Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3) Abby Green (primary phonics TXT) 📖

blush-coloured strapless dress. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and wrists, and even from here Liyah could see the huge diamond on her finger.

A man joined Sasha. He was in a tuxedo. Tall and broad. Messy dark hair. He was very masculine, and savagely handsome. He pulled her to his side and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle and blush. She looked happy. Another couple truly in love...?

A dart of envy pierced Liyah before she could stop it. And, suddenly feeling a little too vulnerable to be around Sharif, in case he spotted it, Liyah made her excuses and walked over to where some French doors were partially open. She went outside to the terrace. It was cold, but the first hints of spring on the way could be felt. New life...

London sparkled under the moon. Vibrant and glamorous. It had always been her favourite city. But the desert... That was where her heart lay.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t hear Sharif join her, but she felt him when her pulse inexplicably picked up.

‘Penny for them?’

She looked at him, so tall and vital and handsome in his tuxedo. She shrugged and looked back out over the view. ‘I was just thinking of cities...and the desert. I miss it. I think it’s where I feel most at home, even though it can be such an inhospitable place.’

Sharif placed his hands on the terrace wall. ‘You miss your horse and your bird?’

She nodded. ‘I feel free in the desert. Totally at peace.’

He turned and leant against the terrace wall, facing her. ‘When my father sent those mercenaries to kidnap me I blamed the desert for a long time. As if it had somehow betrayed me by not protecting me.’ He grimaced. ‘Obviously I know better, but that’s how the desert is for me—like a living organism.’ His mouth quirked. ‘I’ve since forgiven it.’

Liyah said, ‘It’s so vibrant and full of life, but it can turn on you in an instant. I got caught in a sandstorm once—scariest experience of my life.’

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then Liyah said, ‘I know you said you took on your father’s business because it was your due, and your brothers’, and because you wanted to make something of it, but I can’t imagine it was easy to take over from a man you hated so much.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Sharif admitted. ‘I despised it at first. Because I despised him and anything he touched. I thought his business was a vacuous world, full of vain people. I thought it had no value. Until I had access to the accounts and saw the spreadsheets. At first it was very much a means to an end for me—rebuilding it. But over time, as I got to know more, I came to appreciate the industry. I think there’s a place for enduring brands in the world. And for fashion and art. We provide something aspirational. Inspirational. And I think we can do a lot of good in changing things for the better. In terms of the environment. Inclusivity. Diversity. Art and design and creativity is what civilises us. If that disappears, or becomes eroded, we lose something very valuable.’

Liyah stayed silent, willing Sharif to continue.

‘We had an intern in one of our offices from South Africa. He grew up in poverty in the townships. His mother cleaned in the big rich houses and she used to bring home copies of Vogue. For a young gay boy, who literally had nothing else, those magazines were a portal to another world, where he could fantasise about being someone else.’

Sharif looked at Liyah, and pride was visible on his face.

‘He won Men’s Designer of the Year at the fashion awards a few months ago.’

Liyah smiled. ‘I love that story.’

People started clapping and cheering inside.

‘We’re missing the announcement,’ she said. ‘We should go back in.’

But Sharif caught her hand and stopped her, pulling her towards him until they were touching. ‘I prefer it out here.’

‘Do you, now?’

‘Yes... I do.

He took off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, before tugging on it so that she came even closer. Surrounded by his smell and his body heat, Liyah cast aside all her concerns and gave herself up to the moment.

Because she knew that when the time came all she would have to remember would be moments like this.

Later that night—much later—when they returned to the apartment, to Sharif’s bedroom, Liyah wasn’t prepared for the urgency that gripped her as soon as Sharif put his hands on her face and tipped it up so he could kiss her.

She realised she’d been waiting for this moment all evening.

She was ravenous.

She scrabbled to undo his clothes as his hands moved over her body, undoing her dress, taking it off her. His kisses stole her sanity. She pulled back, dizzy, to see Sharif shed his clothes. A button popped. Liyah felt like giggling, but it was drowned out by the rush of blood to her head when she saw Sharif’s magnificent body bared.

He was like a warrior. And she wanted to honour him.

She dropped to her knees in front of him and heard his surprised huff of air. ‘Liyah, what are you—’

But she couldn’t resist that straining column of flesh. She wanted to taste him. The very essence of him. She wrapped her hand around him and heard him suck in a breath, whistling through his teeth.

He put his hands on her head, his fingers clamping tight as she inexpertly explored the thick, rigid flesh, running her tongue around the head before putting her mouth around him fully.

Sharif’s legs were shaking...his hands trembling. He didn’t recognise himself right now, having gone from civilised to carnal beast in about zero to ten seconds. It had taken all his restraint not to leave the party early, drag Liyah back to the apartment like some hormonal schoolboy.

He’d actually fantasised about her doing this, and now he was straining with the effort