The Sheikh's Defiant Bride

Madison sighed, lifted the drink and took a long, long sip.

“Bless you for ordering ahead. I really needed that.”

“I live to serve,” Barb said lightly. She smiled, and jerked her chin toward the TV screen above the bar. “I caught the show. Still hiding behind those tortoiseshells, huh?”

Madison grinned. “They make me look intellectual.”

“You mean, they make you look untouchable.”

“If only,” Madison said, and took another sip of her drink.

“Don’t tell me. The lecher’s still leching?”

“Uh-huh. Did you know you were my date for tonight?”

“Why, Maddie,” Barb purred, batting her lashes, “I never knew you felt that way.”

“Hey, there’s an idea. Maybe that’ll be my next excuse.” Madison shook her head. “He’s impossible but then, he’s a man.”

“Have you ever considered it’s time you stopped thinking every guy out there is a cheating, conniving jerk like your once-upon-a-time fiancé?”

“No,” Madison said firmly, “because they are. And that includes my own father, who only stopped being unfaithful to my mother because he died. Men are all the same. It’s a fact of life.”

“Wrong.”

“Right. There are no good guys, Barb. Well, except for yours, but Hank’s the last one on the planet.”

“Maddie…”

“Did you read the latest alumni newsletter?”

Barb looked glum. She knew where this was going. “No.”

“Remember Sue Hutton? Graduated a year after us? Divorced. Sally Weinberg? Divorced. Beverly Giovanni? Divorced. Beryl Edmunds? Div—”

“Okay, okay. I get the message, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Yes. It does.” Madison gulped down the last of her drink and looked around for the waiter. “I am not getting married, Barb. Not ever!”

“No husband? No family? No kids?”

Madison hesitated. “No husband doesn’t mean no kids. Actually—actually, I do want kids. Very much.” She paused again. “But I don’t want a husband to get in the way.”

Barb raised an eyebrow. “And you’re going to manage this how?”

Okay, Madison thought, now was the time.

“Artificial insemination,” she said, and if her heart hadn’t been beating so hard at this first public admission of what she was about to do, she’d have laughed at the look on Barb’s face. “Surprised you, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, I know a lot about A.I. It’s safe, it’s reliable—and it means a woman needs a syringe of semen, not the man who provided it.”

Something dropped to the floor. Madison looked up. The waiter, a young guy of maybe twenty, was standing next to their table. Either his jaw or his order pad had just hit the ground.

It was just what Madison needed to ease the tension.

“Another Cosmopolitan for me,” she said sweetly, “another glass of Chablis for my friend…and if I dinged your ego, I apologize.”

Barb groaned and put her head in her hands. “Nice,” she said, once the waiter had scurried off.

Madison tried a quick smile. “Sometimes, the truth hurts.”

“Speaking of which…I’m going to be blunt here, okay?”

“We’re friends. Go for it.”

“Well, have you thought this through? I mean, have you really considered why you want a kid? Could it be to sort of relive your own childhood? Erase your mom’s mistakes? Oh, hell,” she said, as Madison’s smile vanished. “Maddie, I didn’t mean—”

“No. It’s okay. You said you were going to be blunt. So will I.” Madison leaned forward. “My mother depended on the men she married for everything. I never wanted to be like that. I was intent on making my own way in life. On not having to rely on anyone, ever. Doing well in school mattered. So did getting a degree, and an M.B.A., and making it up the corpo

rate ladder.”

“Honey. You don’t have to ex—”

Madison reached over the table and caught Barb’s hand.

“I was sure I’d never want marriage or children, any of that stuff.” She paused; her voice grew soft. “Then, one day I looked around and realized I had it all. The undergrad degree. The

M.B.A. The great job. The Manhattan apartment… Except, something was missing. Something I couldn’t identify.”

“See? I’m right, Maddie. A guy to love and—”

“A child.” Madison flashed a quick smile that didn’t do a thing to rid her eyes of a sudden suspicious-looking dampness. “There’s a thousand dollar Picasso print on the wall next to my desk. My P.A. has one of those school photos of her little girl next to her desk and you know what? It hit me one morning that her photo was a lot more important than my Picasso.”

