back under her seat but kept them where they were, determined not to show nerves.
She fixed on her most charming smile, the one that worked no matter how stressed she felt. ‘It was a bit of a crush but worth it for the end result.’ Her donation—two gowns to be designed exclusively for the highest bidder—had garnered far more than even Celeste had dared hope.
‘Are you staying long in Paris?’ It was a simple question, a polite conversation starter, yet the keenness of Tariq’s scrutiny invested it with extra significance.
Samira shivered. He could have no idea of her mission here. Suddenly panic hit at the thought of how he’d react when he found out. It would be easy enough to turn this instead into a brief, social catch-up. She could walk out the door with her head high and her secret safe.
But the black void of desolation would be waiting to consume her again. Surely she had the gumption to fight for what she craved, rather than admit defeat so easily?
She was the daughter of generations of warriors. It was time she remembered that.
‘I’m not sure how long I’ll stay.’ She smoothed a damp hand over her fitted skirt, telling herself he couldn’t see how her fingers trembled. ‘It depends.’
He didn’t ask the obvious question, giving her an opening, however tenuous, for her proposition. Nervously she shifted in her seat, then realised what she was doing and stilled.
‘I was very sorry to hear about your wife.’ She’d added her condolences to Asim’s note when Tariq’s wife had died giving birth to their twins, but this was the first time Samira had seen Tariq since it had happened.
It was the first time she’d seen him in twelve years. Since the winter she’d turned seventeen and his sudden departure had devastated her. He’d even missed Asim’s wedding three years ago due to emergency surgery on his appendix.
Now he looked like a stranger, despite those familiar features.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Thank you.’
Silence fell.
‘I saw your boys yesterday in the hotel.’ It wasn’t what she’d meant to say but her carefully rehearsed words disintegrated under his silent regard. ‘They look like a happy pair.’
He nodded. ‘They are.’
‘And full of energy.’
Samira bit her lip. She was babbling again. She had to get a grip.
‘They’re never still, except when they sleep.’ A hint of a smile lurked at the corner of Tariq’s mouth and suddenly he wasn’t a stern stranger but the friend she remembered from years ago.
Friends she could deal with. It was the potently masculine Tariq who unsettled her. The man whose deep laugh and imposing body awoke longings that had no place in her life.
‘They must keep you very busy.’ This time her smile was genuine.
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Samira nodded. The Tariq she knew would find time for the demands of his small sons, just as he’d found time for his best friend’s kid sister. He took duty seriously but, more than that, he was kind. He was the sort of man you could trust.
That was why she couldn’t shake the outrageous idea that had taken root as she’d watched him last night at the gala. The idea that he held the key to her future happiness.
Samira swallowed hard. She’d known only one trustworthy man, her brother, Asim. The other men in her life, even her father, had let her down terribly. Could she trust Tariq not to do that too?
‘Samira.’
‘Yes?’ She looked up to see him lounging back in his chair, the picture of ease. Yet his eyes were intent.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Her laugh sounded woefully unconvincing and caught her up short. She was stronger than this. Here was her chance to reach out for the one thing she really wanted in life. Surely she wasn’t coward enough to give up without trying?
‘On the contrary.’ She sat forward, projecting an air of certainty she’d mastered in her professional dealings. She could do this. ‘I wanted to see you because I have a proposal to put to you.’
‘Really?’ Interest sparked in his eyes.
‘A rather unusual proposal, but a sound one. I’m sure you’ll see the benefits.’
‘I’m sure I will.’ He paused. ‘When you tell me what it is.’ Those slashing dark eyebrows angled up in query.
Samira leaned closer, suddenly urgent to get this done. She licked her dry lips, holding his keen gaze.
‘I want to marry you.’
Copyright © 2015 by Annie West
Married for the Prince’s Convenience
Maya Blake
SHE WAS A THIEF.
A thief...
Jasmine Nichols’s heart pounded the indictment through her bloodstream. She hadn’t stolen anything yet, but that was beside the point. She’d travelled thousands of miles for the sole purpose of taking something that didn’t belong to her.
Telling herself she had no choice didn’t matter. If anything, it escalated her helplessness.
By the end of the night, she would wear the damning label as close to her skin as her black designer evening gown clung now.
Because failure wasn’t an option.
Fear and shame duelled for supremacy inside her, but it was the deep knowledge that she couldn’t turn her back on her family that propelled her reluctant feet up the sweeping crimson carpet towards the awe-inspiring masterpiece that housed the Contemporary Museum of Arts, perched on a cliff-side overlooking Rio de Janeiro. Even the jaw-dropping beauty of her surroundings couldn’t detract her from the simple fact.
She’d come here to steal.
The smile she’d plastered on her face since alighting from the air-conditioned limo threatened to crack. To calm her nerves, she mentally recited her to do list.
First, she had to locate Crown Prince Reyes Vicente Navarre.
And there was her first problem.
All effective search engines had yielded no pictures of the reclusive prince, save for a grainy image taken at the funeral of his mother four years ago. Since then, no pictures of the royal family of the South American kingdom of Santo Sierra had been released
