LITMIR.BIZ

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      Her cry shattered the stillness in the little summerhouse. Tariq raised his head, looked at her through eyes that were all but blind.

      “Damn you, get away from me!”

      Her fist slammed against his shoulder. It was enough to drag him back toward reality if not fully into it.

      “What?” he said. “What?”

      “You—you bastard! You no-good son of a—”

      Madison slapped both hands against the stranger’s chest, shoved hard. She could feel the panic spreading through her, not of him as much as of herself, at what she had almost done.

      “Let go of me,” she said. “Do you hear me? I said—”

      “I heard what you said.” His voice was cold. “I’m sure half of Manhattan heard what you said.”

      His hands fell away from her. He stepped back but it didn’t mean a damn; she could hear his ragged breathing, smell his maleness. Oh, yes, a predator, and the worst kind. Handsome. Arrogant. Wealthy. He moved in the right circles.

      He was everything she despised and somehow, she’d been hovering on the brink of having sex with him. Hovering? Hell, she’d been a kiss away from it. How could that have happened?

      A shudder racked her body. “You took advantage of me!”

      “I took advantage of you?” he said…and he began to laugh.

      She wanted to hit him again, but she was angry, not insane.

      “You think this is amusing?”

      “What I think,” he said, “is that I probably should thank you for our little encounter. You see, I’ve been searching for something and now I realize it’s going to take longer to find than I thought.”

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

      “And, also thanks to you, I just realized how easy—and how unfortunate—it would be should some woman make me give up something I must not give up, except to the right one.”

      “Gibberish,” Madison said, folding her arms. “But I don’t care. Whatever you’re talking about means nothing to me.”

      “Exactly. And it means everything to…” He paused, frowned, cocked his head. “Of course,” he said softly.

      “Of course, what?”

      “I just realized why you looked familiar. You’re the ice princess from—what’s that outfit? FutureTense?”

      “FutureBorn,” Madison said, “and what would you know about it?”

      His cool smile faded. She could almost see his brain rev into high gear.

      “Not as much as I’m going to know,” he said cryptically.

      “Do you know my boss? If you think you can get me fired—”

      He laughed and turned away.

      “You can’t,” Madison yelled. “I’m not going to be there long enough for that.”

      Tariq didn’t turn around. Whatever she said meant nothing to him.

      The toad was still standing on the patio. Tariq flashed a vicious smile. “The lady’s all yours,” he said, and made his way into the house, through the foyer, through the dining and sitting rooms, his purposeful stride attracting curious glances until, at last, he saw his attorney.

      Strickland was part of a small knot of people, laughing and chatting.

      Tariq stood a few feet away. “Strickland?”

      The attorney looked up, saw Tariq and fell silent in midsentence.

      “Your highness.”

      People turned and stared. Tariq knew the look; it was part respect, part awe, part outright envy.

      Ordinarily he loathed it. Now, he welcomed it.

      The blonde had made a fool of him tonight but no one else would dare.

      Strickland came to his side. “Edward said you were here, your highness. I looked for you, but—”

      “I need legal advice.”

      The lawyer blinked. “Now?”

      “Right now.” Tariq took his cell phone from his pocket, pressed a button and heard, as he had known he would, the voice of his personal physician answering the number that connected him to only this one patient. “Dr. Miller,” he said, with the crisp conviction of a man who never has to ask but has only to command. “I am at my lawyer’s home. Please meet me here in half an hour.”

      “Are you ill, sir?” Strickland murmured after Tariq rattled off the address and ended the call.

      “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

      “Yes, of course.”

      The lawyer led the way to the second floor and a handsomely furnished den far from the noise of the party.

      “No,” Tariq said, once the door was shut, “I’m not ill.”

      “Then what…”

      “I wish to safeguard the rightful succession of my heir to the throne of Dubaac,” Tariq said briskly, “in the unlikely event something should happen to me before I find a suitable wife. I’ve asked my doctor here to discuss the details but, basically, I intend to have a sample of my sperm frozen and to do it as quickly as possible. Do you foresee any legal problems?”

      The attorney smiled. “None, your highness. Actually I’ve handled similar situations before.”

      “Good,” Tariq said, and for the first time since his brother’s death, he breathed a long sigh of relief.

      CHAPTER THREE

      AT NINE Monday morning, Tariq left his Fifth Avenue penthouse, rode his privately keyed elevator to the lobby, declined the doorman’s offer of a taxi and headed south at a brisk walk.

      It was a bright summer morning but he’d have walked even if the city was gripped by a January blizzard.

      He’d spent most of the night on his terrace, looking blindly into the darkness of Central Park while he told himself what he was going to do this morning was a modern version of an appointment with destiny.

      A sly little voice inside him kept describing it in much more earthy terms.

      Any way he looked at it, he was about to have sex with a test tube.

      He was sure he’d made the right decision but it still made him wince. A healthy man in the prime of his life, a man who’d never met a woman who hadn’t smiled and made it clear she was interested in more than conversation, could not possibly be in any great rush to spill his seed in the romantic confines of a doctor’s office.

      Saturday, he’d kept busy reading fifty pages of legalese that spelled out how his “donation” would be stored and how it could be used. He’d gone to bed with all that mumbo-jumbo dancing through his head and awakened to more of the same on Sunday.

      Then he ran out of reading material.

      Maybe that was why he’d had those dreams Sunday night.

      About the blonde. Madison Whitney. The dreams had been intense, erotic…and infuriating. He was a grown man, damn it, not a horny teenage kid.

      If he hadn’t awakened just in time, he’d have found himself in a dress rehearsal for what he was scheduled to do this morning.

      The only good that had come out of the Friday night disaster was that it had reminded him that he was a prince with an obligation to find a wife, not a man on the hunt for a night’s pleasure.

      Still, he hesitated once he reached

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