Forbidden: The Sheikh's Virgin Read online

  Dark-Hearted Desert Men

  Many years ago there were two Mediterranean islands, ruled as one kingdom—Adamas. But bitter family feuds ripped Adamas apart and the islands went their separate ways. The Greek Karedes family reigned supreme over glamorous Aristo, and the smoldering Al’Farisi sheikhs commanded the desert lands of Calista.

  When the Aristan king died, an illegitimate daughter was discovered—Stefania, the rightful heir to the throne. Ruthlessly the Calistan sheikh king Zakari seduced her into marriage, to claim absolute power, but was overawed by her purity—and succumbed to love. Now they rule both Aristo and Calista together in the spirit of hope and prosperity.

  But a black mark hangs over the Calistan royal family still. As young boys, three of King Zakari’s brothers were kidnapped for ransom by pirates. Two returned safely, but the youngest was swept out to sea and never found—presumed dead. Then at Stefania’s coronation a stranger appeared in their midst—the ruler of a nearby kingdom, Qusay. A stranger with scars on his wrists from pirates’ ropes. A stranger who knew nothing of his past—only his future as a king!

  What will happen when Xavian, King of Qusay, discovers that he’s living the wrong life? And who will claim the Qusay throne if the truth is unveiled?

  Find out more in the brand-new

  Harlequin Presents® miniseries

  One kingdom. One crown. Four smoldering desert princes… Which one will claim the throne—and who will they claim as their brides?

  Book 1: Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen by Carol Marinelli

  Book 2: Tamed: The Barbarian King by Jennie Lucas

  Book 3: Forbidden: The Sheikh’s Virgin by Trish Morey

  Book 4: Scandal: His Majesty’s Love-Child by Annie West

  Dear Reader,

  The shifting desert sands, the unforgivable heat of a desert sun and the scent of incense and shisha pipes on the warm, whispering breeze, all combined with a feisty heroine and a golden-skinned hero to end all heroes—what’s not to love about sheikh romances?

  Which is one reason I jumped at the chance to participate in the DARK-HEARTED DESERT MEN miniseries. How could I say no?

  But it was more than that. For to be a part of a series with talented authors Carol Marinelli, Annie West and Jennie Lucas was a chance too good to miss, and there was no way I wanted to miss out on a desert adventure with some of my favorite authors.

  Besides, Rafiq and Sera’s story had me by the throat from the very beginning. We meet Sheikh Rafiq as a ruthless tycoon, now prince and second in line to the throne of Qusay. On the other hand, Sera is a woman broken by duty and circumstance. Forced together, forced to deal with the still unavoidable attraction in the explosive cauldron of their past, can they ever find the love they once believed they were destined for?

  It’s fantasy all the way, with a dark-hearted desert man who finally meets his destiny in the shape of a dark-haired woman with an equally dark past. I hope it’s a fantasy you enjoy!

  Much love, as always

  Trish Morey

  Trish Morey

  FORBIDDEN: THE SHEIKH’S VIRGIN

  All about the author…

  Trish Morey

  TRISH MOREY wrote her first book at age eleven for a children’s-book-week competition. Entitled Island Dreamer, it told the story of an orphaned girl and her life on a small island at the mouth of South Australia’s Murray River. Island Dreamer also proved to be her first rejection. Her entry was disqualified unread and, shattered and broken, she turned to a life where she could combine her love of fiction with her need for creativity—Trish became a chartered accountant! Life wasn’t all dull, though, as she embarked on a skydiving course, completing three jumps before deciding that she’d given her fear of heights a run for its money.

  Meanwhile she fell in love and married a handsome guy who cut computer code, and Trish penned her second book—the totally riveting A Guide to Departmental Budgeting—while working for the New Zealand Treasury.

  Back home in Australia after the birth of their second daughter, Trish spied an article saying that Harlequin Books was actively seeking new authors. It was one of those eureka! moments—Trish was going to be one of those authors!

  Eleven years after reading that fateful article (actually June 18, 2003, at 6:32 p.m.!) the magical phone call came and Trish finally realized her dream.

  According to Trish, writing and selling a book is a major life achievement that ranks up there with motherhood and jumping out of an airplane. All three take commitment, determination and sheer guts, but the effort is so very, very worthwhile.

  Trish now lives with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of South Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo.

  You can visit Trish on her Web site at www.trishmorey.com or drop her a line at [email protected].

  To Romance Writers of Australia, an organization that has taken this one raw writer with a dream, held my hand through the long lean years of rejection, inspired me, educated me and celebrated with me every success along the way.

  Most of all, thank you for giving me the best friends a girl could have.

  I owe you so much!

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  IT SHOULD have been something to celebrate. Business was booming, the Aussie dollar soaring, and people were buying imports like never before. Combined with a sharp recovery in property prices, Rafiq Al’Ramiz’s import business and property investments were doing better than ever.

