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It was odd, she thought dully, that however much you changed yourself on the outside, the inside stayed the same. No matter how glossy the outside, inside lay all the old insecurities. Inside she was still the same gawky, awkward, overweight girl who didn’t look right, wasn’t interested in the right things and was a massive disappointment to her glamorous mother.
Memories of her mother intensified her misery and she lifted a shaking hand to her throbbing head. It had been six years since her mother’s death, but the desperate desire to please, to make her mother proud, still lingered. She felt herself unravelling and suddenly she knew how Cinderella must have felt as the clock struck midnight. If she didn’t escape then all would be revealed. People might catch a glimpse of the real Farrah Tyndall and she owed it to her mother’s memory not to let that happen. She needed to go home, where she could be herself, without witnesses.
She heard laughter from the ballroom and then footsteps, a purposeful masculine tread, and she stiffened her shoulders, trying to make clear from her body language that she sought neither company nor conversation.
‘It’s unlike you to miss a party, Farrah.’
His voice came from behind her, deep, silky and unmistakably male, and everything in her tensed in response.
Once she’d loved his voice. She’d found his smooth, mellifluous tones both exotic and seductive.
She’d found everything about him exotic and seductive.
They called him the Desert Prince and the name had stuck, despite the fact that he’d been the ruler of Tazkash for the past four years and was now Sultan. And, Prince or Sultan, Tariq bin Omar al-Sharma was a brilliant businessman. Fearless and aggressive, as Crown Prince he’d transformed the fortunes of a small, insignificant state and turned Tazkash into a major player in the world markets. As Sultan he’d earned the respect of politicians and business institutions.
He spoke and people listened.
Now the sound of his voice transported her to the very edge of a panic attack.
Part of her wanted to ignore him, wanted to deny him the satisfaction of knowing that she even remembered him, and part of her wanted to turn and hurt him. Hurt him as much as he had hurt her with his cruel rejection.
Fortunately she’d been taught that it was best never to reveal one’s true feelings and her tutor in that lesson had been Tariq himself. He was a man who revealed nothing. She was ruled by her emotions and he was ruled by his mind.
She’d shown. He’d mocked. She’d learned.
Remembering the harsh lesson, she turned slowly, determined to behave as if his presence meant nothing more than an unwarranted disturbance. They were as different as it was possible for two people to be. And he’d made it painfully clear that she didn’t belong in his world.
‘Your Highness.’ Her voice was stiff and ferociously polite and she was careful not to look directly at him. To look into those eyes was to risk falling and she had no intention of falling. A glance behind him told her that they were alone on the terrace although she saw a bulky shadow in the doorway, which she took to be that of a bodyguard. They were never far from him, a constant reminder of his wealth and importance. ‘I find it warm in the ballroom.’
‘And yet you are shivering.’ With an economy of movement that was so much a part of the man, he stepped closer and panic shot through her.
Her throat dried and her fingers tightened around her jewelled evening bag, although why, she had no idea. The richest, most eligible man in the world was hardly likely to be planning to steal her possessions. And anyway, she thought dully, he’d already stolen the only part of herself she’d ever valued. Her heart.
Determined to send him on his way, she glanced up and immediately regretted the impulse.
His shockingly handsome face was both familiar and alien. When she’d known him, at the beginning at least, she’d always seen humour and warmth behind the cool exterior that he chose to present to the world. It hadn’t taken her long to realise that she’d seen what she wanted to see. Looking at him now, she saw nothing that wasn’t tough and hard.
‘Let’s not play games, Your Excellency.’ She was proud of herself for keeping her voice steady. For behaving with restraint. ‘We find ourselves at the same event and that is an unhappy coincidence for both of us, but that certainly doesn’t mean we have to spend time together. We have no need to pretend a friendship that we both know does not exist.’
He looked spectacular in a formal dinner jacket, she thought absently. As spectacular as he did dressed in more traditional robes. And she knew him to be equally comfortable in either. Tariq moved between cultures with the ease and confidence that others less skilled and adaptable could only envy.
