Royal Weddings. Annie West

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      Was it any wonder she refused to trust herself to romance again? No man could tempt her with talk of love. The very idea chilled her to the marrow.

      This time she yanked her arm so hard in Tariq’s grip it hurt. But still he didn’t release her.

      Instead he moved closer, dwarfing her with his height and his massive shoulders. But it was his eyes that held her.

      ‘Don’t tell me you believe that!’ His brow pleated as he looked down at her.

      ‘Why not?’ She glared back. ‘You’re seen with a new woman at almost every social event but none of them last. So it’s not as if you’re in a relationship and I’m poaching on anyone’s territory. I’m suitable, more than suitable, in every other way except for that.’

      ‘Your virginity...’ he paused on the word and the hairs on the back of her neck rose at his tone ‘...isn’t an issue for me. That might have been relevant a generation or more ago but things have changed.’

      ‘You think?’ Samira’s laugh was bitter. She surged forward into his personal space as unpleasant memories crowded. ‘Tell that to the men who’ve offered to set me up as their mistress! Men who wouldn’t dream of paying court to me as a possible wife. Men whose views haven’t quite galloped ahead into the twenty-first century.’ She paused, catching her breath, telling herself anger wouldn’t change anything. ‘Of course you don’t want to rock the boat when there are so many who still think that way.’

      Tariq’s face turned to stone, but his eyes blazed with a heat that almost scared her.

      ‘Who has insulted you like that?’ His fingers dug into her arm.

      ‘Tariq! Let me go. You’re hurting.’ Fear trickled through her insides at his fierce expression. She couldn’t recall him ever looking this way. It was like staring into the face of a warrior intent on blood.

      ‘My apologies.’ The words were stilted but in an instant his hand was gone, the savage light in his eyes muted.

      Yet Samira was still trapped. His big frame cornered her, blocking access to the door.

      ‘Who was it?’ He growled, the sound tracking across her skin and burrowing deep inside. ‘Tell me.’

      ‘Why? There’s no point.’ Restlessly her fingers slid along the slim strap of her bag. ‘I’m not accepting their offers.’ She shivered. Such an arrangement would destroy her.

      ‘Does Asim know?’

      Samira’s lips twisted. ‘You think I’d tell my brother about that? You have to be joking.’

      She’d had enough trouble getting Asim to promise not to lay a hand on Jackson Brent all those years ago. Vengeance wouldn’t help, only inflame the situation. Now here was Tariq, looking like he wanted to take somebody apart limb from limb.

      A kernel of heat flared in the cold emptiness of her abdomen. He mightn’t want her but he cared enough to be incensed on her behalf.

      Samira sighed; his protectiveness was one of the attributes that would make him a wonderful husband and father.

      She straightened to her full height, wishing she’d worn higher heels so she didn’t feel so dwarfed. It wasn’t just his size. He bristled with a furious energy that made her far too aware of the solid muscle and power in that long, strong body of his.

      She dragged in oxygen, telling herself she wasn’t overawed by this macho male. Wasn’t her brother another of the same?

      Her deep, sustaining breath drew in something new: sandalwood and spice and hot, male flesh. Her nostrils flared eagerly and she stiffened, stunned as a swirl of reaction eddied within.

      Samira stepped back, disturbed at the way her body betrayed her.

      ‘Not so fast.’ Tariq paced with her, hemming her against a sofa. ‘I want to know—’

      ‘No. You don’t.’ Finally Samira reasserted herself, projecting the composure she gathered about herself when the going got tough. ‘It’s none of your business, Tariq. You’re not my keeper. In fact you’ve just passed up the opportunity to be anything to me but an old friend. An acquaintance.’

      His mouth flattened and she sensed his keen brain sifting her words. He didn’t like them but there was nothing he could do.

      ‘So, once more, thank you for your time and goodbye.’

      She didn’t offer to shake hands. The imprint of his touch still burned her upper arm. Not from pain but, she assured herself, because she wasn’t used to being so close to a man. The tremulous little stirrings in her belly—the quickened breathing, the reaction to his skin’s aroma—were proof of that. It wasn’t anything personal.

      ‘Wait.’

      Samira hesitated, then slowly lifted her eyes to his. There it was again, a twinge of something that felt far too much like physical awareness.

      ‘What is it?’ The words shot out, crisp with challenge.

      ‘Have you asked anyone else?’

      Her eyes widened. ‘To marry me?’ Did he think she’d lined up a list of candidates to interview by the hour?

      What sort of woman did he think she was?

      Desperate.

      The word surfaced despite her efforts to suppress it. And she was. But not desperate enough to do this more than once. Today’s humiliation was enough.

      Besides, only Tariq had tempted her to think of marriage. There was no other man she trusted enough.

      ‘Only you,’ she said at last, daring him to preen at the compliment.

      ‘And will you ask anyone else?’ He leaned closer, looming over her as if to intimidate.

      Except Samira was undaunted. She might have laid herself open to rejection but she had her pride. That and her determination never to give up were what kept her going. She didn’t need his interference or his sympathy.

      Anger spiked.

      Deliberately she reached out and tweaked the precise knot in his silk tie, twitching it unnecessarily, then patting it in place, ignoring the heat of bone and solid muscle beneath his shirt.

      ‘It’s kind of you to be interested in my plans, Tariq, but what I do is none of your business. It ceased to be when you rejected my proposal.’ She favoured him with a gracious smile that masked her desire to see him squirm. ‘I’ll give your regards to Asim and Jacqui when I see them, shall I?’

      His hand clamped over hers as she made to withdraw it. He pressed her palm against the crisp, body-warmed cotton of his shirt so she caught the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath her touch. It felt too intimate.

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