“Okay. I shouldn’t have said—”

“And then, a couple of months ago, a girl who once interned for me dropped by. She had a belly the size of a beachball, her back hurt, she had to pee every five minutes—and even I could tell that she’d never been happier in her life.”

Madison let go of Barbara’s hand and sat back as the waiter served their fresh drinks. When he was gone, she picked up her glass.

“Right about then,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted and failing, “I realized I’m going to be thirty soon. That sound you hear is my biological clock ticking.”

“Thirty’s nothing.”

“Not true. My mother had an early menopause. For all I know, it’s hereditary.” “I still say there’s a man out there meant for you.” “Not if my mother’s bad taste in men is also hereditary. Go on, give me that look, but who knows? She was married three times, always to rich, gorgeous, world-class bastards. If she hadn’t been in that accident, she’d probably be on husband number four.”

“What about kids needing two parents?” Barb said stubbornly.

“Did you have two parents?”

“Well, no, but—”

“One loving parent is better than two who screw things up. And, yes, I know A.I. might not be the answer for everyone, but it is for me.”

“You really are serious,” Barb said, after a second.

“Yes.” Madison gave a shaky smile. “I want a child so much…I ache, just thinking about it. The whole thing, you know? The good and the not so good. A tiny life kicking inside me. My baby in my arms. Diapers and two a.m. feedings, the first day of kindergarten, visits from the tooth fairy and in a few years, arguments about curfews…”

“Okay. I’m convinced. You actually might do this.”

Madison took a breath. “I am going to do it,” she said quietly. “I’ve already made the arrangements.”

Barb widened her eyes. “What?”

“I’ve seen my OB-GYN, I’ve been charting my periods—and I went through the donor files at FutureBorn and picked out a guy who seems perfect.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s in his thirties, he has a Ph.D., he’s in excellent health, he likes opera and poetry and—”

“What’s he look like?”

“Average height and build, light brown hair, hazel eyes.”

“I mean, what’s he look like?”

“Oh, you don’t get to see photos. It’s all very anonymous. Well, unless the donor wants his sperm kept for his own future use, of course, but when a woman purchases sperm—”

“Purchases,” Barb said, with a lift of her eyebrows.

Madison shrugged. This part of the conversation was easier. Talking about the emotions driving her was tough; the technicalities were a snap.

“It’s not a romance novel,” she said dryly. “The purpose is to have a baby, not a relationship.”

“And you’re going to do this…when?”

“Monday. And if things go well—”

“Monday? So soon?”

“There’s no point in waiting. Yes. Monday, two o’clock. If all goes well, nine months from now, I’ll be a mother.” Madison hesitated. “Will you wish me luck?”

Barb looked at her for a long moment. Then she sighed, picked up her glass and held it out.

“Of course. I wish you all the luck in the world. You know that. I just hope—”

“I’ll be fine.”

The friends touched glasses. They smiled at each other, the kind of smile women share when they love each other but disagree about something truly important. Then Barb cleared her throat.

“So,” she said briskly, “since Monday’s the big day, how about we celebrate tonight?”

“Aren’t you meeting Hank?”

“Actually I thought we’d both meet Hank. His boss just bought a place on Sixtieth off Fifth, and he’s throwing a big party.”

Madison batted her lashes. “A party in the city in June?” she said in her very best East Coast boarding school voice. “How unfashionable.”

“Come on, don’t say no. It’ll be fun.”

“And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be swept off my feet by some Prince Charming.” Madison laughed at Barb’s blush. “You are so transparent, Barbara!”

“Heck, this is only Friday. Your date with a test tube isn’t until Monday.”

“Very amusing.”

“Come on, Maddie. If your mind’s made up about this test tube thing—”

“It’s not called ‘this test tube thing,’ it’s called—”

“I know what it’s called.”

Madison sighed. “It’s been a long day. And I’m not dressed for—”

“The party’s only a couple of blocks from your place. We can stop by first so you can change. Please?”

“Sometimes, I forget what you’re like when you get an idea.”

Barb grinned. “Like a dog with a bone, that’s me. Look, one last try at finding Prince Charming can’t hurt.”

