full of tenderness. ‘Do you want to sail your yacht off into the sunset?’
She smiled as she lifted her face to his. ‘It’s a long time until sundown. I think I’d rather kiss you instead.’
A GHOSTLY WAIL shattered the night calm and Sophie rolled over lazily to curl her naked body comfortably against Rafe.
‘That’s a curlew,’ she murmured sleepily, her breath warm against his chest.
‘Congratulations.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Soon you’ll be eligible for membership of the Australian Ornithological Society.’
‘That’s not fair,’ she protested. ‘I know lots about the indigenous birdlife. I can easily recognise a bowerbird.’
He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Only because their colouring is as blue as your beautiful eyes.’
‘Oh, Rafe,’ she whispered as she wriggled luxuriously against him. ‘I do love you.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ he said steadily, though he could do nothing about the sudden lump which had risen in his throat. ‘Because I love you too.’
He pulled her closer, reflecting on the last three eventful years. It had been an interesting road they’d travelled together before Princess Sophie of Isolaverde had finally consented to become his wife. She’d meant what she said about doing a cookery course in Paris, but Rafe had quickly established a branch of Carter Communications in the Eighth Arrondissement and they had set up home nearby.
Sophie had graduated from the famous patisserie school with honours and soon afterwards they had married in the Isolaverdian cathedral in a ceremony which included royalty, magnates and film stars. But the glittering congregation might as well not have existed, because all Rafe had been able to see was his beautiful bride, wearing the ruby and diamond necklace which had belonged to her mother and which he had presented to her the day before their wedding, to the accompaniment of her tear-filled eyes and trembling lips. Rafe had been planning to pay any price to get it back from Prince Luc, but the Mardovian royal had insisted on gifting it to them.
‘It is yours,’ he’d said gruffly. ‘For it was always intended for Sophie.’
But there were no hard feelings between Sophie and the man to whom she had once been betrothed—and Luc and his wife Lisa were both guests at the royal wedding. So was Amber, with Conall. Nick, Molly and Oliver. Chase had defied logic and schedules and somehow managed to get himself there from the depths of the Amazonian rainforest and Gianluca was there, too. Even Bernadette had accepted an invitation and Ambrose surprised them all by spending most of the evening dancing with the Irish housekeeper.
And when Rafe had laughingly enquired whether there was some kind of romantic attachment brewing, Bernadette had silenced him with a stern look. ‘There is not!’ she’d declared. ‘Sure and all he wants to talk about is his gout!’
After the wedding, Rafe had asked Sophie where she wanted to live, telling her that they could go anywhere she wanted—but her answer hadn’t really surprised him. For although they visited Europe and America from time to time, their main base was in Poonbarra, where the skies were huge and the air was clean. It was the only place she’d ever really felt free, she told him. And he felt the same. It was their place, now shared with their firstborn—a beautiful bouncing baby boy they named Myron Ambrose Carter.
But before she’d become pregnant, Sophie had experimented with everything she’d learned in Paris and added a few twists of her own—which was how Princess Pastries had come about. Her second cookbook had just been published to great international acclaim and had become an instant bestseller, with all the profits going to an Isolaverdian children’s charity. Despite a lot of pressure from the major networks, Sophie had refused all offers to do her own television show. Why would she want to do anything which took her away from her family? she’d asked Rafe quietly.
Why, indeed?
Rafe stroked the hair which lay so silkily against his skin. Family. And love. It was that simple. He sighed. How could something so simple be this good?
‘What time is it?’ Sophie murmured, her arms tightening around him.
The dawn had not yet streaked the sky and it would be several hours before the wild and beautiful Australian bush sprang into new life. But for now they had the night and they had each other.
Always.
‘Time to kiss me,’ he said throatily.
And in the darkness, she raised her face to his.
* * * * *
Annie West
The child she hid...
Surrounded by society’s glitterati, Arden Wills finds herself staring up into the eyes of her first and only love. But Sheikh Idris Baddour has a surprise title and heavy responsibilities...so she clings to her precious secret even tighter.
Time has done nothing to dampen the intense ardor between them. And when their kiss is blasted across the world’s front pages, Arden’s truth comes to light—the sheikh has a secret son! To avoid further scandal, Idris must legitimize his heir and make English rose Arden his dutiful desert queen!
‘Here he is at last. Arden, I’d like to present you to my cousin Idris—Sheikh of Zahrat.’
Arden widened her smile, determined not to be overawed by meeting her very first, and no doubt last, sheikh. Coming to this formal reception, surrounded by VIPs who oozed money and privilege, had already tested her nerves.
She turned, tilted her head to look up, and felt the world drop away.
His face was severely sculpted, as if scored by desert winds. Yet there was beauty in those high cheekbones and his firm yet sensual mouth. His nose and jaw were honed and strong. The harsh angle of those beetling black brows intimidated. So did the wide flare of his nostrils, as if the sheikh scented something unexpected.
Shock dragged at her, loosening her knees till her legs felt like rubber.
His eyes...
Dark as a midnight storm, those eyes fixed on her instinctive movement as she clutched Hamid for support. Slowly they lifted again to clash with hers, disdain clear in that haughty stare.
A shuddering wave of disquiet rolled through her as she blinked up, telling herself it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.
Despite the frantic messages her body was sending her, she couldn’t know this man.
Yet her brain wouldn’t
