By Request Collection Part 3. Robyn Donald

      Rafiq’s car was clearly well known; they were met by a man who indicated a secluded parking spot away from the small courtyard.

      How many other women had Rafiq brought here? Lexie squelched the jealous little query. Live for the moment, she advised herself fiercely as she went with him into the vine-hung restaurant.

      Afterwards, looking back, Lexie would always remember it as an evening of enchantment. They ate superb seafood and drank champagne, and he honoured her with his plans for the future of his country, although he first warned her, ‘I’m likely to bore you.’

      Lexie’s brows rose. Nothing about him would bore her—and she suspected he knew it. Furthermore, she’d had enough of protecting herself. She didn’t care any more. ‘As a citizen of another small island nation—with about a million fewer people than Moraze—I’m interested in how you see its future.’

      ‘I hope it will eventually be an independent and self-sustaining country under its own prime minister,’ he said promptly. ‘But there is some time to go before we reach that point. Democracy isn’t well-established here; my father and grandfather were benevolent autocrats of the old school, so it’s been left to me to introduce changes, and old habits die hard. It will probably take another generation before the reforms are so firmly bedded in that the citizens of Moraze will both choose and be their own rulers.’

      ‘And you don’t regret giving up power?’

      He shrugged. ‘No.’ He scanned her face and said, ‘The band’s striking up. Would you like to dance?’

      On Moraze, it seemed, ballroom dancing was the established mode. Fortunately Lexie had accompanied a friend to classes while they were at high school. If she’d known then that someday she’d be dancing a waltz with the ruler of an exotic island in the Indian Ocean, she’d have paid much more attention to the steps, she thought as she got up with him.

      Heart thumping, she went into Rafiq’s arms, felt them close around her, and gave herself up to the sensation. He moved with the lithe, powerful grace of an athlete, keeping perfect time. In his strong arms, his body only an inch or so away from hers, Lexie found the sexual magnetism that crackled between them both compelling and dangerously disturbing.

      Part of her wanted to get these preliminaries over and go back to the castle to lose herself in this voluptuous recklessness. Another part treasured this subtle communication of eyes and senses, this aching, unsatisfied physical longing that promised an eventual rapturous release in each other’s arms.

      At first they talked, but eventually both fell silent; Rafiq’s arm tightened across her back, and her breath came faster and faster between her lips as their bodies brushed and swayed and were taken hostage by the music.

      Lexie forgot there were others there, that although the lights were dim and subdued they could be seen. Eyes locked onto Rafiq’s darkly demanding ones, she danced in a thrall of desire.

      He said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

      In a voice she didn’t recognize, she said, ‘Yes.’

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      BUT once in the car Lexie sat still, hands clasped tightly in her lap, until Rafiq ordered, ‘Do up your seatbelt.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said, feeling stupid, and fumbled for it.

      He said something harsh, leaned over her and found it, slamming the clip into the holder.

      Lexie’s breath locked in her throat while she waited for him to straighten up. Instead he bent his head and kissed her, and fireworks roared into the sky, wiping everything from her mind but this delicious, intolerable need. Her hands came out to grasp his shirt as her mouth softened beneath the hungry demand of his lips.

      Until faintly the sound of an engine percolated into her consciousness. Lights flashed across her closed lids. She realised they were real lights, not the fire in her blood, and reluctantly opened her eyes.

      Rafiq lifted his head. After an incredulous second he said in a raw, goaded voice, ‘This is—not my usual style.’ When she didn’t answer he gave a ghost of a laugh and finished, ‘Not yours, either?’

      ‘No,’ she admitted.

      He set the car in motion, saying grimly, ‘I think you must be sending me mad.’

      ‘I know the feeling.’

      He flashed her another fierce glance, then smiled, reached for her hand, and tucked it beneath his on the wheel, only releasing it when they reached a small town on the way home. Lexie let it rest in her lap, oddly chilled by the subtle rejection. Of course, it might merely be that he needed to concentrate more—but what if he was ashamed of wanting her?

      Was that why he’d taken her to the tiny, out-of-the-way restaurant? After all, she was the daughter of one of the century’s most despised dictators…

      Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought, angrily resentful of the hurdles her mind kept setting up for her heart, he almost certainly doesn’t know who your father is! And you’re not responsible for Paulo Considine’s actions.

      Why should Rafiq be ashamed of her? She scrubbed up quite well, and the gown she was wearing made the most of her slim, athletic figure and her colouring. Jacoba would make her look very second-rate, but then Jacoba had that effect on every woman!

      Rafiq had simply chosen somewhere discreet, and she was grateful to him for being so understanding.

      And soon she’d be in his arms and her reservations would be banished.

      The thought should have filled her with dismay, but although it was strange to realise that she’d lost her control so completely to a man she barely knew, she felt nothing but happiness, deep and sure and powerful.

      Anyway, she was beginning to find out more about him. He was kind and thoughtful, as well as being incredibly sexy. He was also extremely intelligent, and he wanted the best for his country and his people.

      She sat up straight and looked through the side window at the starlit night. Pride was a hard thing to deal with, she thought with a wry smile, but at the moment it was all she had—pride and this unwanted, out-of-character desire that had blossomed so swiftly.

      And would, she knew, come to nothing; the best thing she could hope for was for it to burn out in the fierceness of passion. She didn’t expect Rafiq to reciprocate. He’d be embarrassed if he knew just how eager she was to discover what making love with him was like.

      Better by far for him to believe she was enjoying a torrid affair with him, a holiday fling…

      ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, stopping the car outside the huge doors of the castle.

      ‘Just—drifting.’ Her cheeks heated at the lie.

      He switched off the engine and smiled ironically at her, moonlight outlining the autocratic angles and lines of his features. Her heart swelled, and she let herself be carried away by the wave of hunger that had been threatening to break over her all evening.

      This, she thought with a desperate recklessness, was worth any pain that might lie in the future. Anything.

      Inside the castle, Rafiq suggested a nightcap. ‘We have our own distillery here. I know you enjoy wine, but at least once you should try Moraze’s rum. It is mellow, and filled with the essence of flowers.’

      After the first small sip, she agreed, ‘You’re right; it’s delicious.’ Tension bit into her, and she walked over to a window, clutching the glass as she gazed out onto the lagoon, that shimmered silver beneath the black sky. ‘I’ll always remember Moraze like this,’ she said on a half sigh. ‘It’s everyone’s secret ideal of a tropical island, filled with flowers and sunshine and laughter.’

      And moonlight, and passion…

      Rafiq’s