Midnight in the Desert. Jane Porter

the face of that glorious smile, Raja’s fluent English vocabulary seized up entirely. ‘Lunch,’ he pronounced again stiltedly.

      On the brink of saying no, Ruby recognised Steve waiting outside the door and almost groaned out loud. She knew the one infallible way of shaking a man off was generally to let him see her in the company of another. ‘Lunch,’ Ruby agreed abruptly, and she planted a determined hand on Raja’s sleeve as if to take control of the situation. ‘But first I have to go home and take my dog out.’

      Raja was taken aback by that sudden physical contact, for people were never so familiar in the presence of royalty, and his breath rasped between his lips. ‘That is acceptable.’

      ‘Who is that guy over there watching us?’ Ruby asked in a suspicious whisper, long blonde hair brushing his shoulder and releasing a tide of perfume as fragrant as summer flowers into the air.

      ‘One of my bodyguards.’ Raja advanced with the relaxed attitude of a male who took a constant security presence entirely for granted. ‘My car is waiting outside.’

      The bodyguard went out first, looked to either side, almost bumping into Steve, and then spread the door wide again for their exit.

      ‘Ruby?’ Steve questioned, frowning at the tall dark male by her side as she emerged. ‘Who is this guy? Where are you going with him?’

      ‘I don’t have anything more to say to you, Steve,’ Ruby stated firmly.

      ‘I have a right to ask who this guy is!’ Steve snapped argumentatively, his face turning an angry red below his fair, floppy fringe.

      ‘You have no rights over me at all,’ Ruby told him in exasperation.

      As Steve moved forward the prince made an almost infinitesimal signal with one hand and suddenly a big bodyguard was blocking the younger man’s attempt to get closer to Ruby. At the same time the other bodyguard had whipped open the passenger door to a long sleek limousine.

      ‘I can’t possibly get into a car with a stranger,’ Ruby objected, trying not to stare at the sheer size and opulence of the car and its interior.

      Raja was unaccustomed to meeting with such suspicious treatment and it off-balanced him for it was not what he had expected from her. In truth he had expected her to scramble eagerly into the limo and gush about the built-in bar while helping herself to his champagne like the usual women he dated. But if the angry lovelorn young man shouting Ruby’s name was typical of the men she met perhaps she was sensible to be mistrustful of his sex.

      ‘I live close by. I’ll walk back home first and meet you there.’ Ruby gave him her address and sped across the street at a smart pace, deliberately not turning her head or looking back when Steve called her name.

      The prince watched her walk away briskly. The breeze blew back her hair in a glorious fan of golden strands and whipped pink into her pale cheeks. She had big eyes the colour of milk chocolate and the sort of lashes that graced cartoon characters in the films that Raja’s youngest relatives loved to watch. A conspicuously feminine woman, she had a small waist and fine curves above and below it. Great legs, delicate at ankle and knee. He wondered if Steve had lain between those legs and the shock of that startlingly intimate thought sliced through Raja as the limo wafted him past and he got a last look at her. A woman with a face and body like that would make an arranged marriage tempting to any hot-blooded male, he told himself impatiently. And just at that moment Raja’s blood was running very hot indeed and there was a heavy tightness at his groin that signified a rare loss of control for him.

      Ruby took Hermione out on her lead and by the time she unlocked the front door again, with the little black and white dog trotting at her heels, the limousine was parked outside waiting for her. This time she noticed that as well as the bodyguard in the front passenger seat there was also a separate car evidently packed with bodyguards parked behind it. Why was so much security necessary? Who was this guy? For the first time it occurred to Ruby that this particular visitor had to be someone more important than Wajid Sulieman and his wife. Certainly he travelled in much greater style. Checking her watch then, she frowned. There really wasn’t time for her to have lunch with anyone and she dug out her phone to ring work and ask if she could take an extended lunch hour. The office manager advanced grudging agreement only after she promised to catch up with her work by staying later that evening.

      As she stood in the doorway, Hermione having retreated to her furry basket in the living room, the passenger door of the limo was opened by one of the bodyguards. Biting her full lower lip in confusion, Ruby finally pulled the door of her home closed behind her and crossed the pavement.

      ‘I really do need to know who you are,’ she spelt out tautly.

      For the first time in more years than he cared to recall, Raja had the challenge of introducing himself.

      ‘Raja and you’re a prince?’ she repeated blankly, his complex surname leaving her head as soon as she heard the unfamiliar syllables. ‘But who are you?’

      His wide, sensual mouth quirked and he surrendered to the inevitable. ‘I’m the man Wajid Sulieman wants you to marry.’

      And so great was the surprise of that admission that Ruby got into the car and sat back without further comment. This gorgeous guy was the man they wanted her to marry? He bore no resemblance whatsoever to her vague imaginings.

      ‘Obviously you’re from the other country, Najar,’ she specified, recovering her ready tongue. ‘A member of their royal family?’

      ‘I am acting Regent of Najar. My father, King Ahmed, suffered a serious stroke some years ago and is now an invalid. I carry out his role in public because he is no longer able to do so.’

      Ruby grasped the fine distinction he was making. Although his father suffered from ill health the older man remained the power behind the throne, doubtless restricting his son’s ability to make his own decisions. Was that why Raja was willing to marry a stranger? Was he eager to assume power in Ashur where he could rule without his father’s interference? Ruby hated being so ignorant. But what did she know about the politics of power and influence within the two countries?

      One thing was for sure, however, Raja was very far from being the poor and accommodating royal hangeron she had envisaged. Entrapped by her growing curiosity, she stole a long sidewise glance at him, noting the curling density of his lush black lashes, the high sculpted cheekbones that gave his profile such definition, the stubborn set of his masculine jaw line. Young, no more than thirty years of age at most, she estimated. Young, extremely good-looking and rich if the car and the security presence were anything to go by, she reasoned, all of which made it even harder for her to understand why he would be willing to even consider an arranged marriage.

      ‘Someone digs up a total stranger, who just happens to be a long-lost relative of the Shakarian family, and you’re immediately willing to marry her?’ she jibed.

      ‘I have very good reasons for my compliance and that is why I was willing to fly here to speak to you personally,’ Raja fielded with more than a hint of quelling ice in his deep, dark drawl and he waved a hand in a fluid gesture of emphasis that caught her attention. His movements were very graceful and yet amazingly masculine at the same time. He commanded her attention in a way she had never experienced before.

      An involuntary flush at that reflection warmed Ruby’s cheeks, for in general aggressively male men irritated her. Her stepfather had been just such a man, full of sports repartee, beer and sexist comments while he perved on her behind closed doors. ‘Nothing you could say is likely to change my mind,’ she warned Raja ruefully.

      Unsettled by the effect he had on her and feeling inordinately like an insecure teenager, Ruby lowered her eyes defensively and her gaze fell on the male leg positioned nearest to hers. The fine, expensive material of his tailored trousers outlined the lean, muscular power of his thigh while the snug fit over the bulge at his crotch defined his male attributes. As soon as she realised where her attention had lodged she glanced hurriedly away, her face hot enough to fry eggs on and shock reverberating through her, for it was the very first time she