Claimed by the Desert Sheikh. Оливия Гейтс

see her as a woman and she wasn’t about to get any ideas about him. Sure, he’d been great about the car and he was easy to work for, but there was nothing between them.

      She pushed Victoria’s words to the back of her mind and concentrated on the beauty of the ballroom.

      There was a dais at one end, with an orchestra playing. There were dozens and dozens of food tables scattered around the outside of the room with an equal number of bars between them. Guests pressed together, talking and laughing.

      The women were so beautiful, Maggie thought, not sure where to look first. Regardless of their ages, they were stunning in amazing gowns and glittering jewels.

      She reached up and touched the earrings Victoria had loaned her. The stones were glass, the gold merely a colored finish. But that didn’t matter. No one had to know they weren’t real or that she’d bought her gown on consignment. For tonight, she was attending a royal ball and she planned to enjoy herself.

      She waited in line to get a glass of champagne, then sipped the bubbly liquid. People stood in groups around her, talking loudly. Some of the conversations were in English, but many were not. She recognized a few of the languages.

      She moved closer to a large plant and wished she hadn’t agreed to the high-heeled sandals Victoria had insisted on. She’d only been at the ball a few minutes and her feet already hurt.

      Maggie glanced around to make sure no one was paying any attention to her, then she eased back behind the plant, slipped out of her shoes and bent down to grab them. She’d just started tucking them out of sight in the planter when someone came up behind her and said, “I’m not sure the king would approve.”

      She spun and saw Qadir standing behind her. His expression was stern, but humor gleamed in his eyes.

      “They hurt my feet,” she told him.

      “Then make sure you hide them so no one can find them.”

      She laughed and slipped the shoes under a couple of large leaves.

      “Better?” he asked.

      “Much.”

      “Have you danced yet?”

      “No.”

      Before she could explain she didn’t know how, he’d taken her glass from her and set it on a nearby tray, then led her toward the dance floor.

      “I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” she admitted.

      He pulled her into his arms. “I am good enough for both of us.”

      He was warm and strong and held her securely. She rested one hand on his shoulder, her tiny evening bag held in her fingers. Her other hand nestled in his. He moved purposefully, guiding her with a confidence that allowed her to believe that maybe she could dance after all.

      “See?” he said.

      “Don’t test me with anything fancy. Not unless you want people pointing and laughing.”

      He chuckled. “Are you always so honest?”

      “Most of the time. I try to be.”

      “You are charming.”

      “Really?” The word came out before she could stop it. “Sorry. I meant to say thank you.”

      “So polite.”

      “It’s how I was raised,” she told him. “You’re very nice, too.”

      “Less arrogant than you’d imagined?”

      “Something like that. Although you have your imperious moments. Am I allowed to say that?”

      “Tonight you can say anything.”

      Was he flirting with her? Was that flirting?

      She wanted to believe it was. After spending her entire life as a tomboy, it was nice to be girly for once. Not that she would want to make a habit of all the torture Victoria had put her through.

      “I like your country,” she said. “The parts I’ve seen are very beautiful.”

      “The city is more modern than many parts of El Deharia. Out in the desert the people still live as they once did.”

      “I think I like my modern conveniences too much for that,” she admitted.

      “I agree. One of my brothers has chosen to live there permanently, but not me. I, too, want my conveniences.”

      They moved together in time with the music, swaying and sliding and turning together. She stumbled once, but he caught her against him. Then they were touching from shoulder to knee, pressed intimately as they moved.

      She raised her gaze to his, not sure if this was allowed or appropriate. He was a prince, after all. But he didn’t seem to mind and she found herself enjoying the contact, maybe more than she should.

      It was the dance, she told herself. The night, not the man. But the faint tingles in the pit of her stomach warned her that maybe it was the man. Just a little.

      “Are you homesick?” he asked.

      “Not tonight.”

      “But other days?”

      “A little. I think being here has been good for me.”

      “New adventures?”

      She nodded. Tonight was certainly that.

      The song ended. Maggie felt a jolt of disappointment as Qadir released her, followed by a distinct coolness. As if all the warmth had faded away.

      She found herself wanting him to pull her close again. She’d liked being in his arms.

      Victoria’s words of warning flashed into her brain. While Maggie didn’t agree that she led with her heart, she was smart enough to realize that regardless of how good Qadir looked in a tux and how much she’d liked dancing with him, he was light-years out of her league. All tingles aside, nothing was going to happen.

      She started to excuse herself when they were interrupted by a tall, older man who looked oddly familiar.

      “There you are,” the man said. “I’ve been looking for you.” “Father, may I introduce Maggie Collins. Maggie, my father, King Mukhtar of El Deharia.”

       Chapter Four

      K-king? As in king?

      Maggie stood frozen, not sure if she should curtsy—not that she knew how—or bolt. Worse, she was barefoot. She couldn’t meet the king when she wasn’t wearing shoes.

      “Lovely to meet you,” the king said, not even looking at her. “Qadir, I want you to meet Sabrina and her sister Natalie. Their uncle is a duke. British, of course. Well-educated.” The king moved closer to Qadir and lowered his voice. “Pretty enough, they seem to have decent heads on their shoulders. Their older sister already has two children, so we know they’re breeders.”

      Maggie still couldn’t move but the shock had been replaced by humor. She was terrified that if she did anything at all, she would break out into hysterical laughter.

      It wasn’t just the king’s matter-of-fact description of the two potential brides that made her want to giggle—it was the look of long-suffering on Qadir’s face.

      Apparently being a prince had more than its share of stresses.

      When she was sure she could control herself, she eased back, pausing only to look at the two young women hovering just out of earshot. They were pretty, she thought humorously, and hey, known breeders. When one had to worry about the continuation of the royal line, that was probably important.

      She was about to turn away when Qadir glanced at her. “You’re not leaving.” It sounded a whole lot more like a command than a question.

      “Um,