“There are no princes, there are only toads.”

“You’re a tough woman, Madison Whitney.”

“No, I’m a sucker for an old friend.”

“You’ll go?”

Madison nodded. She’d go, but only because it meant a lot to Barb. Come Monday, she’d put all this nonsense behind her.

The procedure would take.

She would get pregnant.

She’d have a baby, raise it alone and give it all the love in her heart.

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE time Tariq’s taxi pulled up in front of the town house in the Sixties, he was having second thoughts.

Second thoughts? The truth was, he was on thirds and fourths.

What on earth had made him come here? He was looking for a wife, and were the chances of that happening at a summer party in Manhattan?

The cabbie looked at him. “Mister? You getting out or not?”

Not, he thought, but he was here. He might as well go inside.

The cab pulled away and Tariq looked around him. The street, bounded at either end by wide, busy, heavily trafficked thoroughfares, was tree-lined and quiet like many others in this part of the city but by the time he got to the front door, he could hear the beat of overamped music.

Finger poised above the bell, he hesitated.

It was not too late to change his mind. Strike three, he thought with a mixture of amusement and irritation, but not an important one. He’d go home, change into his running gear and head out again. A couple of miles through Central Park, perhaps he’d clear his head enough to stop thinking about obligation and duty and—

The door swung open.

One hundred and twenty decibels of guitar riff inundated him. A brunette with a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other tilted her head back and flashed him a delighted smile.

“Well, well, well,” she said, “such a nice package to find on the doorstep!”

She was a nice package, too, especially in a translucent dress that would have been bedroom lingerie meant only for a husband’s eyes in his country but was the latest fashion in these circles.

“Isn’t it lucky for both of us I decided to step outside for a cigarette right this second?”

Her smile, her voice… This was the opening gambit of a game he’d played dozens of times. A few drinks, some conversation and he’d take her home. To her bed, not his, because it was less complicated that way, whether what began tonight lasted for a few weeks or even a couple of months. And then, inevitably, he’d lose interest and she would demand to know why…

The woman moved closer. “Aren’t you coming in?”

She lay her hand on his arm. He looked down at her crimson-tipped fingers, then at her face. She was beautiful but the truth was, there’d be a dozen more just like her inside. Beautiful women who’d throw themselves at him because of his looks—there was no point in being modest about what was, basically, a gift of nature that had nothing to do with him.

And when they found out who he was, that he had a title and more money than even he could comprehend…

No, he thought, he was not in the mood for that tonight.

“Sorry,” he said politely, “but I seem to have come to the wrong address.”

“Silly,” she said, moving closer, letting her breasts brush against his arm. “You’ve come to exactly the right address—but if you’d prefer, we can go someplace quiet.”

Suddenly everything about the situation was distasteful. Tariq’s expression hardened; he shook her hand away and stepped back.

“I’m not interested,” he said coldly. Her face filled with color and he told himself he was being a son of a bitch, but—

“Your highness!”

Tariq jerked his head up. One of his attorney’s younger partners was hurrying toward him. Hell, he thought grimly. He was trapped.

The brunette made a quick recovery. “Your highness?” she said in a breathy voice. “You mean, you’re a king?”

“It’s an old joke,” Tariq said sharply, “and not a very good one. Isn’t that right, Edward?”

The lawyer looked puzzled. Then, to Tariq’s relief, he grinned.

“A joke. Oh, yeah, absolutely.” He reached out, as if to clap Tariq on the shoulder, thought better of it and, instead, made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Come on—sir. Let me get you a drink.”

“Hey,” the brunette said.

Tariq ignored her and followed the lawyer into the house. It wasn’t easy; the place was packed with people but, finally, they found a small patch of empty space.

“Tariq. Your highness—”

“No, please. Call me by my name. Did I get your name right? It is Edward, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Well, Edward, this has been a very long week for me. The last thing I need tonight is to have anyone treat me with formality.”

“Of course, sir.” The young lawyer cleared his throat. “Mr. Strickland—John—will be delighted to see you. Let me just find him and—”

“That’s not necessary. I’d just as soon wander around a bit on my own. You know, unwind.”

