat. For them.

In spite of everything, and even though he knew there were a thousand reasons for him to turn and walk away from Kat and forget he’d ever seen her again, he couldn’t. Not now. But he assured himself that he could have what he wanted and get on with his life. And he fully intended to.

‘I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came to say, Kat.’

Dismayed, Kat watched as Zafir illustrated his point by sitting down again. He was an immovable force, and she recognised that steely determination all too well. The last thing she wanted was for him to see how raw she felt, so she schooled her features and sat down opposite him, as if this visit wasn’t tearing her apart.

She looked pointedly at her watch and then back to him, ‘It’s getting late and I’ve got work early in the morning. I’d appreciate it if you could keep this short.’

Zafir inspected the bland expression on Kat’s face. For a moment he’d caught a glimpse of something much more fiery, but it was gone now. She seemed to be determined to treat him as if he was someone she hadn’t been intimately acquainted with. Soon, Zafir vowed, they would be intimately acquainted again, and she’d be moaning his name in ecstasy as her release threw them both over the edge and purged him of this ache.

He forced his mind out of his fantasies with effort and said, ‘Did you even listen to the proposition I sent your agent?’

Kat shook her head, a long tendril of hair dropping from the knot on top of her head to curl around her neck. Zafir wanted to undo her hair and let it fall in a luxurious curtain down her naked back, the way it had before. He gritted his jaw at the image. This was ridiculous—he could barely conduct a coherent conversation without X-rated images flooding his mind.

Calling on every ounce of control he possessed, he said, ‘What I’m proposing is a modelling assignment—’

He stopped and put up his hand as soon as he saw Kat’s mouth open, presumably to protest. She closed it again, her lush lips compressing into a tight line. Zafir ignored the pulse throbbing in his groin.

He tried another tack. ‘You might recall me telling you once about the famed missing jewel, the Heart of Jandor, the biggest red diamond in the world?’

Kat tensed opposite him, and then he saw a flush tinge her cheeks pink as if she too was remembering that moment—lying in her bed in Jahor, her limbs sprawled over his in sated abandon as he’d told her the story of the gem. He’d had to sneak into her rooms like a teenager, even though they’d been unofficially engaged at the time. His people would have been scandalised by such liaisons.

Kat had lifted her head from his chest and said huskily, ‘That’s so romantic... I hope they find it some day.’

Zafir could recall how a vague feeling of dread mixed with fear had washed over him on hearing the wistful tone in Kat’s voice, and how he’d felt the urge to say something, anything, to take the dreamy look from her eyes, to tell her that such a thing as romance had no place in his life. Duty trumped emotion. Always. There would be no room for romance when he became King and she was Queen.

But then she’d reached up and kissed him...and he couldn’t remember anything else.

‘I remember something...vaguely,’ she said tightly now, and Zafir desisted from arguing that she clearly remembered very well.

There was a curt edge to his voice after that memory. ‘They found the diamond recently, during an archaeological dig. It was a cause of much celebration and my people have seen it as a good omen for the future.’

Kat’s hands were clasped in her lap. ‘I’m very happy for you...and them...but I fail to see what this has to do with me.’

Zafir said carefully, ‘It has everything to do with you, Kat, because I’ve chosen you to be the model who will wear the diamond on our worldwide diplomatic tour to promote Jandor.’

* * *

The sheer arrogance of Zafir’s pronouncement rendered Kat speechless for a moment. And then she spluttered, ‘But that’s ridiculous. I’m working here. I have a life here. I have no intention of going anywhere with you.’

Zafir stood up, and as if she hadn’t spoken he said, ‘It’s a very select tour. The first function is the evening after tomorrow, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Then we and the diamond go to London, then Paris and then back to Jandor, where it will be put on permanent display.’

Kat stood up, quivering all over with volatile emotions. ‘There is no we in this, Zafir.’

‘If it had gone according to my plan, then, yes, I agree—I would have no need of you. But my chief aide came up with the idea of showing off the diamond in an infinitely more accessible way—instead of keeping it in a sterile environment, we will display it on a beautiful woman and have her meet and greet specially selected guests with us at each function, so that they can see how the gem really glows with a life force. It will bring the gem—and Jandor—alive.’

Kat folded her arms against the terrifying thought of people clamouring around her, too close, staring at her, pawing at her to get to the stone. One of the side effects of the accident she’d been involved in was that she felt claustrophobic in certain situations where she felt trapped.

She shook her head. ‘No way, Zafir. I’m not interested. And surely if this is to promote your country, then you should be using a model from Jandor.’

Kat saw the steely glint in Zafir’s eyes. It meant that he’d most likely anticipated every one of her arguments and was ready to counter them.

