He’d inherited his little principality at the age of twenty-one. His first act had been to cancel all deals with the world’s mighty oil corporations, and to renegotiate them, giving Kamar a far larger slice of the profits. The companies had raged but given in. Kamar’s oil was of priceless quality.
In the ten years since then he’d multiplied his country’s wealth more than ten times. He lived a charmed life between two worlds. He had apartments in both London and New York, and he commuted between them in his private jet, making huge, complex deals.
When not enjoying the high life in the west he returned to his domain to live in one of his palaces, or to visit Wadi Sita, a top secret retreat in the desert, where he was reputed to indulge in all manner of excesses. He never contradicted these rumours, nor even deigned to acknowledge them, and because no journalist had ever been allowed to glimpse the truth the stories flourished unchecked.
‘Does Howard know you’re here tonight?’ Joey asked, naming the man whom Fran usually dated.
‘Of course not. He’d never approve. In fact he doesn’t approve of my doing this story. I asked him what he could tell me about Ali, and he just gave me the PR line about how important he was, and how Kamar was a valuable ally. When I said there were too many mysteries, Howard went pale and said, “For pity’s sake, don’t offend him.”’
‘What a wimp!’ Joey said provocatively.
‘Howard isn’t a wimp, but he is a merchant banker, and he has a banker’s priorities.’
‘And you’re going to marry this guy?’
‘I never said that,’ Fran answered quickly. ‘Probably. One day. Maybe.’
‘Boy, you’re really head over heels about him, aren’t you?’
‘Can we concentrate on what we’re here for?’ she asked frostily.
‘Place your bets, please!’
Ali pushed a large stake out over the board to red twenty-seven, then leaned back with an air of supreme indifference. He maintained it throughout the spinning of the wheel as the little ball bounced merrily from red to black, from one number to another. Fran found she was holding her breath, her eyes riveted on the wheel, until at last it stopped.
Red twenty-two.
The croupier raked the stakes in. Fran watched Sheikh Ali, frowning. He didn’t even look at the fortune that was vanishing. All his attention was for his new stake.
Suddenly he looked up at her.
She gasped. Two points of light pierced her, held her imprisoned.
Then he smiled, and it was the most wickedly charming smile she had ever seen. It invited her into a conspiracy of delight and something in her leaped to accept. She discovered that she was smiling back; she didn’t know how or why. Simply that the smile had taken over her mouth, then her eyes, then her whole body.
Common sense told her that only pure chance had made him look in her direction, but somehow she didn’t believe it. He’d sensed her there. Among so many others, he’d known that she was watching him, and been impelled to meet her eyes.
Ali leaned forward to her, stretching out his hand across the narrow table. As if hypnotised she placed her own slender hand in his. He held it for a moment and she had the unnerving sense of steely strength in those long fingers. There was power enough there to break a man—or a woman.
Then he raised her hand to his lips. Fran drew in a sharp breath as his mouth brushed her skin. It was the lightest touch, but it was enough for her to sense the whole male animal, vibrant, sensual, dangerous.
‘Place your bets, please.’
He released her, reached for his stake and pushed it out onto the table. It stopped at black twenty-two, but he didn’t look to see. He’d forgotten the other women as soon as the wheel spun, but he kept his eyes on Fran, ignoring the wheel. She watched him back, meaning to tear her eyes away, but mysteriously unable to do so.
Black twenty-two.
Ali seemed to come out of a dream to realise that the croupier was pushing the chips towards him. It had been a large stake and with one win he’d recouped almost all his losses. He grinned, showing white teeth, and indicated the place beside him with the slightest inclination of his head.
She edged around the table towards him. The other women pouted and sulked, reluctant to give way to her, but he dismissed them with a faint gesture.
Fran felt as if she was moving in a dream. Luck had fallen her way with stunning suddenness. She had meant to study Ali tonight, and now fate had presented her with the perfect opportunity.
‘You have brought me luck,’ he said as she reached him and sat down. ‘Now you must stay close by me so that my luck remains.’
‘Surely you’re not superstitious?’ she asked with a smile. ‘Your luck will come and go. It has nothing to do with me.’
‘I think otherwise,’ he pronounced in a tone that silenced further argument. ‘The spell you cast is for me alone. Not for any other man. Remember that.’
Arrogant beast, she thought. If this didn’t happen to suit me I’d enjoy taking him down a peg.
‘Place your bets.’
With a gesture of his hand Ali indicated for her to place the stake for him. She put the counters on red fifteen, and held her breath as the wheel spun.
Red fifteen.
A sigh went up from everyone around the table.
Almost everyone.
Ali alone was not watching. His eyes were fixed admiringly on Fran. As the counters were pushed towards him he gave a shrug which said, ‘Of course.’
‘I don’t believe that happened,’ she breathed.
‘You made it happen,’ he assured her, ‘and you will make it happen again.’
‘No, it was chance. You should stop now. Take it while you have it.’
His smile said that it was for petty men to worry about such things. Princes controlled their own fate. Under his hypnotic glance Fran found herself believing it.
‘Put it on for me again,’ he said. ‘All of it.’
Dazed, she piled up all his winnings and went to put them on—on—
‘I can’t decide,’ she said frantically.
‘What day of the month is your birthday?’
‘The twenty-third.’
‘Red or black? Choose.’
‘Black,’ she said recklessly.
‘Then black twenty-three it is.’
She watched in agony as the wheel began to spin.
‘Don’t look,’ he said, smiling. ‘Look only at me, and let the little gods of the tables take care of the matter.’
‘Can you make them do your pleasure as well?’ she whispered.
‘I can make anyone and anything do my pleasure,’ he said simply.
The wheel stopped.
Black twenty-three.
A prickle went up Fran’s spine. This was eerie. Ali saw her startled look and laughed.
‘Witchcraft,’ he said. ‘And you are the most beautiful witch of all.’
‘I—I don’t believe it,’ she stammered. ‘It can’t happen like that.’
‘It happened because you are magic. And I can’t resist magic.’
On