“Ah. I get it. You want to spend the evening under the radar. Sure. Whatever you like, your highness.”

Tariq thought of correcting the man again, but what for? Five minutes and he’d be out of here. Monday, he’d have his P.A. send flowers to John Strickland and his wife, along with a card thanking them for their hospitality and wishing them well in their new home.

So he smiled, exchanged a handshake with Edward and watched him melt into the crowd.

A waiter came by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Tariq shook his head. Another waiter, another tray. The third time, just to avoid having another tray thrust at him, he accepted something that looked like it might have flown away if a frilled red toothpick hadn’t kept it anchored to a sliver of toast. He held on to it for a while, then inched toward a table and surreptitiously deposited it on a half-filled plate…

“Are you alone?”

The voice was soft and came from just behind him. Tariq turned and found himself looking at a blonde. Here we go again, he thought.

And then he stopped thinking. Logically, at any rate.

The brunette had been beautiful. This woman was—hell, she was spectacular.

Her hair was the color of spring wheat, falling in soft waves around her oval face. She had high, elegant cheekbones; her mouth was full and soft-looking. Her eyes were dark brown and bright with intelligence. She was tall and slender, her curves accented by a simple black silk dress that clung to her high breasts, narrow waist and gently rounded hips like a lover’s caress.

“I said, are you alone?”

The same game, but a different gambit. Maybe he needed a break from the routine of the last weeks.

Maybe the evening was looking up after all.

He smiled, took the single step that brought him closer to her.

“What happens if I say yes?”

“If you say yes, you’ll save my life.”

“I’m impressed. Such high drama at a run-of-the mill party.”

A quick smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Okay, you won’t save my life but you’ll save me from being unkind to a toad. Can you do that?”

“A toad?”

“A man. He just looks like a toad.”

“Ah.” Tariq grinned. “So, I’ll get an award from the Save the Toads Society?”

The blonde laughed. Her laugh was charming, light and easy and natural.

“Something like that. Look, it’ll only take a few minutes. Just talk to me. Smile. Cocktail party stuff. Please?”

“Well,” Tariq said, looking serious, “if it’s to conserve wildlife…”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” She looked past his shoulder. “There he is,” she said softly, and she flashed him a bright smile. “Oh,” she said gaily, her voice just loud enough to carry beyond the two of them, “that’s so true! I wouldn’t have put it that way, but—” She stopped in midsentence and rolled her eyes. “He’s gone.”

“Toads have a way of doing that,” Tariq said solemnly. “Here one second and then, hop, gone the next.”

She gave another of those wonderful laughs as she looked up at him. Her eyes weren’t just brown, he noticed, they were the color of rich chocolate.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled, reached out and traced the arc of one perfect cheekbone with the tip of his finger. “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Your name. Your address. Your phone number.” His voice grew husky. “We can start there, habiba.”

“You mean—you mean, you think…” Her face took on a hint of color. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t coming on to you. Seriously I’m…” She looked past him. “Oh, darling,” she trilled, “yes, thanks, I’d love to!”

Tariq raised an eyebrow. “The toad is back?”

“Yes.”

“If he’s done something to offend you, habiba…”

“No. Nothing like that. I just couldn’t lose him. And I didn’t want to come straight out and tell him he was wasting his time.”

“A woman with a heart.” Tariq’s voice dropped to a husky growl. “What about me, habiba. Am I wasting mine?”

Oh God, Madison thought, out of the frying pan and into the fire—except, this fire could absolutely burn a woman to a crisp…

And leave her thrilled it had happened.

Not a woman like her, of course. Not one who wanted no more of these silly games, but a woman who was impressed by good looks, a sense of humor, clothes that said a man had money, could definitely be in trouble any second.

And sex appeal. No point denying that. This man was sexy as hell.

Not like the toad.

He’d cornered her an hour ago, managed to separate her from Barb, or maybe Barb had done the separating. Either way, Madison had found herself trapped in a corner while he talked about himself. His success. His money. His genius in a high-tech field.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she’d said, when he’d paused for breath. “I’m in a high tech field, myself, and—”

She might as well not have bothered. He’d started talking again, his words silencing hers, about his expensive condo, his expensive car, his Miami pad…

“Oh, there’s someone I promised to say hi to,” Madison had said brightly, and she’d zoomed straight for the only man who’d seemed to be by himself.