‘We don’t yet have a modelling agency in Jandor, but we do have aspiring fashion designers who are eager to showcase some of their designs during this tour. Also, I want someone who has the poise and grace of an experienced model—and they don’t come more experienced than you.’

Feeling desperate, she said, ‘There are a million models just as experienced as me—if not more.’ A hint of bitterness crept into her voice. ‘Models who don’t come with negative baggage. If I appear in public with you as Kat Winters, the press will have a field day and all those stories will get raked up again.’

Kat sent up silent thanks now that their break-up had occurred before the official public announcement of their engagement had been made.

‘Yes, they might,’ he conceded, ‘and I’ve considered that. But I have an excellent PR team, who will field any of the old stories and drown them out with this new one. Resurrecting Kat Winters to wear the most famous rediscovered gem in the world will be an irresistible story.’

Kat went cold inside as the full extent of Zafir’s cool calculation sank in. Her involvement would be purely to provide an angle. Something to fire up the headlines even at the expense of negativity. Everything Zafir was outlining was literally her worst nightmare. She felt panicky. She wasn’t prepared to step back into the world of Kat Winters again—not for anyone.

She shook her head. ‘The answer is no, Zafir. Now, please leave. I’m tired.’

But of course Zafir didn’t turn around to leave, much as Kat wished he would. Even as she felt the betraying hum of awareness that flowed like illicit nectar through her blood.

‘Obviously I wouldn’t expect you to do this for free, Kat. I would be willing to pay handsomely for one of the world’s most sought-after and elusive models. I’m well aware of the fees you once commanded, and as your credit history shows a lack of ability to hang on to your earnings, it looks like you’re not really in a position to turn down such a lucrative contract.’

He illustrated his point with a sweeping glance around her studio apartment.

Kat’s hands curled into fists. Of all the patronising—She stopped just as she was about to blurt something out. Something that would make those far too incisive eyes narrow on her and make him start asking questions again.

It was the last thing she wanted to bring up, but she had to. Maybe it was the thing that would finally push Zafir to leave. ‘Have you considered the speculation that would inevitably be sparked about us again?’

He waited a beat and then said, ‘Yes, I have, and I see no harm in it—not when it’s likely to be confined to the duration of the tour and then it’ll die away again.’

There was a rough quality to Zafir’s voice that sent a rush of awareness through Kat’s blood—as if her body was already reacting to some secret signal. For a moment she couldn’t really comprehend the way he was suddenly so watchful, but then it sank in with horrifying clarity.

‘You can’t seriously mean for us to—’ She stopped, afraid to speak the words out loud. Afraid to make herself look a fool again. Afraid she might be right.

Afraid she might be wrong.

‘Can’t seriously mean for us to what, Kat?’

Zafir moved closer and she was rooted to the spot. He stopped within reaching distance, the harsh lighting of her apartment doing nothing to leach away any of his sheer gorgeousness.

‘I can’t seriously mean for us to be together again?’

Kat looked at him, horrified and excited in equal measure. She half shook and nodded her head.

Zafir’s face suddenly took on a harsh aspect. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. I want you back in my bed, Kat. We have unfinished business. When you walked out—’

‘You mean when you cast me aside!’ Anger flooded Kat’s veins again, giving her the impetus to move back out of Zafir’s dangerous proximity, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

‘We’re not going to rake over that ground again,’ Zafir said harshly. ‘Suffice it to say that our engagement might have been over—there was no way I could have presented you as my future Queen after those headlines and pictures—but our relationship didn’t have to be over.’

Shock mixed with affront, and hurt poured through Kat, making her tremble. She was back in time, standing before Zafir in far more luxurious surroundings saying incredulously, ‘You don’t love me.’

He’d slashed a hand through the air. ‘This isn’t about love, Kat. It’s never been about love. It’s about mutual respect and desire and the fact that I believed—mistakenly—that you were the perfect choice to be my wife and future Queen.’

‘Perfect...’ She’d half-whispered it to herself, never hating a word as much as she had then.

Her whole life she’d been told she had to be perfect. To win the next competition. To get the commercial over the other pretty girl. To get enough money to save her mother... Except she’d failed—miserably.

She’d looked at Zafir and said in a hollow voice, ‘Well, I’m not perfect, Zafir. Far from it.’

And she’d walked out, leaving her engagement ring on the hall table. And now she was glad—because clearly he would have demoted her from the position of future wife, but kept her in his life as his mistress.

And she’d never been further from perfect than she was right now.

‘Get out, Zafir, this conversation is over.’

But her words bounced off him as if an invisible shield protected him.

