#1 New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen gives readers a sensational story of man who has everything . . . except the trust of the woman he adores.   Billionaire Alex Ben Raschid can’t remember the last time he heard the word “no.” As Houston’s economic powerhouse and heir to a vast, oil-rich Middle Eastern sheikdom, Alex is used to getting what he wants. And when he lays eyes on Sabrina, the sensuous redhead hired to belly dance for his party, he wants her . . . and immediately sets out to possess her—heart and soul. But it is clear that his virile and arrogant manner will never win him Sabrina’s heart. Could Alex ever be humble enough to sway her?   From an early age, Sabrina Courtney has had to fend for herself. And ever since the man who has always been like a brother to her suffered a medical tragedy, she’s been caring for him, too. Paying the bills with her NoveltyGram job, keeping them both afloat—that’s what matters to the trustworthy redhead. So when Alex begins to ferociously pursue her, Sabrina is unimpressed. She’s certain that the mansion, the Italian sports car, and the smoldering eyes get him everything he wants and more from other women, but Sabrina is not like other women. She cannot even imagine falling for the billionaire—until she does. Iris Johansen is the New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, and No One to Trust. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia. One "Here you are, lady," the cab driver said cheerfully, as he slapped the arm of the meter down and peered curiously out of the windshield at the brilliantly lit entrance to the mansion. "Seems they're having a party." He gave a low whistle as his gaze traveled over the cars parked in the courtyard. "This looks like a combined Rolls-Royce-Mercedes car dealership. Very nice!" Sabrina smiled, amused by the man's admiration for those purely mechanical toys. He seemed not even to notice the magnificence of the mansion itself. "Yes, very nice," she agreed, as she drew her white velvet cloak about her, adjusting the hood carefully to shadow her face. "And you're quite right that there's a party here. It's a birthday party." He got out of the cab and opened her door. "A birthday party," he repeated thoughtfully, as he helped her out and then reached across the back seat to pull out a large, tarpaulin-covered canvas. "This is a pretty hefty present for a little thing like you to be carrying. Would you like me to take it inside for you?" Sabrina shook her head. "I'm stronger than I look." She handed him the fare and accepted the painting in return. "If you'll just ring the doorbell for me?" "Sure thing," he said. Suddenly his eyes widened in surprise. "Birthday party," he said, snapping his fingers as he made the connection. "Didn't I read about some fancy party in the newspaper this morning? It was for that billionaire oil sheik who's set Houston on its ear in the last few years." Sabrina nodded calmly. "Alex Ben Raschid. It's his grandfather who's the sheik. He's only the heir apparent to the Sheikdom of Sedikhan." "He may not run the country yet, but he sure must run everything else," the driver said wryly, as he punched the bell in the recessed entry to the doorway. "Sedikhan Petroleum seems to be buying up every industry in sight." He cast a knowing glance at the young woman standing quietly at his side. Now he could understand his passenger's presence at what must be an elite party. The apartment complex where he'd picked her up, while respectable, was inexpensive, and Ben Raschid had a very rakish reputation where beautiful women were concerned. Even with her face shadowed by the hood of her cape, he could tell this one was exceptionally lovely. The door was suddenly opened by a white-jacketed manservant and the driver touched his cap in a parting salute. "Good night, Miss. Have a nice evening." He turned and strode swiftly back to his cab. "You have an invitation?" the butler asked politely. "No." Sabrina shook her head as she reached in the pocket of her cape, withdrew an envelope, and handed it to the butler. "I was told to give this to Mr. Clancy Donahue." The butler nodded. "If you'll wait in the foyer, I'll see if I can locate him for you immediately. I believe I saw him step into the library just a moment ago." He glanced at the canvas in her hands. "May I take that from you?" "No, thank you," Sabrina answered, her hands tightening protectively on the canvas. "I was told to deliver it only to Mr. Donahue." The butler frowned uncertainly. "Then perhaps you'd better come with me," he said. "I'm sure it will be all right. Will you step this way?" The elegant foyer was almost deserted, but as she passed the open doors of the ballroom she caught a brief glimpse of motion and color and heard the mellow strains of a live orchestra. Then the butler was knocking discreetly on a carved teak door opposit