He was totally out of her league and the fact that she’d once believed that they could have a future together was a humiliating reminder of just how naïve and foolish she’d been.
An expensive dress and a slick hairstyle didn’t make her wife material as he’d once cruelly pointed out.
Tariq had never met her mother, which was a shame, she thought miserably, because they would have had plenty in common, most notably the belief that she didn’t fit into the glittering society they both frequented.
It didn’t matter, she told herself firmly as she felt a sudden rush of insecurity. She had her own life now and it was a life that she loved. A life that suited her. She’d learned to do the glossy stuff because it was expected of her, but that was only a small part of her existence.
And it wasn’t the part she cared about. Wasn’t the part that she considered important.
But that was something she had no intention of sharing with Tariq. Her brief relationship with him had taught her that being open and honest just led to pain and anguish. And she’d learned to protect herself.
Music poured through the open doors, indicating that the dancing had begun. Farrah knew that in half an hour the fashion show would be starting. The fashion show in which she’d been persuaded to take part. But how could she? How could she walk down that catwalk, knowing that he was in the audience?
She’d call Henry, the family chauffeur. Ask him to come and get her.
The best way to protect herself right now was to leave.
Having planned her escape, she made to step past him but he caught her arm, long strong fingers closing over her bare flesh in a silent command.
‘This conversation is not finished. I have not given you permission to leave.’
She almost laughed. For Tariq, the use of power was second nature. He’d been born to command and did so readily. At the tender age of eighteen she’d been dazzled by that power. Hypnotized by his particular brand of potent sexuality. Mesmerized by the man.
Even now, with his hard masculine body blocking her escape, she felt the hot, hot sizzle of excitement flare inside her. And ignored it.
‘I don’t need your permission, Tariq.’ Her eyes flashed a challenge and anger rose inside her. Anger at herself for responding to a man who had hurt her. ‘I live my life the way I choose to live it and fortunately it no longer includes you. This was a chance meeting which we’d both do well to forget.’
And she was going to forget it, she vowed dizzily, as she struggled to control the throb of her heart and the slow, delicious curl of awareness in her stomach.
These feelings weren’t real. They weren’t what mattered.
‘Do you really think that our meeting tonight has anything to do with chance?’ He was standing so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body burning through the shimmering fabric of her gold dress and, even as she fought against it, she felt her limbs weaken in an instinctive feminine response to his blatant masculinity. Even though she was wearing impossibly high heels, his height and the width of his shoulders ensured that he dominated her physically. Being this close was both torment and temptation and she felt a helpless rush of wild excitement that she was powerless to quash. And she knew, from the sudden harshness of his breathing, that he was feeling it too.
It had always been that way between them.
From that first day at the beach.
From their first kiss at the Caves of Zatua, deep in the desert.
It was the reason why she’d made such a total fool of herself. She’d been blinded by a physical attraction so powerful and shattering that it transcended common sense and cultural differences.
For a moment she stood, frozen into stillness by the strength of his presence. There was something intensely sexual about him. Something raw and untamed. Something primitively male. She’d sensed it from the first moment of meeting him and she felt it again now as she stood, trapped by her own uncontrollable response to him. Her nipples hardened and thrust against the fabric of her dress and something dark and dangerous uncurled low in her stomach and spread through her body.
And then sounds of laughter from the ballroom broke the sensual spell that had stifled her ability to think and move.
With a flash of mortification, she stepped away from him and reminded herself of the lessons she’d learned in the wild desert land of Tazkash. She’d learned that a deep enduring love combined with wild, ferocious, untamed passion wasn’t always enough.
She’d learned that he was ruthless and cynical and that their personalities and expectations just didn’t match.
‘You expect me to believe that you engineered this?’ She threw her head back and laughed. ‘Tariq, you were at such pains to be rid of me five years ago that I know that cannot possibly be true. I was unsuitable, remember? You were ashamed of me.’
Just as her mother had been ashamed of her.
‘You were young.’ His tone was cool. ‘I’ve watched you with interest over the years.’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘Watched me?’
‘Of course.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You’re rarely out of the press. Designers fight to have you wear their clothes on the red carpet. If you wear a dress, then it sells.’
