The Sheikh Crowns His Virgin. LYNNE GRAHAM

was it about that jet-dark gaze that made goose bumps rise on her exposed skin and sent little shivers running down her taut spine? Why did she suddenly feel so ridiculously overheated? Why did her tummy feel as though butterflies were fluttering through it? Instinctively she pressed her thighs together on the ache low in her core and she blinked in bewilderment and growing self-consciousness, her colour heightening as the explanation for her reaction dawned on her and shot through her like a lightning bolt. It was attraction, simple sexual attraction, and she was experiencing it for the first time ever. It made her feel all jumpy and twitchy, like a cat trying to walk across hot burning coals. Sheer shock crashed through her slender frame as she endeavoured to rise above her inner turmoil and focus on the conversation.

      ‘And why is there no possibility of punishment?’ Zoe demanded boldly.

      ‘I will not discuss that with you. Please get dressed and we will leave.’

      ‘To go where?’ Zoe demanded in surprise.

      ‘We are flying first to Dubai and then on to London, where you will be reunited with your grandfather,’ Raj explained. ‘As that arrangement is acceptable to him, I assume it is equally acceptable to you.’

      ‘Acceptable?’ Zoe echoed and she moved forward with a frown, her astonishment unhidden. ‘Are you telling me that you have actually spoken to Grandad?’

      ‘Of course.’ Raj’s intonation was clipped and businesslike. ‘He was very angry about your disappearance and I had to reassure him that you were safe and that I would personally ensure that you are restored to his protection as soon as possible.’

      But Zoe was still struggling to come to terms with the startling reality that he had already discussed the entire episode with her grandfather because that he should have boldly taken that step was utterly unexpected. Most people avoided Stam Fotakis in a temper and tried to wriggle out of accepting responsibility for anything that annoyed the older man. In fact, the only person she knew who ever stood toe to toe with her grandfather when he was in a bad mood was her sister, Vivi, whose temper matched his. Whoever Raj was, he was fearless, she decided enviously, for when her grandfather started roaring like an angry bull, Zoe simply wanted to keep her head down and take cover.

      ‘I’m in a hurry. We will leave as soon as you are ready. My time here is limited,’ Raj admitted flatly, tension tightening his smooth bronzed features. ‘I would be obliged if you would be quick.’

      ‘Well, I would need my clothes back to be quick, and I don’t know where they are,’ Zoe told him thinly, lifting her chin.

      With an exclamation, he strode to the doorway and, a moment later, a little woman in tribal dress came running to do his bidding. Zoe’s garments were located and laid in her arms, freshly laundered and fragrant. She stalked into the bathroom to look longingly at the shower and then she thought defiantly, What the hell? I’m not putting on clean clothes unless I’m clean as well!

      As Zoe stepped beneath the flowing water with a deep sigh of relief, Raj strode out of the main tent, the old rules of polite conduct kicking in even though it felt like a lifetime since he had had to pay attention to such outdated beliefs. She was a single woman and he was a single man and he was in a very old-fashioned place where only his rank had granted him the right to speak to her alone. Even so, he had noted that the females in Omar’s family were hovering nearby to ensure that the proprieties were observed. He was relieved that her attack on him had gone unnoticed for that would have very much shocked the tribe, none of whom would have recognised the need for a woman to learn the skills to protect herself. Male relatives were supposed to protect the women in the family.

      Evidently, however, Zoe Mardas had not been protected, Raj reckoned thoughtfully, wondering what had happened to her, wondering why she had been so terrified and acknowledging that he would never know. He didn’t get into deep conversations of that nature with women. His relationships, if they could be called that, were superficial and consisted of lots of sex and not much else. He doubted that he would ever want anything more from a woman. Why would he? Love had once made him stupid. He had given up everything for love and had ended up with nothing but the crushing awareness that he had made a serious mistake.

      ‘Raj!’ Omar gasped as he surged up to him, red-faced from the effort and winded, a small, rather tubby man, who rarely hurried at anything he did. ‘You need to leave. One of the camel traders phoned to tell me...a bunch of military helicopters are flying in.’

      ‘Soldiers love to rehearse disasters. It’ll be some war game or something,’ Raj forecast, refusing to panic. ‘I told Zoe to hurry as politely as I could but you know what women are...’

      ‘Raj, if you’re caught on Marabanian soil, you could be arrested, imprisoned!’ Omar emphasised in frustration. ‘Grab that stupid woman and get in that helicopter and go!’

      The racket of rotor blades approaching made both men throw their heads back and peer into the sky.

      ‘Do you see those colours? That is the royal fleet, which means your father is on board!’ Omar groaned in horror.

      ‘It’s too late to run. I’ll have to tough it out.’

      ‘No, run!’ Omar urged abruptly. ‘Right now...leave the woman here. I think this was a trap. I think she was dumped with me because they knew I was sure to ask you for your help. In the name of Allah, Raj, I will never forgive myself if you come to harm because of my thoughtlessness!’

      A trap? Raj pondered the idea and as quickly discarded it. Why would his father, who had considered him a disappointment practically from the day of his birth, seek to trap him in Maraban? Sending Raj into exile, finally freeing himself from a son and heir who enraged him, had been the best solution for both of them, Raj reasoned ruefully.

      ‘My father always warned me that Tahir was very devious, very calculating,’ Omar breathed worriedly.

      ‘He is,’ Raj agreed. ‘But he has no reason to want to find his son breaking the terms of his exile. Why would he? That would only embarrass him. I’ll stay out of sight. Ten to one, he’s taken one of his notions to call a tribal meeting and hash over boundaries and camel disputes. He revels in that kind of stuff...it takes him back to his youth.’

      ‘The army craft are encircling the camp to land in advance,’ Omar informed him.

      ‘Standard security with the monarch on board,’ Raj dismissed.

      ‘No, I’m telling you,’ Omar declared in growing frustration at his friend’s lack of concern. ‘This was a trap and I don’t know how you’re going to get out of it...’

       CHAPTER THREE

      THE RACKET OF the helicopters nearby unnerved Zoe and she dressed in haste, flinching from the cling of her clothes to her still-damp skin. When a woman entered the bathroom to fetch her, she was grateful she had hurried and she walked out through the main tent, glad to be embarking on her journey home.

      It was a surprise, however, when she was not escorted to the stationary helicopter she had espied earlier and was instead led into another tent, where a group of women were seated round a campfire.

      ‘The King is visiting,’ the woman opposite her explained to her in perfect English. ‘My husband, Omar, can only receive the King in his tent, which is, unfortunately, the one you have been using, which means that you will have to wait here with us.’

      ‘Your husband?’ Zoe studied the attractive brunette, who wore more gold jewellery than she had ever seen on one woman at the same time.

      ‘Sheikh Omar. The King is his uncle. I am called Farida...and you?’

      ‘Zoe,’ Zoe proffered, accepting the tiny cup of black coffee and the plate of sliced fruit she was given with a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’

      Hopefully she would be on her way home within the hour, she reasoned, munching