The Sheikh and the Virgin

‘Men and women are not friends.’

Beatrice couldn’t restrain herself. He clearly thought his opinion on any given subject was definitive. ‘And you’d know all about friendship …?’

His sensuous mouth curled. ‘I know all about women,’ he corrected.

Now, that, she admitted, was easy to believe. Combating a fresh rush of cheek-burning colour, she tore her gaze from the sensual outline of his lips and pleaded sarcastically, ‘Spare me the tales of your conquests.’ The last thing she needed was any more fuel for the images already playing in her head!

His lips thinned in distaste and he qualified, ‘I know all about women like you. I know of your ambitions.’

His voice dropped to a menacing purr that did painful things to her sensitive nerve-endings as he leaned forward and added softly, ‘Let me tell you it is not going to happen, Miss Devlin. You will not trap my brother into marriage.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Daft question. Of course it was a threat. And Beatrice responded the same way she always did when she came across someone who thought they could intimidate her. She saw red and came out fighting.

‘Trap, you said …?’ She pressed a finger to the suggestion of a cleft in her softly rounded chin and pretended to consider the comment. ‘Get pregnant, you mean …? I actually hadn’t thought of that,’ she admitted, before throwing back her head and loosing a husky laugh of amusement.

His dark face tautened with anger, the golden skin pulling tight across his prominent cheekbones as his contemptuous eyes locked onto her face. ‘You would be wise not to consider such a thing.’

‘And you would be wise to keep your opinions and your orders and your damned condescending attitude to yourself!’ she retorted, rising to her feet and fixing him with a wrathful glare.

‘How dare you speak to me in that way?’

An overload of adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, and his astonished demand made no impact on her.

‘Don’t you think your brother is old enough to decide who he marries?’ She for one pitied the woman—who would presumably need to gain this man’s approval. ‘I don’t see there’s much you can do about it.’ Except strangle me. And he looked quite capable of doing that!

‘I am not an unreasonable man.’

But he was definitely a very angry one, she thought, her eyes glued to the erratic pulse that clenched and unclenched in his lean cheek.

‘I can see that you should be compensated for the time and energy you have put into this … project.’

‘Project?’

‘I think you’ll find I am quite generous,’ he replied smoothly as he pushed a piece of paper across the table towards her. ‘Feel free to consult a lawyer, but it is quite straightforward. Once you sign this agreement, stating you will not marry my brother and you will not make any further attempt to contact him, you will receive half that stated amount. Six months later you will receive the balance.’

‘You’re bribing me?’ And just when she’d thought this situation couldn’t get any more surreal!

‘I am offering you financial compensation.’

‘You want to pay me off?’

‘I am willing to pay to remove you from my brother’s life,’ he admitted, clearly irritated by her insistence on calling a spade a spade.

‘I’d starve before I’d take a penny off you!’ she flared, fixing him with a furious smoky glare.

He looked taken aback by her anger. ‘There is, I think you will find, rather more than a penny on the table.’

Her lips curled contemptuously as she glanced down. ‘This isn’t about the amount.’ He clearly didn’t have the faintest idea he had just offered her an insult. ‘I don’t care how—Good God!’ she gasped, catching sight of the figure.

Her round eyes moved from the paper to the man behind the desk, who was watching her with an air of smug complacence. It had obviously never even crossed his mind that she would say no.

‘That’s a lot of money,’ she admitted, with massive understatement. ‘But actually I’ve not a lot of use for it. However, being a princess … well, that’s something that money can’t buy, isn’t it …?’

His eyes narrowed to icy slits as he rose majestically to his feet.

She had to tilt her head back to look at him, and her taunting smile dimmed.

‘That, Miss Devlin, will not happen,’ he told her positively.

‘We’ll see …’

‘If you are trying to extract more money …?’ he began grimly.

‘I’m not. The fact is,’ she said stabbing her finger in the direction of his chest, ‘you don’t have enough money to buy me. I’m sure you’ve spent your life throwing money at problems to make them go away, but me—I’m not for sale. At any price.’

Her regal exit was slightly marred by the fact that her hands were shaking so much it took her three attempts to open the door.

The irony was, of course, that his insults and his bribe were not really intended for her. He had made a huge mistake. She just hoped that when he discovered Khalid’s real girlfriend the other girl would have the guts to tell him to go to hell too.

CHAPTER TWO

‘ARE you all right, miss?’

It required a supreme effort, but Bea forced a smile as she turned to the concerned-looking silver-haired man who had stopped to make the anxious enquiry. Concerned people who gave a damn were rare commodities nowadays, and in her opinion deserved at least a smile.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she promised.

He didn’t look entirely convinced, and if she looked anything like she felt, Beatrice wasn’t surprised.

‘Perhaps you should sit down …? A glass of water.?’ He glanced towards the large impressive-looking building Beatrice had just emerged from.

‘Really, I’m fine,’ she insisted, able to hide her shaking hands in the pockets of her jacket, but unable to control the emotional quiver in her voice.

In truth, she had never felt less fine. She was, in fact, furious. A laid-back, easygoing person, Beatrice rarely lost her temper—but when she did she lost it big time!

She remained so angry that her furious long-legged stride got her back to Emma’s flat in record time. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed open the door and stepped into the sitting room.

‘You’ll never guess what—’ She stopped abruptly. The room was empty, but a muffled sound from the bedroom indicated her friend was home.

‘That didn’t take long,’ Emma said, belting a robe around her waist as she emerged from the bedroom, her blonde curls tousled and her cheeks flushed. ‘Well, what was your meeting all about? Has a rich relative left you a fortune?’

Bea, struggling to control her anger, barely registered her friend’s breathless voice as she gritted her teeth. ‘A fortune was involved,’ she admitted, kicking off her shoes and flopping down onto the sofa. ‘But, like I told you, I don’t have any relatives—rich or otherwise.’

Neither, after living in foster care after her mother’s death, did she have Emma’s romantic imagination.

Bea had responded to the mysterious invitation that had arrived in the post with curiosity and an open mind, but no great expectations. Definitely not the expectation of being insulted so comprehensively!

‘Neither did I bump into a white knight at the corner shop.’