The Sheikh's Defiant Bride. Sandra Marton

that had nothing to do with him.

      And when they found out who he was, that he had a title and more money than even he could comprehend…

      No, he thought, he was not in the mood for that tonight.

      “Sorry,” he said politely, “but I seem to have come to the wrong address.”

      “Silly,” she said, moving closer, letting her breasts brush against his arm. “You’ve come to exactly the right address—but if you’d prefer, we can go someplace quiet.”

      Suddenly everything about the situation was distasteful. Tariq’s expression hardened; he shook her hand away and stepped back.

      “I’m not interested,” he said coldly. Her face filled with color and he told himself he was being a son of a bitch, but—

      “Your highness!”

      Tariq jerked his head up. One of his attorney’s younger partners was hurrying toward him. Hell, he thought grimly. He was trapped.

      The brunette made a quick recovery. “Your highness?” she said in a breathy voice. “You mean, you’re a king?”

      “It’s an old joke,” Tariq said sharply, “and not a very good one. Isn’t that right, Edward?”

      The lawyer looked puzzled. Then, to Tariq’s relief, he grinned.

      “A joke. Oh, yeah, absolutely.” He reached out, as if to clap Tariq on the shoulder, thought better of it and, instead, made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Come on—sir. Let me get you a drink.”

      “Hey,” the brunette said.

      Tariq ignored her and followed the lawyer into the house. It wasn’t easy; the place was packed with people but, finally, they found a small patch of empty space.

      “Tariq. Your highness—”

      “No, please. Call me by my name. Did I get your name right? It is Edward, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, sir, it is.”

      “Well, Edward, this has been a very long week for me. The last thing I need tonight is to have anyone treat me with formality.”

      “Of course, sir.” The young lawyer cleared his throat. “Mr. Strickland—John—will be delighted to see you. Let me just find him and—”

      “That’s not necessary. I’d just as soon wander around a bit on my own. You know, unwind.”

      “Ah. I get it. You want to spend the evening under the radar. Sure. Whatever you like, your highness.”

      Tariq thought of correcting the man again, but what for? Five minutes and he’d be out of here. Monday, he’d have his P.A. send flowers to John Strickland and his wife, along with a card thanking them for their hospitality and wishing them well in their new home.

      So he smiled, exchanged a handshake with Edward and watched him melt into the crowd.

      A waiter came by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Tariq shook his head. Another waiter, another tray. The third time, just to avoid having another tray thrust at him, he accepted something that looked like it might have flown away if a frilled red toothpick hadn’t kept it anchored to a sliver of toast. He held on to it for a while, then inched toward a table and surreptitiously deposited it on a half-filled plate…

      “Are you alone?”

      The voice was soft and came from just behind him. Tariq turned and found himself looking at a blonde. Here we go again, he thought.

      And then he stopped thinking. Logically, at any rate.

      The brunette had been beautiful. This woman was—hell, she was spectacular.

      Her hair was the color of spring wheat, falling in soft waves around her oval face. She had high, elegant cheekbones; her mouth was full and soft-looking. Her eyes were dark brown and bright with intelligence. She was tall and slender, her curves accented by a simple black silk dress that clung to her high breasts, narrow waist and gently rounded hips like a lover’s caress.

      “I said, are you alone?”

      The same game, but a different gambit. Maybe he needed a break from the routine of the last weeks.

      Maybe the evening was looking up after all.

      He smiled, took the single step that brought him closer to her.

      “What happens if I say yes?”

      “If you say yes, you’ll save my life.”

      “I’m impressed. Such high drama at a run-of-the mill party.”

      A quick smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

      “Okay, you won’t save my life but you’ll save me from being unkind to a toad. Can you do that?”

      “A toad?”

      “A man. He just looks like a toad.”

      “Ah.” Tariq grinned. “So, I’ll get an award from the Save the Toads Society?”

      The blonde laughed. Her laugh was charming, light and easy and natural.

      “Something like that. Look, it’ll only take a few minutes. Just talk to me. Smile. Cocktail party stuff. Please?”

      “Well,” Tariq said, looking serious, “if it’s to conserve wildlife…”

      “Wonderful. Thank you.” She looked past his shoulder. “There he is,” she said softly, and she flashed him a bright smile. “Oh,” she said gaily, her voice just loud enough to carry beyond the two of them, “that’s so true! I wouldn’t have put it that way, but—” She stopped in midsentence and rolled her eyes. “He’s gone.”

      “Toads have a way of doing that,” Tariq said solemnly. “Here one second and then, hop, gone the next.”

      She gave another of those wonderful laughs as she looked up at him. Her eyes weren’t just brown, he noticed, they were the color of rich chocolate.

      “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” He smiled, reached out and traced the arc of one perfect cheekbone with the tip of his finger. “What’s your name?”

      “My name?”

      “Your name. Your address. Your phone number.” His voice grew husky. “We can start there, habiba.”

      “You mean—you mean, you think…” Her face took on a hint of color. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t coming on to you. Seriously I’m…” She looked past him. “Oh, darling,” she trilled, “yes, thanks, I’d love to!”

      Tariq raised an eyebrow. “The toad is back?”

      “Yes.”

      “If he’s done something to offend you, habiba…”

      “No. Nothing like that. I just couldn’t lose him. And I didn’t want to come straight out and tell him he was wasting his time.”

      “A woman with a heart.” Tariq’s voice dropped to a husky growl. “What about me, habiba. Am I wasting mine?”

      Oh God, Madison thought, out of the frying pan and into the fire—except, this fire could absolutely burn a woman to a crisp…

      And leave her thrilled it had happened.

      Not a woman like her, of course. Not one who wanted no more of these silly games, but a woman who was impressed by good looks, a sense of humor, clothes that said a man had money, could definitely be in trouble any second.

      And sex appeal. No point denying that. This man was sexy as hell.

      Not like the toad.

      He’d cornered her an hour ago, managed to separate her from Barb, or maybe Barb had done the separating.