The Sheikh and the Virgin

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

Kim Lawrence has a fabulous new novel, Desert Prince, Defiant Virgin, available from Mills & Boon^>® Modern™ in November 2008.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

As a writer and reader I’ve always been a big fan of Mills & Boon^>® anthologies; it fascinates me how, given a common theme, the writers will each produce something different, exciting, individual and above all romantic – I hope you find my contribution to this anthology all of the above!

From someone who has recently celebrated a Big Birthday – I’m not saying which one, a girl is allowed some secrets – I’d like to say Happy 100th Birthday, Mills & Boon; long may you continue to provide a perfect antidote to the cynicism in this world and enable me to do what I love – write.

Best wishes,

Kim Lawrence

‘SHOW her directly in when she arrives,’ Tariq said, handing the lawyer a photograph. ‘This is her.’

James Sinclair glanced at the badly focused holiday snapshot of three people. At the centre of the laughing group on the beach was a young dark-haired man, who had his arms around two young women, one either side of him.

James tilted his head to look up at the tall dark-haired figure in the impeccably tailored suit before him. His secretary’s words came back to him. She had assured him, in an uncharacteristically giggly moment, that the women in the building weren’t interested in the suit the Prince wore, more in the body it covered.

‘Which woman are you expecting, Prince Tariq?’ The lawyer’s manner was respectful and, though he tried to hide it, nervous, as his glance slid from one pretty bikini-clad figure to the other.

Relax, James, he told himself. He genuinely thought he might feel similarly edgy if someone had left him in a room with an unchained and hungry panther. In fact now that he thought of it there was something about this man that brought that sleek, dangerous and unpredictable animal to mind.

If the business they did on behalf of the Royal family of Zarhat hadn’t been worth several small fortunes to the law firm he worked for, he might have been tempted to delegate this task. The heir apparent to Zarhat’s throne made him feel about as confident as a fresh-faced intern—not a pleasant feeling for a man who was acknowledged as one of the best litigators of his generation.

When he spoke Prince Tariq Al Kamal’s English was impeccable, distinguished only by the slightest of accents. But right now the incredulity in his deep voice was more noticeable than the foreign inflection. ‘Which woman?’

James lifted his eyes, connecting with those of the younger man standing before him, who was a good six inches taller than him. It was a struggle to keep his gaze level.

Continuing to feel uncharacteristically uneasy and unsure, James wondered if it was a power thing. But he suspected that even if he’d had no knowledge of the Al Kamal wealth and influence he would have instinctively known that here was a man he didn’t want to be on the wrong side of …

James considered the other man’s lean dark face and thought … implacable.

This guy, he mused, would not be gentle when it came to removing something or someone who got in his way.

Probably four or five years younger than his own thirty-seven years, James decided, studying his sable-haired client surreptitiously, the guy really looked the part. He was handsome as hell, clearly with an intellect to match his golden-skinned good-looks. James laid a hand to his own slightly generous middle and thought, I really should make some time for squash …

Tariq raised one dark brow as he studied the lawyer. The man’s credentials were impeccable, but after a question like that it was hard not to wonder if he was all he was cracked up to be.

Which woman?

Which woman did he think? He took the photo back and glanced down, his dark, veiled gaze sliding over the blonde and his brother before coming to rest on the redhead. The blonde was pretty, in a cutesy, curvy, giggly sort of way. No. He dismissed her with a mental click of his long brown fingers. She was hardly the type of female who would make a man such as his brother forget the responsibilities that had been drilled into him since his childhood. The responsibilities they had both been taught came hand in hand with privilege.

Now, the second female—with the tousled titian curls, seductive mouth and alabaster skin—she was such a woman.

Yes, she was definitely a woman who could inspire a little madness in a man. As for responsibilities. This woman could probably, without much exertion, make a man forget his name!