‘Think about what you’re turning down, Kat. A chance to restart your life and return to where you belong. Have you thought about what you’d be turning down?’

He mentioned a sum of money and it was literally life-changing. Kat felt her blood drain south.

He reached into an inside pocket and took out a card, holding it out to her. She unlocked her arms from her chest and took it reluctantly.

‘That’s my private number. I’ll be staying at my penthouse apartment. I’ll give you till tomorrow morning, Kat. If I don’t hear from you I will find someone else and you will never hear from me again.’

She looked at him and marvelled that she’d once believed that he loved her because he’d asked her to marry him. Because she’d always had a romantic notion that that was what people did when they loved someone, in spite of being brought up as the only child of a single parent with no clue as to her father’s whereabouts.

But Zafir’s motives had been so much more strategic than that. She’d been scrutinised and deemed suitable. Perfect. And now he was asking her to step back into a world that had chewed her up and spat her out. Not only that, he was asking her to lay herself bare to him again, to let him carve out the last remaining part of her heart that still functioned and let him crush it until there was nothing left.

Kat was stronger now than she’d ever been, considering the trials she’d faced in the past eighteen months, but she was still only human and she wasn’t strong enough for this. No matter how much money he was offering.

Without taking her eyes off Zafir’s, as if some small, treacherous part of her wanted to commit them to her memory, she held up the card and ripped it in half, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

‘Goodbye, Zafir.’

His eyes flashed and his jaw clenched. Kat could feel the waves of energy flowing like electricity between them, but after a tense moment he just stepped back and said, ‘As you wish. Goodbye, Kat.’

But to Kat’s dismay, when Zafir finally turned and walked out, picking up his overcoat as he did so, and when the door had shut behind him, the last thing she felt was triumph.

She found her feet moving towards the door instinctively, as if to rush after him and beg him not to go. She stopped in her tracks, shocked at the profound sense of loss that pervaded her whole body, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if that could hold back all the turmoil she was feeling.

Zafir had devastated her once before. She couldn’t let it happen again.

So she stayed resolutely where she was, and after she’d heard the sound of his vehicles leaving from outside the apartment she breathed in shakily and sank down onto the couch behind her.

She looked around her, as if seeing the space for the first time again. She’d grown used to the bare furnishings and the sparse décor. It was all she’d been able to afford after the accident and her lengthy rehabilitation, even though the largest part of her debt had finally been gone.

And the reason it had been gone was because once those pictures of Kat had gone public, her blackmailer—the photographer who had taken them in the first place—had had no further means with which to blackmail her. After all, everything he’d always threatened her with had come true—her career had imploded in spectacular style.

Perversely, Kat had been grateful to whoever had found and leaked the pictures, because they had freed her from a malignant threat she’d had no idea how to deal with.

On numerous occasions she’d wanted to confide in Zafir, but then she’d feel too intimidated, or too scared of his reaction. How could a man like him, who had grown up in such a rarefied world, possibly understand why she would do such a thing? The thought of revealing all that ugly poison had pulled her back from the brink each time.

And in the end hadn’t she been vindicated? She’d never forget the look of disgust and horror on his face as he’d confronted her with her past.

Kat stood up again, restless, as Zafir’s visit sank in properly. She told herself that it was his arrogance that still left her breathless, but really it was the knowledge that he still wanted her, and the even more shattering knowledge that she still wanted him. The core of her body felt hot and achy, and her blood felt thick and heavy in her veins.

Damn him.

She paced back and forth, and as she did so her eye snagged on something in the corner of the room and she stopped. Zafir hadn’t noticed them. Crutches and a folded-up wheelchair. She hadn’t needed the wheelchair for some time now, but she would never not need one to hand. And she’d always need the crutches.

To Kat’s shame, she knew that this was as much of a reason as any other as to why she’d all but pushed Zafir out through the door. Because she couldn’t bear for him to know what had happened to her. Because she couldn’t bear to think about the fact that, even if she was to ever be with Zafir again, he would not want to be with her.

Because she was irrevocably altered.

Kat picked up the crutches and went into her tiny bedroom. She took off her sneakers, undid her jeans and pulled them off, then stood in front of her mirror, inspecting herself critically.

At first glance Zafir might not notice anything different about Kat—after all she stood on two legs, and was the same height she’d always been, with the same straight back. But then she imagined his gaze travelling down and stopping on her left leg. Specifically on the prosthetic limb that now made up her lower left leg, with its mechanical ankle and fake foot.

Even now Kat couldn’t recall anything about the accident itself on that fateful night. She only knew that one minute she’d been crossing the street and the next she’d been waking up, a day later, in a hospital, with a doctor informing her that they’d had to amputate below the knee to save her leg—which was kind of ironic, considering half of it was now gone.