  It should have been something to celebrate…

  With a growl, he turned his back on the reports and swivelled his leather high-backed chair through one hundred and eighty degrees, preferring the floor-to-ceiling views of Sydney Harbour afforded by his prime fortieth-floor office suite to the spreadsheets full of black numbers on his desk.

  He didn’t feel like celebrating.

  What would be the point?

  Because it was no fun when it was too easy.

  He sighed and knotted his hands behind his head. Challenge had been the thing that had driven him over the last ten-plus years, adversity the force that had shaped him, and for a man who had built himself up from nothing into a business phenomenon, conflict had always been a driving force. Making money when everyone else was, even if he made ten times more than they did, was no achievement. Succeeding when times were tough was his challenge and his success.

  Beyond the glass windows of his office the waters of Sydney Harbour sparkled like jewels, passenger ferries jostling with pleasure craft for the perfect view of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. For the first time he could remember he felt the insane urge to abandon the office during business hours and take his yacht out and join the pleasure craft taking advantage of the spectacular harbour while the weather was so perfect.

  And why not? Business couldn’t be better. Why shouldn’t he cut himself some slack? He tugged at the knot in his tie, already warming to the notion. He could have Elaine call up that society princess he’d met at last week’s charity do. He couldn’t remember the cause, or her name for that matter—he was invited to so many of those things and he met so many women—but he could remember the way the blon
de had sashayed up to him, so hot in her liquid red dress that she’d all but melted the ice in his glass. His PA would know who she was. That was Elaine’s job. And maybe by the time he’d finished with the blonde the economy would have taken a tumble and life might be more interesting again.

  He could only hope.

  He’d already swivelled his chair back, ready to pick up the receiver and hit the button that would connect him to his PA, when his phone buzzed.

  He raised one eyebrow. Elaine had a sixth sense for his requirements, almost uncanny at times, but if she already had the blonde bombshell on line one, her bonus this year would be an all-expenses-paid holiday to the Bahamas.

  He picked up the receiver and listened. It wasn’t the blonde, and there would be no all-expenses-paid holiday to the Bahamas for his PA, but life was already one hell of a lot more interesting.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE sun belted down on the tarmac of Qusay International Airport, the combination turning the air oppressive as Rafiq stepped from the Gulfstream V. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dazzling light, and even over the smell of avgas he breathed it in: the unmistakable scent of his homeland, the salt-tinged air fragrant with a thousand heady spices and dusted with the desert sands that swept so much of the island kingdom.

  ‘Rafiq!’

  He smiled as his brother emerged, his robes stark white and cool-looking, from the first of two limousines waiting near the foot of the stairs. At their front, flags bearing the royal insignia fluttered, and four uniformed motorcyclists sat ready nearby, bringing home to him the reality of the bombshell his brother had dropped during his phone call. King Xavian had abdicated after learning that he was really the missing Prince Zafir of Calistan, which meant that his brother, Kareef, would soon be crowned King of Qusay.

  Which made him, Rafiq, a prince.

  A fleeting hint of bitterness infused his thoughts and senses—if he’d been a prince back then—but just as quickly he fought it down. That was history.

  Ancient history.

  There were far better things to celebrate now, even if the bad taste in his mouth would not disappear completely. He jogged down the stairs, ignoring the heat that seemed to suck the very oxygen from the air, and took his brother by the arm, pulling him close and slapping him on the back. ‘It is good to see you, big brother. Or should I call you Sire?’

  Kareef waved his jest aside as he ushered his brother into the cool interior of the waiting limousine, the chauffer snicking the door softly closed behind them before sliding into the driver’s seat. ‘It’s good you could come at such short notice,’ Kareef acknowledged as the cavalcade pulled away.

  ‘You think I would miss your coronation?’

  ‘You almost missed Xavian’s wedding. How long were you here? Three hours? Four at most.’

  ‘It is true,’ Rafiq acceded, unable to deny it. Business had been more pressing a few weeks ago—new emporiums opening almost simultaneously in Auckland and Perth, his presence required everywhere at once—but he had managed to get here, only to have his snatched visit cut even shorter with news of a warehouse fire that had threatened some of his employees’ lives. ‘Although as it turns out he wasn’t Xavian our cousin after all. But there was no way I was not coming for your coronation. And if there is one thing I am sure of, Kareef, it’s that you are indeed my brother.’

  Nobody could have doubted it. The brothers shared the same height and breadth of shoulder, and the same arresting dark good-looks. Those things would have been more than enough to guarantee the family connection, but it was their uncannily blue eyes, eyes that could be as warm as the clearest summer sky or as cold as glacial frost, that cemented the family connection and took it beyond doubt.

  ‘Speaking of brothers,’ he continued, ‘where is Tahir? Is our wayward brother to grace us with his presence this time?’

