The Sheikh's Prize. Lynne Graham

not possibly have overcome her problems for her five years earlier. It had taken years of therapy for Saffy to find the solution and to come to terms with what she had learned about herself during the process.

      ‘If you can convince me that you do, I will let you go,’ Zahir purred, literally stalking her across the room with fluid steps.

      Zahir wanted to sleep with her. So, tell me something new, a wry little voice said inside her head. It was like being plunged back into her marriage without warning, unable to give him what he wanted and needed. The most appalling sense of inadequacy gripped her afresh. She had failed him and not surprisingly he was bitter. But that was no excuse whatsoever for his current behaviour. ‘You virtually kidnapped me!’ she accused rawly.

      ‘I sent you flowers and an air-conditioned limo. How many kidnappers do that?’

      ‘You’ve got to be crazy… I mean, are you even thinking about what you’re doing?’ Saffy gasped, stepping back against a piece of furniture and sidling sideways to avoid it and to keep moving further out of his reach.

      ‘I don’t think around you,’ Zahir muttered flatly. ‘I never did.’

      Saffy was more than willing to kick his brain back into gear. ‘Zahir, you’re a king…royalty doesn’t do stuff like this!’

      Zahir flung back his darkly handsome head and laughed with rich appreciation, even white teeth flashing against his bronzed skin. ‘Sapphire…my father kept a harem of a hundred concubines in this palace. Until very recently indeed, royalty did indeed do things that were neither socially nor morally acceptable.’

      ‘Your father? Had a harem here?’ Saffy parroted in consternation, her heart beating so fast as he stalked closer that she was convinced it might burst right out of her chest. She refused even to think of that nasty old man, Fareed, having had a hundred unfortunate women locked up to fulfil his gruesome requirements. It wasn’t a surprise though: her father-in-law had been an out-and-out lech.

      ‘I have no harem…no wife,’ Zahir pointed out.

      ‘Those are the only positives you have to offer in your own favour?’ Her voice was careening up and down as if she were on a vocal seesaw. She was locked into his eyes, those amazingly beautiful amber eyes, which had struck her like a thunderbolt at eighteen across a crowded department store. ‘Stay back…’

      ‘No, been there, done that, paid the price,’ Zahir countered, running a forefinger slowly down over her cheekbone so that in some strange way it seemed perfectly normal to turn her cheek into his hand.

      Saffy looked up, clashed with his eyes, experienced a light-headed sensation that did nothing to collect her wits, and swallowed painfully. How could he be so gorgeous that she couldn’t breathe? Why was it as if the world had stopped turning and had flung her off into space? She was completely disorientated by his proximity, the very heat she could feel filtering from his lean powerful body towards hers even though their only connection was the hand resting against her face. ‘Zahir?’

      He lowered his proud dark head. He’s going to kiss me, he’s going to kiss me, a crazily excited voice chanted inside her head and both anticipation and denial warred inside her. And then he did, firm, sensual lips circling hers, the pressure steadily deepening even as a shriek alarm of shock shrilled through her trembling body. He parted her lips, let his tongue dart between and it felt like the most erotic caress she had ever experienced because the taste and the flicker of movement inside her mouth were indescribably sexy. Heat burned in her pelvis, her nipples swelling taut, abrading the cotton covering them. That intoxicating intense physical reaction was exactly what she had wanted to feel for a long time but he was the very last man on earth she wanted to feel it with.

      And yet she couldn’t will herself to break free while his tongue tangled with hers, touching, tasting, savouring, a low growl breaking from his throat while his fingertips stroked her neck where it met her shoulder. Unholy pleasure was ricocheting through her treacherous body as it awakened to sudden life, hot, damp sensation tingling at her feminine core while her breasts swelled and ached. Gathering every atom of her strength, she pushed her hand forcefully against a wide muscular shoulder and broke free. ‘No…no, I don’t want this!’

      His gaze filled with sardonic amusement, Zahir studied her hectically flushed face with satisfaction. ‘Liar,’ he said thickly. ‘You always liked my mouth on you.’

      Saffy felt the rush of heat below her skin and momentarily closed her eyes while she blocked him out and fought for recovery. He was a demon kisser. That far, they had worked and the chemistry had misleadingly suggested a match made in heaven. In that instant, she loathed him for bringing the past alive again and reminding her of exactly what she yearned to find in another man’s arms. Frustration filled her. Been there, done that, as he had said, although they hadn’t actually done it. Did he feel cheated? Was that why he had brought her here? Why did he think that anything would have changed between them? It was not as if he knew what she had gone through in search of a cure. Crushing out that torrent of curious questions and musings, Saffy concentrated on the here and now.

      ‘I want transport to the airport and the film that was confiscated,’ she told him drily, straightening her slender shoulders to stand up to him.

      Zahir viewed her from beneath the cloak of his lush black lashes, dark eyes bright as stars. ‘It’s not happening.’

      ‘Then what would it take to make it happen?’ Saffy prompted, determined to sort the situation out by taking the practical approach that generally served her well in difficult situations. ‘That missing money you mentioned? I promise I’ll look into that mystery and sort it out as soon as I get back to London.’

      ‘Don’t try to avoid the real issue here—I want you…’

      Her mouth ran dry and her skin ran hotter than hot as he lounged back against the wall beside him and she noticed, really couldn’t help noticing by the close fit of his jeans that he was aroused. She turned her head away, her tummy flipping even as she recognised the healthy discovery that the awareness of his arousal no longer made her feel threatened. ‘But we can’t always have what we want,’ she pointed out tautly, hanging onto her cool with difficulty. ‘And you know that bringing me here is crazy. Your people would be scandalised by this set-up.’

      ‘I’m a single man and not a eunuch.’

      ‘You’re also intelligent and fair—at least you used to be,’ Saffy countered with determination.

      ‘Then you will understand that I seek justice.’

      ‘Because you didn’t get either the wedding night or the bride of your dreams you think you can magically turn the clock back?’ Saffy lifted a fair brow. ‘Good luck with that without a time machine.’

      ‘You’re staying,’ Zahir declared with razor-sharp emphasis. ‘And I don’t want the girl you were five years ago. I want the woman you are now.’

      ‘But the woman I am now is living with another man,’ Saffy slotted in curtly, shooting the last bolt in her rejection routine, which she usually regarded as worth using only at the last ditch but his sheer persistence was ruffling more than her feathers

      ‘And he shares you with whomever you choose to stray with,’ Zahir retorted, unimpressed, his wide sensual mouth compressing with speaking derision.

      Saffy stiffened as though he had slapped her in the face. Evidently he had come across the silly stories about her that the tabloids printed and believed them, actually believed that she slept around whenever she felt like it. But then she had only to be pictured emerging from a man’s apartment for the press to assume she was engaged in an affair, but the truth was that she had some very good male friends, whom she visited, and had learned to treat the reports with amusement, for there was really nothing she could do to stop lies about her appearing in print. That, she had learnt, was the price of a life lived in the public eye.

      ‘That is not true. Cameron and I are very close. He’s my best friend,’ Saffy admitted, throwing her