The wind tore at her gown, peeling the fabric high around her legs, and Bahir wondered if she still never wore anything under her nightgown.

      He growled. Why would she wear a white nightgown? So very virginal and innocent.

      Who was she trying to kid?

      Marina was nowhere near a virgin. She was a sorceress. He should leave now, while he had the chance, before he was tempted to do something he might regret.

      But he could not force his feet to move. He could not turn away. Instead he stayed and watched while she was hit by the spray of a wave crashing below, watched while she flung her arms out wide and laughed as brazenly as the weather, watched while her damp white gown turned transparent—and knew that he had no choice.

      Knew he had to go to her.

       DESERT BROTHERS

       Bound by duty, undone by passion!

      These sheikhs may not be brothers by blood,

      but they are united by the code of the desert.

      Their power and determination is legendary and

      unchallenged—until two beautiful Jemeyan princesses

      threaten their self-control …

      In Trish Morey’s exciting duet searing passion and

      sizzling drama are about to be unleashed!

       In May you met:

      Zoltan and Aisha

      Will this barbarian sheikh tame

      his defiant virgin princess and claim his crown?

       This month meet:

      Bahir and Marina

      Infamous billionaire Bahir Al-Qadir risks it all in a

      high-stakes game of love!

      About the Author

      TRISH MOREY is an Australian who’s also spent time living and working in New Zealand and England. Now she’s settled with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of South Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo. With a lifelong love of reading, she penned her first book at the age of eleven, after which life, career and a growing family kept her busy until once again she could indulge her desire to create characters and stories—this time in romance. Having her work published is a dream come true.

      Visit Trish at her website, www.trishmorey.com

       Recent titles by the same author:

      DUTY AND THE BEAST (Desert Brothers) SECRETS OF CASTILLO DEL ARCO FIANCÉE FOR ONE NIGHT THE HEIR FROM NOWHERE

       Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

      The Sheikh’s

      Last Gamble

      Trish Morey

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      BAHIR Al-Qadir hated losing. For a man barred entry to more than half the world’s casinos for routinely and systematically breaking the bank, losing did not come often or easily. Now, as he watched yet another pile of his chips being swept from the roulette table, the bitter taste of loss soured his mouth and a black cloud of despair hung low over his head.

      For three nights now he had endured this run of black fortune and still there seemed no end to it. And not even the knowledge that roulette was a game designed to give the house the edge was any compensation. Not when he was used to winning. How ironic that Lady Luck had deserted him now, just when he had been counting on a stint at a casino to improve his mood. He might have laughed at the irony, except right now he was in no mood for laughing.

      Still, he managed to dredge up a smile as placed his last pile of chips on a black square, and glanced the way of the croupier to let him know he was ready. So what that he had already dropped the equivalent of a small nation’s gross national product? He was nothing if not a consummate professional. The back of his neck might be damp with perspiration and his stomach roiling, but he’d be damned if any of the vultures around the table watching him come undone would read how bleak he felt right now on his face or in his body language.

      The croupier called for any more bets even when he would have known there would be none. One by one the other players had dropped out, content to watch the unthinkable, to watch Bahir—the famed ‘Sheikh of Spin’—lose, until there remained only him and the numbered wheel.

      With a well-rehearsed flick of one wrist, the croupier sent the wheel spinning; a flick of the other sending the ball hurtling in the opposite direction.

      A feeble and battered thread of hope surged anew. Surely this time? Surely?

      Bahir’s gut clenched as the ball spun. The damp at his collar formed a bead that ran down his back under his shirt. And, despite it all, he forced his smile to grow more nonchalant, his stance more relaxed.

      ‘Rien ne va plus!’ the croupier announced unnecessarily, for nobody looked like making another bet. Everybody was watching the ball bounce and skip over the numbered pockets as the wheel slowed beneath it.

      Finally the ball lost momentum and caught in one of the pockets, fighting momentum and bouncing once, twice, before settling into another and being whisked suddenly in the other direction. He knew exactly how it felt. He’d felt hope being ripped right out of him in much the same way for three nights running now. Surely this time, on his last bet of the night, his luck would change? Surely this time he might regain some tiny shred of success to take with him, to show him his gift hadn’t abandoned him completely?

      Then the wheel slowed to a crawl and with sickening realisation he saw: red, the colour rendering the number irrelevant.

      It was done. He had lost.

      Again.

      He thanked the croupier, as if he had dropped no more than the price of a cup of coffee, ignoring the shocked murmurings of the onlookers, intending to walk out of here with his head held high, even if he felt like dropping it into his hands. What the hell was wrong with him?

      Bahir didn’t lose.

      Not like this. The last time he had suffered a run like this …

      He pulled his thoughts to an abrupt halt. He wasn’t going down that path. The last thing he needed to think about on a night such as this was her.

      She was the damned reason he was here, after all.

      ‘Monsieur, s’il vous plait,’ came a smooth-as-silk voice alongside him, and he turned to see the shark-faced Marcel, the host the casino had assigned to him tonight. The perfect host up until now, keeping both his distance and his expression free of the smugness he was no doubt feeling, Marcel had meantime ensured that he had wanted for nothing during his stint at the table. ‘Sheikh Al-Qadir, the evening does not have to end here. If you wish, the casino would be only too happy to extend you credit to prolong your entertainment.’

      Bahir read his face. The man’s bland expression might tell him nothing, but there was an eagerness in his grey eyes that made his skin crawl. So they did not think he was done with his losing streak yet? A momentary challenge flared in his blood, only to be quashed by the knowledge that all he’d done here since he’d entered this establishment three days ago was lose. So maybe