The Desert Prince's Mistress by Sharon Kendrick

out to Khalim, and he acknowledged it in a telephone call, his voice sounding cool and thoughtful.
    She half imagined that a small contingent of his armed guard might accompany him, but when the Prince arrived on Friday, just before midday, he was alone. Lara opened the door to him and blinked in surprise.
    ‘No guards?’ she questioned softly, once he had greeted her and she had closed the front door.
    Khalim gave a brief smile. ‘My emissary and two others are waiting outside. They have orders not to disturb us.’
    ‘Would you like tea?’ Lara questioned shyly. ‘Mint tea?’
    Khalim smiled. ‘You remembered!’
    ‘How is Rose?’ she demanded eagerly.
    ‘Rose is complaining that she is the size of an elephant! And I have photos to show you of my son.’ A frown crossed his dark face. ‘She does not know that I am seeing you. For if she did she would ask questions for which I do not yet have any answers.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Lara.
    It seemed all so incongruously suburban. Khalim sitting on her sofa, drinking tea and proudly showing her photos of his wife and son. He was wearing Western regalia—a beautifully cut Italian suit in charcoal-grey, snowy shirt and a silk tie the colour of an emerald—and he looked just as much as ease in it as he did in his flowing garments of soft gleaming gold.
    Outwardly, he seemed relaxed, but Lara could see the faint lines which fanned out from the jet-dark eyes. She wondered if he was worried about problems at home or simply about meeting Darian—but it seemed impertinent to ask.
    She found herself comparing him to the man she was certain was his half-brother. Darian was taller and broader, his skin not so dark as Khalim’s, and his eyes were golden, not black, and yet there was an unmistakable similaritybetween the two men. You could see it in the firm and unblinking gaze, and in the almost tangible strength of character which emanated from them. What would happen when they met?
    She shivered, and Khalim looked at her.
    ‘You are nervous, Lara?’
    ‘A little. Aren’t you?’
    He shook his head. ‘In Maraban we have a saying: Life is like a narrow bridge—the most important thing is not to be afraid.’
    ‘He’s…he’s the same age as you, you know.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘What if he’s older? Won’t that make him the legitimate heir?’
    ‘But he is illegitimate , Lara,’ Khalim reminded her gently. ‘If indeed he is my brother.’
    So he wasn’t taking her word for it, realised Lara—but who could blame him when something so important was at stake?
    The doorbell rang, and her eyes opened very wide. ‘He’s here! What shall I do? What shall I say?’
    ‘Bring him to me,’ commanded Khalim sternly. ‘And do not worry, little one,’ he said, his voice gentling a little.
    Lara’s heart was beating so fast that she could barely breathe as she walked to the front door. And when she opened it her feelings of apprehension only increased.
    For Darian was standing there, looking impossibly gorgeous and so tantalisingly touchable. The breeze had ruffled his hair, so that all its gleaming darkness was emphasised, and the soft, dark cashmere sweater provided a perfect foil for the living gold of his eyes and the tawny glow of his skin. His lips were soft, and so were his eyes.
    Without a word, he pulled her into his arms and stared down at her. Did he have some crazy, masochistic instinct which might have denied him such exquisite pleasures when they were here for the taking? She was beautiful.The other night had been beautiful. He wanted her again and he wanted her right now.
    ‘Lara,’ he murmured.
    She knew what he was about to do, and knew that she ought to stop him, but she was powerless to resist.
    He drove his mouth down on hers, like a hungry man who had just seen food. The touch of her lips brought memories of her body crashing back into sweet, sharp focus and he gave a little moan of pleasure.
    Instantly Lara felt herself responding to his kiss, her body