She’d wanted a savior.

What she’d found was a man who would never save a woman from anything but would surely lead her straight into sin.

He was gorgeous. There was no other word to describe him. Tall, tall enough to still tower over her even though she was wearing spiked heels. Dark-haired, with eyes so gray they were almost silver. Broad shoulders, trim waist, long legs. He had the faintest accent that only added to his sex appeal.

He was a magnificent predator and it would be oh, so easy to celebrate this last night before her life changed forever by giving in to what was happening because she knew it was happening, that he wanted to take her home, take her to bed and she—and she—

Madison took a shaky breath and stepped back. Or tried to step back; the room was so crowded that she couldn’t.

“Listen,” she said quickly, “What I started to tell you a couple of minutes ago is the truth. I don’t blame you for misunderstanding. I mean, it’s my fault entirely, but—”

“Have we met before?”

Her eyebrows lifted. Such a trite line from a guy like this?

“No, we haven’t. And as I was just saying—”

“We must have. At a party, perhaps?”

“Sorry. I just have that kind of face.”

His gaze moved slowly, almost insolently over her face, lingering on her mouth with such intensity that her heart began to gallop.

“Trust me,” he said softly. “You don’t.”

The surge of the crowd pushed them closer. Madison felt her breasts brush against his chest. Heat raced through her at the contact.

His reaction was far more blatant.

His body hardened.

She felt it, felt that swift male arousal…and felt the shock of an answering curl of desire low in her belly.

Quickly she put out her hands and pressed them against his chest.

“Thank you for your help,” she said brightly.

“Planning an exit, habiba?”

His voice was soft, filled with sexual promise. No, she thought wildly, no, I am not going to do this, not with the rest of my life so perfectly planned.

“I am,” she said in that same artificially bright tone. “He’s gone.”

His smile was wonderful, slow and sexy and completely male. “But he’ll be back.”

“I’m sure he won’t.”

“He will, if he has an ounce of blood in his veins. No man would be fool enough to let you walk away from him.”

“Look, I don’t—I mean, you don’t—” Madison’s gaze slid past the stranger. “Oh, hell,” she said unhappily, “here he comes.”

“Come on.”

The man’s hand—big, hard, powerful—clasped hers.

“Where?”

“Out those doors. See? There’s a patio…or would you rather let the toad catch you?”

The blonde hesitated, but only for an instant.

“All right,” she said, and Tariq hurried her through the crowd, through the French doors, onto the patio.

He knew damned well he could have gotten rid of her pursuer with one look but why do that when he could, instead, bring the woman here, where it was quiet and cool?

He hadn’t come here looking for a night’s diversion but he’d told her the truth. Only a man with no blood in his veins wouldn’t want her. He was going to have her for the night. Hell, for the weekend, and nothing was going to stop him.

The French doors swung open.

The toad stepped outside.

He looked at them and his face lit.

“There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere. I never did finish telling you about the place I just bought in Miami—”

Tariq looked at the blonde. She bit her lip, just lightly enough to make him wish he was the one doing the biting.

“Oh, hell,” she whispered.

Tariq felt his blood leap.

“Indeed,” he said softly.

A heartbeat later, he had her in his arms. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

“What are you—”

“I’m making it clear who owns you tonight,” Tariq said thickly, and he bent his head and kissed her.

She gasped. Her breath sighed against his lips. He made a sound deep in his throat and drew her closer.

“Kiss me back,” Tariq whispered.

And she did.

Her lips parted; he slid the tip of his tongue between them, silk meeting silk, heat meeting heat, and the patio faded, the toad faded, nothing existed but the woman in his arms, the feel of her…

“Oh,” she whispered, and he knew it was the same for her.

Her hands rose, flattened against his chest, slipped up and up until her fingers were deep in the thick, silky hair at his nape. She leaned into him, her breasts soft against his chest, her scent in his nostrils.