Sharon Kendrick Collection

‘I didn’t plan to feel this way about you, Sabrina,’ he admitted huskily as he caught her by the shoulders and forced her to look up at him, his own eyes soft with promise.

She felt the glimmer of tears. ‘As if anyone has any control over their feelings.’ She gulped. ‘I wasn’t planning on…’ Her words tailed off. To talk of love would frighten him almost as much as it frightened her.

‘On what?’

‘Needing you like this,’ she compromised.

‘Need can be a powerful emotion, princess.’ He tipped her chin upwards with the tip of his finger and gave a slightly shell-shocked smile. ‘I find I need you pretty badly myself.’

She recognised what it had cost him to admit that. She stood on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on his lips, and he sighed.

‘So you’ll stay?’ he asked.

She drew her mouth away, her dreamy expression replaced by one of caution. Should she stay? But did she really have any alternative, when the thought of leaving filled her with a kind of mad despair?

All he’d told her was that he cared for her. He’d made no promise other than an unspoken one, which was that he trusted her enough to open up his heart. And surely trust—coming from a man like Guy—was worth all the most passionate declarations in the world.

‘Sabrina?’ he prompted softly.

‘You know I will.’

‘What’s the date?’ he asked suddenly, stroking a red-gold lock of hair off her cheek.

She thought back to all the order forms she’d filled in at the bookshop that morning. ‘June the tenth. Why?’

He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Just remember it,’ he urged softly.

EPILOGUE (#ulink_08d65674-ea51-52d2-846a-19f81d472d70)

GUY closed the front door and turned to look at Sabrina, a slow smile lighting up his face as he thought how beautiful she looked in her mint-green dress with her glorious bright hair tied back with a matching green ribbon.

‘So, how did that go, do you think?’ he asked her.

‘I think they enjoyed it.’ Her eyes glinted with mischief. ‘Your mother kept asking me whether we’d arranged a wedding date.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘I said no, of course. Because we haven’t.’ But there was no resentment in her voice. ‘And your sister-in-law kept telling me how much she had enjoyed her two pregnancies.’

‘I’ll bet she did!’ He grinned. ‘Like some more champagne?’

She’d barely touched a drop all afternoon. She’d been so nervous about meeting Guy’s mother and stepfather and his brother and wife and their two children. But the lunch had gone like a dream, and now relief began to seep into her veins. ‘Love some.’

He opened up the French doors leading onto the balcony and brought out two fizzing flutes. He handed her one as they sat side by side on the small bench, turning their faces towards the sun.

‘Do you know what the date is, princess?’ he asked quietly.

The glass was halfway to her mouth, but she quickly put it down on the decking and turned to look at him as a distant memory stirred in her mind. ‘But you know the date!’ she exclaimed. ‘We’ve had this lunch in the diary for ages. It’s June the tenth. Why?’

He put his own glass down to join hers—champagne was the very last thing on his mind. ‘It’s exactly a year since I persuaded you to stay,’ he said softly. ‘Remember?’

She nodded, mesmerised by the dawning tenderness on his face. ‘I didn’t take a lot of persuading,’ she said drily.

He smiled. ‘It didn’t seem like that at the time. I knew then that I loved you, princess.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed one fingertip after another. ‘But I didn’t want to rush you, or push you into something you weren’t ready for. You needed time to recover from Michael’s death and time to decide whether you could ever trust yourself to love again.’

‘Oh, Guy,’ she whispered, shaken by the depth of his understanding. ‘Darling, darling Guy.’

‘I love you,’ he said in a wondering kind of tone, as though he had just discovered a foreign language in which he was fluent.

And Sabrina realised that deep in her heart she’d known that he loved her. Loving wasn’t just about saying three little words—Guy had shown her in every way that counted that he cared. His consideration, his softness, his intelligent regard and respect for her and the beautiful power of his lovemaking had left her in no doubt of that whatsoever.

‘I love you,’ she said softly.

He leaned forward to gently kiss her. He had known that, too. Her love for him was as bright as the June sunshine which was beating down so warmly on their faces.

Their lives together had merged and harmonised. Guy had stopped working on Saturdays, too. And now he came home at a decent hour in the evenings—sometimes even before her—which was a good thing. Unwilling to lose her, Wells had created a new job for her—enlarging the children’s section of the bookshop. Sabrina had organised author signings and related talks, which had been avidly and ecstatically received, and now she had groups of school-children from all over London to enjoy them.

‘So will you marry me?’ he asked, very, very softly. ‘Now that you’ve had time to heal properly?

‘Oh, yes, I’ll marry you,’ she responded huskily. ‘You know I will.’

Sabrina looked at his dear, sweet face and her heart turned over with love for him. It was true that time was a great healer, but in a way Guy had been helping to heal her from the moment she’d met him. Some people didn’t believe in love at first sight, but Sabrina did. Something primitive had shimmered down on them from the first moment they’d set eyes on each other, and since then the feeling had just grown and grown.

Some things happened because they were meant to, and she and Guy were meant to. You could call it fate or you could call it destiny, but Sabrina called it pure and perfect love.

Surrender to the Sheikh (#ulink_9ed328e0-2275-50bd-bf62-9edcf2267da2)

Sharon Kendrick

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_af7a79b4-e72e-5d68-aaa7-5fd96b73bc80)

THERE was something about a wedding. Something magical which made everyday cynicism evaporate into thin air. Rose twisted the stem of her champagne glass thoughtfully as they waited for the best man to begin speaking.

She’d noticed it in the church, where even the most hardened pessimists in the congregation had been busy dabbing away at the corners of their eyes—well, the women, certainly. Women who would normally congregate in wine bars, denouncing the entire male sex as unthinking and uncaring, had been sitting through the entire service with wistful smiles softening their faces beneath the wide-brimmed hats.

Why Rose had even shed a tear herself, and she was not a woman given to a public display of emotion!

‘In my country,’ announced the best man, and his jet-black eyes glittered like ebony as they fixed themselves on the bride and groom, ‘we always begin the wedding feast with a toast. That their mutual joy shall never be diminished. And so I ask you to raise your glasses and drink to Sabrina and Guy.’

‘Sabrina and Guy,’ echoed the glittering crowd, and obediently raised their glasses.

Not for the first time, Rose found herself surveying the best man over the top of her glass, along with just about every other female in the room, but then it was hard not to.

He was certainly spectacular—and spectacular in the true sense of the word. But, there again, not many men were fortunate enough to have a real live prince acting as their steward!

His name was Prince Khalim, as Sabrina had informed her excitedly when she’d begun to plan the wedding. A real-life prince with a real-life country of his own—the beautiful Maraban—over which he would one day rule, as his forebears had ruled for centuries. He was an old schoolfriend of Guy’s, Sabrina had shyly confided to Rose—the two men being as close as two men who’d known each other since childhood could be.

Rose had been expecting the prince to be short and squat and rather ugly—but, for once, her expectations had been way off mark. Because Prince Khalim was quite the most perfect man she had ever set eyes on.