would be no family for her, no children. As for finding a life partner to love... The air hissed between her teeth at the impossibility of that particular fantasy.
‘Samira. Is anything wrong?’
‘Nothing at all.’ Samira turned to Celeste with a dazzling smile that only years of practice in the public eye could muster. Surreptitiously she breathed in through her nose, filling lungs that seemed to have cramped shut. ‘It sounds like tonight will be a huge success. With luck you’ll attract far more than your fund-raising target.’
‘Thanks to you.’ At Samira’s raised brow she shrugged and smiled. ‘And to the rest of the donors.’ She paused, glancing across the lounge. ‘Speak of the devil, there’s one of them now.’ Celeste sat straighter, swiftly smoothing her short skirt and flicking her blonde hair from her face.
She leaned close to Samira and whispered, ‘If only we could auction off a night in his bed we’d make a fortune. I’d bid for that myself and, believe me, I wouldn’t let anyone outbid me.’
Surprised at the change in her companion, Samira turned. Yet she knew which man Celeste referred to. It could only be the hunky father of two who wore his elegant clothes with such casual panache that even her long-dormant libido sat up and slavered.
Yet she wasn’t prepared for the shock that slammed into her solar plexus as she saw him again. For this time he’d turned and she saw his broad, high brow, defined cheekbones and the rough-cut jaw that looked dangerous and sexy at the same time. A long, harsh blade of a nose somehow melded those too-strong features into a whole that was boldly, outrageously attractive.
And familiar.
Samira’s breath hissed sharply as she recognised the man she hadn’t seen in years. The man who’d once been almost as dear to her as her brother, Asim.
A tumble of emotions bubbled inside. Excitement and pleasure, regret and pain, and finally a sharp tang of something that tasted like desire, raw and real for the first time in four years. Amazement at that instantaneous response spiralled through her.
‘Oh, I’d forgotten you must know him, your country and his being in the same neighbourhood.’ Celeste sounded eager. ‘Sexy Sheikh Tariq of Al Sarath.’ She sighed gustily. ‘I’d even consider taking on a couple of kids for the sake of a man like that. Not that I’ll get the chance. They say he hasn’t looked at another woman seriously since he lost his wife. They try but none of them last. Apparently he was devoted to her.’
With one final, lingering look at Tariq and his sons, Samira swung round, putting her back to them, letting Celeste’s chatter wash over her.
She’d once thought Tariq her friend. She’d looked up to him and trusted him. He’d been as much a part of her life as her brother, Asim. But that friendship had been a mirage, as fragile as the shimmer of water on hot desert sands. He’d turned his back on her years ago with a suddenness that had mystified her, making her wonder what she’d done to alienate him or whether he’d just forgotten her in the press of responsibilities when he’d become Sheikh. When she’d been through hell four years previously she’d not heard a word from him.
Strange how much that still hurt.
* * *
Tariq had been in the crowded banqueting hall just three minutes when his sixth sense, the one that always twitched at a hint of trouble, switched into overdrive.
Casually he turned, keenly surveying the glamorous throng even as he returned greetings. He’d been plagued by a sense that something wasn’t quite right all afternoon, since he returned to the hotel, but to his annoyance couldn’t pinpoint any tangible reason. Just a disturbing sense that he’d missed something important.
It wasn’t a sensation he liked. Tariq liked to be in control of his world.
The crowd shifted and through a gap he saw a sliver of deep scarlet. His gaze snagged. Another shift and the scarlet became a long dress, a beacon drawing his eyes to the sultry swell of feminine hips and a deliciously rounded bottom. The woman’s skin, displayed by the low scoop of material at her back, was a soft gold, like the desert at first light. A drift of gleaming dark hair was caught up in an artfully casual arrangement that had probably taken hours to achieve. It was worth it, for it revealed the slender perfection of her elegant neck.
Tariq’s body tightened, every tendon and muscle stiffening in a response that was profound, instinctive and utterly unexpected.
Light played on the sheen of her dress, lovingly detailing each curve.
He swallowed, realising suddenly that his mouth was dry. His blood flowed hot and fast, his heartbeat tripping to a new, urgent rhythm.
It was a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years. Tariq frowned.
The woman turned and he took in the fitted dress that covered her from neck to toe. It enticed a man’s imagination to wander over the slim frame and bounteous curves beneath the fabric.
He’d taken half a pace towards her when his eyes lifted to her face and he slammed to a stop, an invisible brick wall smashing into him, tearing the air from his lungs.
Samira.
Tariq heaved in a breath so deep it made his ribs ache.
Samira.
He breathed out, almost tasting the memories on his tongue.
But this wasn’t Samira as he’d last seen her. This was a different woman: confident, sexy and experienced. A woman who was making her mark on the world.
For a moment he paused, drawn despite himself. Then his brain kicked into gear as he remembered all the reasons she wasn’t for him, despite the tight ache gripping his lower body. He turned to the pretty blonde at his right who was half-wearing a gold sequinned dress. She looked up with wide, hopeful eyes that brimmed with excitement when he smiled down at her.
Minutes later she was leaning into him, her pale hand clutching his sleeve possessively, her eyes issuing an invitation as old as time.
Tariq made himself smile again, wondering if she realised or cared that his attention was elsewhere.
* * *
Samira watched him from the back of the crowd. Tariq was the obvious choice of speaker for the children’s charity. He was a natural leader, holding the audience in the palm of his hand. Confident, articulate and witty, he effortlessly drew all eyes. Around her men nodded and women salivated and Samira had to repress indignation as they ate him up hungrily.
He was all she remembered: thoughtful, capable and caring, using his speech to reinforce the plight of the children they were here to help, yet keeping the tone just right to loosen the wallets of wealthy patrons.
She remembered a lanky youth who’d always been gentle with her, his friend’s little sister. This Tariq was charismatic, with an aura of assured authority that he’d no doubt acquired from ruling his sheikhdom. She couldn’t drag her eyes from his tall frame and the way it filled out his tuxedo with solid muscle and bone.
Samira gulped, disorientated at the sudden blast of longing that swamped her.
She blinked and looked up at his bold, handsome face, the glint of humour in his
