Desert Prince, Defiant Virgin

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

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

‘You noticed?’

Hard not to!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or maybe it’s just me, she thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You must have been mistaken, Molly.’

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

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

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

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

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

No, it had been loathing at first sight.

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

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

‘This isn’t easy for your father.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why would she?

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