She’d had flashbacks however, since then, of regaining consciousness and realising that her foot was trapped under the heaviest weight. People had crowded around her but she hadn’t been able to move or speak. And then she’d slipped back into darkness.

That was why she got claustrophobic now.

Sometimes people gave her a second glance, but they soon dismissed her when they saw her slightly limping gait and figured this woman with darker hair and no make-up couldn’t possibly be the Kat Winters.

A ball of emotion lodged itself in Kat’s chest, and before she could stop them hot tears blurred her vision. But she dashed them away angrily as she sat down on her bed and set about removing her prosthetic limb with an efficiency born of habit.

It had been a long time since she’d indulged in self-pity. That had been in the dark early days, when she’d fallen down in many graceless heaps while trying to get to the bathroom during the night, when she’d hurled her crutches across the room in a rising tide of fury at the hand she’d been dealt. Or when she’d locked herself away for long days, sunk in such a black depression that she’d thought she might never emerge into daylight again.

It was her oldest friend, Julie, who was also her agent, who had finally saved her. And the local rehabilitation centre. It was there that she’d learnt how to deal with her new reality and had been able to start putting things into perspective after meeting a man who had lost both his legs in a war, and a woman who had lost an arm, and an endlessly cheerful little girl who’d lost her limbs after meningitis... They, and many more, had humbled her, and reminded her that she was one of the luckier ones.

And gradually she’d clawed her way out of the mire to a place of acceptance, where this was her new reality and she just had to get on with it. And she had been getting on with it, perfectly well, until a Zafir-shaped storm had blown everything up again.

Kat could be honest enough with herself to acknowledge that—as much as the accident and its consequences had made her feel as if her life had shrunk—she’d been living in a kind of limbo, taking one day at a time. The accident had been so catastrophic that she’d been able to block out that last night with Zafir for a long time, but recently it had been creeping back, as if now she was ready to deal with it...

Maybe he was right, whispered a coaxing voice. Maybe you do have unfinished business. Perhaps if you took on the assignment you could lay more than one ghost to rest.

The ghost of the relationship she’d thought she had with Zafir, but which had never really existed...only in her romantic fantasies.

The ghost of the Kat Winters she’d been before—in awe and intimidated by nearly everything and everyone around her in spite of her high-flying career, and by none more so than Sheikh Zafir Ibn Hafiz Al-Noury. The ghost of her mother’s death and the constant feeling of failure Kat had grown up with when she hadn’t been able to save a mother who hadn’t wanted to be saved.

The thought lodged in Kat’s head, and as much as she wanted to dismiss it out of hand she was afraid that she couldn’t go back to fooling herself that Zafir was firmly in her past. She’d been too scared to really look at the repercussions of what had happened between them, but seeing him again this evening had roused more than one dormant part of her.

Not least of which was the reawakening of her sexual awareness. It was terrifying. The prospect of intimacy and what it would mean now was something she’d found easy to bury deep inside her since the accident. If she’d thought about it at all, she’d imagined that it would be with someone gentle, kind...patient.

Zafir was a force of nature—above such benign human virtues. He didn’t have to deal with imperfection. He walked amongst the brightest, the best, the most beautiful. He was one of them.

Panic skittered up Kat’s spine. There was no way she felt ready to trust Zafir on an intimate level again with her new self.

Resolutely shutting her mind to that scenario, she thought again of that fateful night and their fight.

Her conscience pricked when she remembered rushing out of his apartment—had she been too hasty? But once she’d known that he didn’t love her, the last thing she’d wanted to do was try to defend herself to someone who had only ever seen her as some kind of a commodity.

That’s how her mother had seen her—as a means to make money, capitalising on her daughter’s beauty. Zafir had been no different—he’d all but admitted he’d only proposed because she’d fitted into his life on a superficial level and nothing more. It had driven home to Kat how much she hungered to be loved for her whole self.

But she had the sinking feeling that her secret wounds would remain raw until she confronted Zafir properly and forced him to listen to her side of the story behind those lurid headlines.

Not that she wanted anything more than that... The prospect of more made panic surge again even as her blood grew hot.

She would deny that her attraction to him was as strong as ever with every breath in her body—she had no intention of ever letting Zafir see her like this. She looked down at her residual limb and ran a hand over it almost protectively.

Yet even as she entertained the possibility of acquiescing to his demand—purely on a professional basis—she balked at the thought. The prospect of going back into that world and being scrutinised terrified her. And doing it all with Zafir by her side? Scrambling her brain to pieces? Making all the cold parts of her melt again after she’d spent so much time rebuilding her defences?