And how sad was that? Farrah mused, producing a false smile designed to indicate that such an ‘accolade’ mattered to her. In truth, the thought that people regarded her—her—as a fashion icon was as ridiculous as it was laughable. Almost as laughable as the idea that Tariq had noticed and cared.
He was a man who negotiated peace settlements and billion dollar oil deals. It was hard to believe that he could be genuinely interested in something as superficial as the contents of her wardrobe, but she’d long since resigned herself to the fact that her priorities seemed to be different from those of almost everyone else on the planet. She cared about different things.
But, thanks to her mother, she’d learned to stay quiet about her real interests. Had learned to play the game she was expected to play and she played it now, lifting her chin, hiding behind the image she’d created for herself. She watched his eyes narrow as he studied her expression.
‘You’ve developed poise, Farrah. And elegance.’
And duplicity. She was the master of pretence. Concealing her frustration behind another smile, she wondered why it was that everyone was so obsessed with how she looked on the outside. Didn’t anyone care about the person behind the glitter? Wasn’t anyone interested in who she really was?
Memories, painful and hurtful, twisted inside her.
For a short blissful time she’d thought Tariq was interested. She’d thought he cared. But she’d been wrong.
And his rejection had been the final spur for her to reinvent herself. To finally become the woman her mother had always wanted her to be. At least for part of the time. For the rest of the time she led an entirely different life. The life she wanted to lead. A life that few knew about.
A life she had absolutely no intention of sharing with Tariq.
‘I’m glad you approve,’ she said smoothly, stepping aside so that she could walk past him. ‘And now I need to go and—’
‘You’re not going anywhere.’ Without hesitation, he caught her round the waist and jerked her towards him. She lifted a hand in an instinctive gesture of defense, but it was too late. Her body had felt the hard brush of his thighs and responded instantly.
She shook her head to clear the clouds of dizziness and sucked in a lungful of air but even that was a mistake because the air contained the delicious, erotic scent of him and the clouds around her brain just grew denser.
Struggling to find the control that she was so proud of, she held herself rigid in his arms. ‘Why would you suddenly seek me out? I can hardly believe you find yourself short of female company.’
‘I’m not short of female company.’
His cool statement shouldn’t have caused pain but it did and she dragged her eyes away from her involuntary study of his dark jaw.
‘Then go and concentrate your attentions on someone who’s interested,’ she suggested, squashing down memories of past humiliation. ‘I’m not. And I want you to let me go.’
The tension between them was overwhelming. ‘If you’re not interested,’ he said silkily, ‘why is your heart pounding against mine?’
Farrah decided that if there was anything worse than feeling this way, it was knowing that he was aware of her reaction. ‘I don’t like being held against my will,’ she said frostily, a flash of anger in her eyes as she looked at him. ‘And I don’t like the way you use power and control to get your own way. I don’t respond to bullying.’
‘You think I’m bullying you?’ His tone was lethally soft, his mouth only a breath away from hers. ‘That’s strange, because I let go of you the moment you requested that I do so, but you haven’t moved an inch, Farrah. Your body is still against mine. Why is that? I wonder.’
She gave a soft gasp and stepped back, realising that he was telling the truth. He was no longer holding her.
‘I think what holds us together is sexual chemistry,’ he murmured, a self-satisfied look in his eyes as he lifted a hand to her flushed cheek, ‘the way it always did. Which proves I was right to seek you out.’
From somewhere, she found her voice. ‘Why would you do that? What possible reason could you have for seeking me out?’
A man like Tariq did nothing on impulse. His schedule was punishing. Every moment of his day was planned in minute detail. Even when they’d been together, she’d had problems getting to see him. It was extremely unlikely that he would have been at an event like this without a purpose.
Was she that purpose? And if so, why? What did she have that he could possibly want?
There was a brief silence while he studied her beneath distractingly thick dark lashes. ‘Five years is a long time. You were young and impulsive. You had no knowledge of my country or culture. It was, perhaps, inevitable that there would be problems between us. Misunderstandings.’
