The Sultan's Virgin Bride

And Farrah Tyndall owned twenty per cent.

Hasim was breathing rapidly. ‘I still think this plan is impossible.’

Tariq gave a slow smile, totally unperturbed. ‘The challenge and stimulation of business comes from making the impossible possible,’ he observed, his long fingers toying idly with the stem of his glass, ‘and to find a solution where there appears to be none.’

‘But if you carry out your plan then you will have to marry her—’

Confronted by that unpalatable truth, Tariq’s fingers tightened on the glass. Despite his outward display of indifference, his internal reaction to the prospect of marriage bordered on the allergic. ‘Only in the short term,’ he drawled and Hasim’s expression transformed from mild concern to one of extreme anxiety.

‘You are seriously considering invoking the ancient law that allows you to divorce after forty days and forty nights?’

‘Everything my wife owns, and I do mean everything,’ Tariq inserted with silken emphasis, ‘becomes mine on marriage. I want those shares but I have no wish to stay married.’

The plan was perfect. Masterly.

Hasim fiddled nervously with the cloth of his suit. ‘To the best of my knowledge, that particular divorce law has not been applied for centuries.’

‘And most people have forgotten its existence, which is clearly to our advantage.’

‘It is an insult to a bride and her family, Your Excellency.’ Hasim’s voice was hoarse and Tariq lifted an ebony brow.

‘How is it possible to insult a woman who thinks only of partying and possessions?’ His tone was sardonic. ‘If you’re expecting me to feel sorry for Farrah Tyndall then you’re wasting your time.’

‘But what if she doesn’t come tonight? Everything depends on the girl.’ The Minister shifted on his chair, beads of sweat standing out on his brow as the prolonged wait started to affect his nerves.

By contrast Tariq, who had nerves of steel and had never doubted his own abilities, sat relaxed and confident, his gaze still focused on the sweep of stairs that led down into the ballroom. ‘She will come. Her father is patron of this charity and she’s never been one to miss a good party. You can safely leave the girl to me, Hasim.’

And even as he said the words she appeared at the top of the staircase.

Poised like a princess, her golden hair piled high on her head in a style no doubt selected in order to display her long slender neck to greatest advantage, the dress a sheath of glittering gold falling from neck to ankles and hugging a body that was nothing short of female perfection.

Clearly he’d been right in his assumption that she’d spent the entire afternoon at the hairdresser and with her stylist, Tariq thought with cold objectivity, his expert gaze sliding slowly down her body.

Which meant that her priorities hadn’t changed at all in the five years since they’d last met.

But there were changes, he noticed, as he watched the way she drifted down the stairs with the effortless grace of a dancer. She carried herself differently. No longer the leggy teenager who had appeared slightly awkward and self-conscious, she’d developed poise and sophistication. She’d grown into her stunning looks.

The girl he’d once known had become a woman.

Although he was careful to betray nothing, he felt everything inside him tighten in a vicious attack of lust. Desire, hot and fierce, gripped his lean, athletic frame and, for a moment, he was sorely tempted to drag her from the ballroom and make use of the nearest available flat surface.

Which just went to prove, he thought grimly, that the male libido was no judge of character and completely disconnected from the brain.

Irritated by the violence of his own response to her, he watched in brooding silence as she weaved between tables, pausing occasionally to meet and greet. Her smile was an intriguing mix of allure and innocence and she used it well, captivating her male audience with the gentle curve of her lips and the teasing flash of her eyes.

She was an accomplished flirt. A woman of exceptional beauty who knew exactly how to use the gifts that nature had bestowed upon her to best advantage. And she used each gift to its full as she worked the room, shining brighter than any star as she moved towards her table with a group of friends.

Her table was next to his. He knew that because his instructions to his staff had been quite specific and, like a jungle cat lying in wait for its prey, Tariq remained still, poised for her to notice him.

The tension inside him rose and anticipation thrummed in his veins.

Any moment now…

She exchanged a few words with a passing male, who laughed and kissed her hand. Then she dropped her tiny bag on the table and turned, the smile still on her lips.

And saw him.

The colour drained from her beautiful face and the bright smile died instantly like a vibrant flame doused by cold water.

Something vulnerable flared in the depths of her amazing green eyes and, for a brief moment, the woman vanished and he saw the girl again.

She looked like someone who had sustained a severe shock and then she dragged her gaze away from his, closed her fingers over the back of the chair to steady herself and took several deep breaths.

Observing the effect his presence had on her with arrogant masculine satisfaction, Tariq reflected on the fact that his task was going to be every bit as easy as he’d imagined it would be.

Simple.

He watched as she straightened her narrow shoulders and let her hands fall from the chair that she’d used for support. Her eyes blank of expression, she looked at him, inclined her head gracefully in his direction and then turned back to her friends, nothing in her demeanour suggesting that he was anything other than the most casual of acquaintances.

Playing it cool.

His gaze lingered on the soft swell of her breasts and he reflected that, although he had a personal rule of never mixing business with pleasure, he had no objection to indulging in pleasure once the business was over. And, although his marriage to the Tyndall heiress was business, the wedding night would most definitely be his pleasure.

Forty days and forty nights of pleasure, to be exact. With a clear mental vision of how he intended to pass his limited time as a married man, Tariq gave a slow smile of anticipation.

It appeared as though this business deal would not be anything like the arduous task that he’d initially imagined.

Marriage had suddenly taken on an appeal that had previously escaped him.

She had to get away.

Farrah stood in a dark corner of the terrace overlooking the manicured grounds. The rain had long since stopped and the August night was warm and muggy, but she was shivering like a whippet. She ran her hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm herself but it made no difference. The chill was deep inside her. If there had been any way of leaving without her absence being noted she would have done so because to stay in the same room as Tariq bin Omar al-Sharma was nothing short of agony.

She hadn’t even known he was in the country.

Had she known, she would have stayed at home, she would have gone abroad, she would have dug a hole and hidden—anything other than risk finding herself face to face with him. Especially with no warning. No chance to prepare herself mentally for the anguish of seeing him again.

One glance from those exotic dark eyes and she’d turned into a schoolgirl again. An awkward, wide-eyed, besotted teenager, weighed down by more insecurities than she could count.

She hadn’t been good enough for him.

He’d taken her fragile, fledgling self-confidence and ground it into the dust. Misery and humiliation mingled inside her and she wanted to curl up in a dark corner and hide herself away until she was sure he’d flown back to Tazkash.

People always said that you could leave your past behind, but what were you supposed to do when your past had his own fleet of private planes and could follow you anywhere?

Dinner had proved a long drawn out ordeal, an exercise in restraint and endurance, as she’d talked and laughed in a determined attempt not to reveal her distress to her companions. And all the time she’d been aware of him.

Fate had seated her with her back to him and yet it had made no difference. She’d been able to feel the power of his presence. Feel his dark gaze burning into her back. And in the end, unable to sit a moment longer, she’d made her excuses and slipped outside.