No way. She couldn’t. She wasn’t strong enough yet.

At that moment Kat caught sight of her reflection in the mirror as she sat on the bed. Her eyes were huge. She looked panicked and pale... Something inside her resisted that. She sat up straight and took in the full reality of who she was now. A damaged woman, yes, and less whole than she’d once been, but actually in many ways more whole than she’d ever been.

She’d always known on some level that she wasn’t prepared to hide away as Kaycee Smith for ever, and Julie had been putting more and more pressure on her to come out of her protective cocoon, to let herself be seen again.

And now Zafir was asking her to take on a modelling assignment. That was all. No, it’s not, whispered a snide voice, and Kat’s heart thumped in response. Zafir had wanted perfection before, and he’d rejected her because she’d fallen from grace. She would never give him a chance to do that to her again.

She thought of the sum of money he’d mentioned and realised with a churning gut that it would allow her to pay Julie back. Her friend had helped support Kat through not only the first six months of her rehabilitation, but since then too, because Kat had only had the most basic of insurance. But also—and maybe more important—she realised that she would be able to help the rehabilitation centre that had been so instrumental in her recovery.

The St Patrick’s Medical Centre for Traumatic Injuries was currently facing the prospect of closure due to lack of funds and resources. Kat would be in a position to give them enough money to avoid imminent closure until they could get back on their feet and raise more funds for their long-term future.

If she accepted Zafir’s job offer.

Her heart sped up with a mixture of terror and illicit excitement—if she said yes, then she could use it as an exercise to prove to herself just how ill-suited she and Zafir had always been, in spite of the insane chemistry between them. Never more evident than now. She was no longer a wide-eyed virgin being initiated into a world that had moved at a terrifying pace—too fast for her to shout, ‘Stop!’ and get off.

She was strong enough to take on Zafir and walk away with her head high.

Are you really, though?

Kat assured herself that, yes, she was.

This would be purely a professional transaction. Zafir would never touch her emotions again—or her body. He was the kind of man who relished the conquest, who relished making a woman acquiesce to him of her own volition, and she had no intention of acquiescing to an affair.

The walls Kat had had to build just to survive since the accident were impenetrable. He wouldn’t break through. She could do this.

She picked up her mobile from the table near the bed before she lost her nerve, focusing on anything but the terror she felt at the thought of what she was about to do. And how it would affect her life.

This wasn’t just about her. Not when she now knew she could put that money to good use. Vital use.

Zafir had made it clear that he would walk away, and if Kat knew anything about him it was that he meant what he said. He was a proud man. He wouldn’t ask again and he certainly wouldn’t beg.

As Kat dialled her friend’s number and waited for her to answer, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror again. She scowled at her flushed face and the too-bright eyes that whispered that her decision had a lot less to do with altruism and more to do with something much darker and far more ambiguous deep inside her.

And then Julie answered and Kat had a split second to decide whether to take a step into a dangerous future or remain safe in the past.

CHAPTER THREE

ZAFIR STOOD AT the window of his penthouse study and looked out over Manhattan, sparkling under the autumn sun, with Central Park in the distance. He was trying not to acknowledge the sense of triumph and satisfaction rushing through his blood, but it was hard.

Along with it, though, had come something far more contradictory—a kind of disappointment—and Zafir realised that it was because when he’d walked away from Kat last night she’d seemed so resolute. And, as much as it had irritated him intensely, he’d admired it on some level. It was rare to find anyone going against him in anything—especially since he’d become King.

He recalled getting into his car last night and how stunned he’d been that she’d turned him down. And then how he’d had to physically restrain himself from instructing his driver to turn around so that he could go back to Kat’s apartment and shatter that cooler than cool reception by reminding her in a very explicit way of just how good it had been between them. How good it could be again.

And yet before 8:00 a.m. this morning his personal phone had rung and it had been her agent, confirming that Kat had decided to take on the assignment after all.

At this very moment she was with her agent and his legal advisors, signing the contract, and then she was due to spend the rest of the day and tomorrow in preparation for the tour with a team of stylists. Rahul would go through the itinerary with her and make sure her passport and travel documents were in order for when they left the United States.

So her cold stonewalling and reluctance last night had been an act. Much like the act she’d fooled everyone with when he’d first met her, projecting a false persona of someone who was honest and hard-working, making the most of the opportunities presented to her.

She’d been honest, at least, about coming from a poor background—which in Zafir’s eyes had only made her more commendable. She’d epitomised the American dream of grit and ambition and achieving success no matter what your circumstances were.

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