  A frown marred Kareef’s noble brow. ‘I spoke with him…’ He paused, and seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts before looking up and smiling broadly. ‘I spoke with him yesterday.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’

  ‘It’s true. Though it wasn’t easy to track him down in Monte Carlo, he’s coming to the coronation.’

  Rafiq raised a brow as he pushed himself further back into the supple leather upholstery. ‘All three of us, back here at the same time?’

  ‘It’s been too long,’ Kareef agreed.

  The journey from the airport through the bustling city of Shafar, with its blend of the traditional low mud-brick buildings amongst modern glass skyscrapers, passed quickly as the brothers caught up on events since they had last seen each other, and soon the limousine was making its way through the massive iron gates that opened to the cobbled driveway leading to the palace. It never failed to impress. In the noonday sun, the palace glowed like the inside of a pearl shell—so massive, so bright, standing atop its headland, that travellers at sea must be able to see it from miles around, whether in the dazzling light of day or glowing brightly in the pearly light of the moon.

  And as the car pulled to a halt under a shadowed portico, and a uniformed doorman swept close and saluted as he opened the door, the reality of recent events hit home once more. Now Rafiq wasn’t just entering the royal palace as a member of the extended family. Now he was royalty. A prince, no less.

  How ironic, when he had built himself up to be king of the business he had created for himself—ruler over his own empire. For now he was one step away from being ruler of the country that had given him birth, the country he had turned his back on so many years ago.

  How life could change so quickly.

  And once again an unwelcome trace of bitterness sent him poisoned thoughts.

  If he’d been brother to the King back then, would she have waited for him? If he’d been a prince, how might things have been different?

  He shook his head to clear the unwanted thoughts. The savage heat was definitely getting to him if he was dwelling on things that could not be changed. He hadn’t been a prince back then and she had made her choice. End of story.

  His brother left him then, putting a hand to Rafiq’s shoulder. ‘As I mentioned, there are matters I must attend to. Meanwhile Akmal will show you to your suite.’

  His suite proved to be a collection of high-ceilinged, richly decorated rooms of immense proportions, the walls hung with gilt-framed mirrors and colourful tapestries of exploits otherwise long forgotten, the furnishings rich and opulent, the floor coverings silken and whisper-soft.

  ‘I trust you will be comfortable here, Your Highness,’ Akmal said, bowing as he retreated backwards out the door.

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ he said, knowing there was no way he couldn’t be, despite the obvious difference between the palace furnishings and the stark and streamlined way his own house in Sydney was decorated. His five-level beachside house was a testament to modern architecture and structural steel, the house clinging to the cliff overlooking Secret Cove, Sydney’s most exclusive seaside suburb.

  And inside it was no less lean and Spartan, all polished timber floors and stainless steel, glass and granite.

  Strange, he mused, how he’d become rich on people wanting to emulate the best the Middle East had to offer, when he’d chosen the complete opposite to decorate his own home.

  ‘And Akmal?’ he called, severing that line of thought before he could analyse it too deeply. ‘Before you go…’

  The older man bowed again, simultaneously subservient and long-suffering in the one movement. ‘Yes, Your Highness?’

  ‘Can we drop the formalities? My name is Rafiq.’

  The old adviser stiffened on an inhale, as if someone had suddenly shoved a rod up his spine. ‘But here in Qusay you are Your Highness, Your Highness.’

  Rafiq nodded on a sigh. As nephews to the King, he and his brothers had grown up on the periphery of the crown, in line, and yet an entire family away, and while the possibility had always existed that something might happen to the heir they’d kno
wn as Xavian before he took the crown, nobody had really believed it. Their childhood had consequently been a world away from the strained atmosphere Xavian had grown up in, even with their own domineering father. They’d had duty drilled into them, but they’d had freedom too—a freedom that had allowed Rafiq to walk away from Qusay as a nineteen-year-old when there’d been nothing left for him here.

  He’d made his own way in the world since then, by clawing his way up from being a nothing and nobody in a city the other side of the world. He hadn’t needed a title then. He didn’t need a title now, even if he was, by virtue of Xavian’s abdication, a prince. But what was the point of arguing?

  After all, he’d leave for Sydney and anonymity right after the coronation. He could put up with a little deference that long. ‘Of course, Akmal,’ he conceded, letting the older man withdraw, his sense of propriety intact. ‘I understand. Oh, and Akmal?’

  The vizier turned. ‘Yes, Your Highness?’

  Rafiq allowed himself a smile at the emphasis. ‘Please let my mother know I’ll visit her this afternoon.’

  He bowed again as he withdrew from the room. ‘As you wish.’

  Rafiq took the next hour to reacquaint himself with the Olympic-length swimming pool tucked away with the men’s gym in one of the palace’s many wings, the arched windows open to catch the slightest breeze, while the roof protected bathers from the fiery sun. There weren’t any other bathers today; the palace was quiet in the midday heat as many took the opportunity for the traditional siesta.