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      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

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘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!

      As his eyes lingered on the redhead’s vivid laughing face he felt his irritation fade. It really wasn’t hard, he conceded reluctantly, to see why his little brother Khalid had lost his head and his heart to this woman. Even in a blurry snapshot her earthy sex appeal hit you straight between the eyes—not to mention other places further south!

      She did not have a conventionally beautiful face. Her rounded chin was too firm, the skin across the bridge of her small, slightly tip-tilted nose was lightly freckled, and her smiling sensuously curved lips were too wide. But the exotic slant of her big long-lashed eyes gave her features an almost feline look and certainly a sensual quality.

      His glance dropped to her body. She was tall, square-shouldered and full-bosomed. She had an hourglass figure, and the flare of her full hips was perfectly balanced by her long shapely legs. The skin his brother’s fingers touched in the photograph was milky pale.

      Her skin would be warm and smooth under a man’s touch, infinitely delectable … Tariq put aside the distracting image, his expression instantly hardening. That man was not going to be Khalid.

      His little brother was clearly not thinking with his brain. If Khalid had gone out looking for the most unsuitable bride alive he could not have found one who fitted the bill better than this redhead.

      She had no family; there was not even a father’s name on her birth certificate. And, while he did not hold her background against her, it was to him highly significant that after the death of her mother, she had never settled with any of the numerous foster families she had been placed in. This was a pattern that had continued into adulthood, and she had travelled the world working. Tariq could not fault her work ethic, but she had never accumulated any money or possessions, and she had never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots.

      It was totally inconceivable that such a woman could fill the role of Royal Princess.

      Tariq returned his attention back to the lawyer. ‘The redhead,’ he said, dispensing the blatantly unnecessary information with impatience as he slid the photo back into his breast pocket.

      Dragging his long brown fingers over his bare dark head, he slid his dark pewter-flecked gaze to the window. It was closed and he was conscious of the feeling of claustrophobia he often felt when in London, or in any other major city for that matter.