The Sultan's Virgin Bride. Sarah Morgan

You’re going to have to go and find someone else to command, Tariq, because I’m not interested.’

      Without giving him a chance to respond, she walked past his bodyguards, back through the ballroom and into the room where they were frantically preparing for the fashion show. Her heart was thumping, her hands felt clammy and she felt physically sick as she joined the other girls who were modelling that evening.

      His wife?

      Why would he say such a thing?

      Why on earth would he suddenly be talking about marrying her after five years of silence? What was going on? And why did her body still respond even though she knew what sort of man he was?

      Like all addictive habits, she thought gloomily, you always wanted what was bad for you. And Tariq was extremely bad.

      ‘Farrah, thank goodness!’ Enzo Franconi, the famous Italian designer, embraced her with relief. ‘We thought you’d gone home and I have the most spectacular dress for you to wear tonight. I predict that you will shine, you will positively dazzle, you will—’

      ‘No dress.’ Farrah’s tone was grim as she slipped off her shoes and yanked the pins out of her hair. ‘Are you showing any swimwear, Enzo?’ Her hair fell smooth and sleek down her back while Enzo gaped in astonishment.

      ‘Of course. But you never model swimwear. Always you refuse to dress in anything so revealing.’

      Farrah’s mind was on Tariq. On his proposal of marriage. He couldn’t have been serious. It didn’t make sense. ‘Well, tonight I’m not refusing. I’ll wear whatever you’ve got—but preferably the most shocking, daring thing in your collection.’

      She didn’t understand what the Desert Prince was doing here tonight. But there was one thing that she did know for sure. If she wore something revealing on the catwalk he wouldn’t be bothering her again. A man as traditional and conservative as Tariq appreciated subtlety and dignity and she was determined to offer neither. She was going to drive him away by being as unsuitable as it was possible to be.

      ‘I do have something—’ Enzo waved a hand in a gesture as nervous as it was excited ‘—but you would never agree to wear it.’

      ‘I’m sure it will be absolutely perfect.’ Perfect to send Tariq as far away from her as possible. Once he had seen her making a display of herself in public he would march out of the room and she could get on with her life.

      Enzo prowled around her, unable to believe his luck. ‘On you—’ he clapped his hands and an assistant came running to his side ‘—it will look sensational. I predict that men will faint.’

      ‘Well, let’s hope so,’ Farrah said flatly, allowing Enzo’s assistant to unzip her dress, ‘and let’s hope that one man in particular bangs his head hard when he hits the floor.’

      ‘Who?’ Enzo lifted a wisp of material in bright peacock blue from the rail next to him and then did a double take. ‘Is that mud on your leg?’

      ‘What?’ She glanced down and blushed. ‘Oh—sorry—’ she scrubbed it clean with her finger and Enzo gave a soft smile.

      ‘You have been helping those children in the riding school again—’

      Farrah glanced around her nervously to see who might be listening. ‘We had a little girl with cerebral palsy today,’ she whispered. ‘You should have seen her face when we put her on the horse, Enzo.’ This man was her friend, she reminded herself, one of the few people who she could trust with the secret of her real life.

      ‘Marvellous, cara.’ Enzo sighed and shook his head as he watched her remove the final traces of mud. ‘But did you have to bring the stables into the ballroom?’

      ‘I was held up so I changed in the car.’ Farrah gave a dismissive shrug and Enzo looked at her through narrowed eyes.

      ‘So now tell me why you are suddenly wearing a swimming costume. It is about a man, obviously. You wish to make him jealous, no?’

      ‘Jealous?’ Staring at the costume on the hanger, she shook her head in disbelief, wondering how so little material actually attached itself to the body. ‘No, I don’t want to make him jealous. I want to make him run.’

      She didn’t want him in her life a second time.

      Enzo frowned. ‘Then take my advice and do not wear this costume. There is not a man alive who will run having seen you dressed in this. You will find yourself with the opposite problem.’

      ‘You don’t know this man. Give it to me.’ Farrah held out a hand. ‘I’ll get changed behind the curtain.’

      ‘Farrah, tesoro—’ Enzo’s tone was dry as he relinquished the garment ‘—if you need to get dressed behind a curtain, then that is not the costume for you.’

      ‘If it serves its purpose then it will be fine.’ Dressed only in her underwear, she walked in bare feet into the makeshift cubicle. ‘Oh, and Enzo, ask someone to find me spectacular shoes. High heels. Really high heels.’

      Enzo’s eyes gleamed and he kissed the ends of his fingers in a gesture of approval. ‘Almost, I feel sorry for this man.’

      ‘I don’t need you to feel sorry for him. I just need you to make me look shocking. I need to be unsuitable wife material.’ She jerked the curtain across and her courage faltered. What the hell was she doing? Adrenaline surged through her body, fuelling her determination to go through with her plan. Before reason could take over and she could change her mind, she removed her underwear and wriggled into the costume. ‘Enzo? Are you out there? This thing doesn’t fit—’

      The designer pulled back the curtain and sighed. ‘Not like that—’ He stepped forward and made several adjustments that had Farrah blushing. ‘Better. Much better. And now this—’He flung a transparent filmy wrap over her shoulders and she looked at it with a frown.

      ‘I don’t want to cover up.’

      ‘This covers nothing,’ Enzo said dryly, his hands tweaking and coaxing the fabric until he was satisfied. ‘It is designed to draw the eye. To tempt and tease.’ He narrowed his gaze, nodded with approval and then snapped his fingers towards his assistant who was hovering at a discreet distance. ‘Shoes?’

      Farrah gave a wry smile as she slipped her feet into a pair of designer shoes with delicate straps and vertiginous heels. ‘This is all going to be wasted if I fall off the shoes, break my neck and give myself two black eyes in the process.’

      ‘Never.’ Enzo frowned and stood back as the hairdresser took over. ‘Leave it loose. Yes. Like that. She looks sensational. I predict that the costume will be this season’s big seller.’ He glanced at Farrah with a smile. ‘You wear heels that high all the time. You will not fall.’

      Farrah thought of the muddy riding boots in the back of the family limousine. ‘Not all the time.’

      Finally Enzo was satisfied and he stood back with a nod. ‘It is perfect. You are perfect, and totally wasted in this life of yours.’

      They shared a secret smile and impulsively Farrah leaned forward to give her friend a hug. ‘You’ve helped me so much,’ she whispered. ‘You taught me how to dress, how to walk, how to—’

      ‘Enough—’ Enzo waved a hand to stop her but there was pleasure in his smile. ‘I had good material to work with. You could be a model, cara.’

      ‘No, thanks.’ Farrah walked towards the entrance where the other girls were lining up and Enzo caught her arm.

      ‘Not like that! You are walking as if you are angry and out for revenge and I taught you better than that! Your eyes spark and your mouth pouts. You look as though you’re going to kill someone, not seduce them.’

      Farrah wondered what he’d say if he knew how close to the truth he was. She was angry. Angry and hurt.

      ‘This costume is about being