The injustice of his remarks stung her and her spine stiffened.
She’d been young, yes. A few weeks past her eighteenth birthday. Impulsive? Probably. But she’d also been ruthlessly manipulated by those around him, those who professed to be close to him. She’d been well and truly flattened by palace politics.
‘I don’t want to talk about the past and I’m not interested in your opinion, Tariq.’ Her voice was flat. ‘It was a long time ago and we’ve both moved on.’
‘I don’t think so.’ His eyes, dark as night, slid down her slender frame and he reached out and lifted her right hand. ‘You still wear my ring.’
The ring.
With something approaching horror her gaze slid to the sparkling dramatic stone. The ring had been the embodiment of all her girlish dreams and even when their relationship had fallen apart she hadn’t been able to bring herself to take it off.
Cursing herself for being so sentimental, she snatched her hand away from his. The ring was exquisitely beautiful. A diamond so rare and perfect that she’d fallen in love with it on sight. As she had with the man who had given it to her. ‘Actually, Tariq, I wear it to remind me that men bearing extravagant gifts are not to be trusted.’
An indulgent smile spread across his bronzed features. ‘Fool yourself if you wish, laeela, but not me. Strong feelings are not so easily extinguished. There are some things that remain unaffected by the passage of time.’
Like pain, she thought dully.
‘Just go, Tariq.’ Her heart was beating frantically and the shivering started up again. ‘If you want closure for what happened between us, then you have it. But go, and leave me alone to live my life.’ She was fine, she told herself firmly. Really, she was absolutely fine.
‘Closure. Such an American word.’ He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You should not walk around in the night air, half undressed. You will catch a chill.’
Before she could anticipate his intention, he shrugged his shoulders out of his jacket and draped it around her bare shoulders.
Once again she was enveloped by the familiar masculine scent and her senses swam.
He leaned closer to her, his breath warm on her cheek. ‘I did not come here to seek closure, Farrah. That is not the reason that I’m here tonight.’ His voice was a soft, seductive purr and she flattened herself against the cold, hard stone of the balcony that skirted the terrace.
‘Then why are you here? Can we get to the point so that I can go back into the ballroom?’ He was standing too close to her. She felt stifled. Suffocated. And she didn’t want to wear the jacket. It was too intimate. Too much a part of him.
But, before she could remove it, he closed in on her, the width of his shoulders ensuring that he was the focus of her gaze. She could no longer see the ballroom or the bodyguard. She could no longer see the terrace. All she could see was glittering dark eyes and a hard, sensual mouth that knew how to drive a woman to distraction. And she’d forgotten about the jacket.
‘Tariq—’His name was a plea on her lips and his own mouth curved slightly in acknowledgment of that plea. He could see everything, she thought desperately. He knew everything. Her thoughts. Her feelings. The strange buzz in her body. He had access to all of it.
‘As I said, there are some things that the passage of time doesn’t change. It is still there between us,’ he said softly, lifting a hand and brushing her cheek gently with his fingers. ‘That is good.’
His touch made her nerve endings tingle and her mind flickered to the rumours that abounded. It was said that there was nothing that Tariq al-Sharma didn’t know about women. That he was a skilful lover. The best.
She’d never been given the opportunity to find out.
‘There is nothing between us.’ From somewhere deep inside her, she found her voice. ‘You killed it, Tariq.’
His smile hovered somewhere between self satisfied and amused. ‘Denial is useless when the body speaks so clearly.’
‘You want my body to speak clearly? Fine.’ Goaded by the expression on his face, she lifted a hand and slapped him hard across the cheek. From the darkness of the terrace bodyguards surged forward but Tariq halted their progress with a smooth lift of his hand, his eyes locked on hers in incredulous disbelief.
‘You believe in living dangerously, laeela. But I forgive your reaction because I understand the depth of feeling that inspired such a move on your part.’ The brief flare of anger in his dark eyes subsided, to be replaced by something slumbrous and infinitely more dangerous. ‘There was always heat between us. And, despite what you may think, I don’t want a meek, submissive wife.’
