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

Liyah felt self-conscious. No one had ever cared about her bird except for the falconer at the palace. ‘Sheba.’

‘Like the Queen? She is a beautiful bird.’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘Almost as beautiful as her owner.’

Liyah’s mouth dried. Her heart thumped. He thought she was beautiful. But she knew that she wasn’t really. She was too tall. Her hair was too wild. She couldn’t fade gracefully into the background like other women. She always stuck out. Which made her think of her time in Europe. Her dark skin and height had marked her out from the start. Making her a target for people who wanted to exploit her for fun.

Others had told her she was beautiful back then too. And she’d lapped it up, starved of attention and in a new world where she’d felt out of place. But it had been a cruel lie.

This was a timely reminder. She had no idea who this man was and yet she was lapping up his attention like an eager puppy, having learnt nothing.

Liyah put down her napkin and went to stand, but the man caught her hand in his. He was frowning.

‘Hey, where are you going?’

‘I should leave. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Liyah pulled her hand free. The man stood up.

Just before she got to the opening to the tent, he said, ‘Wait. Stop. Please.’

She didn’t know him, but she sensed that he didn’t say the word please much. It sounded rusty. Unused. She stopped and felt him come close behind her.

He said, ‘Usually when I compliment a woman she doesn’t run away.’

Liyah whirled around, incensed. ‘I’m not running away. I’ve just realised that this is...’ She stopped. She didn’t even have words for what this was.

He supplied one. ‘Crazy?’

‘I didn’t come here this evening expecting to find...you.’

‘And yet here I am. I wasn’t expecting company either. Far from it.’

Liyah looked up at him. He was too tall. So broad. He eclipsed everything around him.

‘If I wanted to leave now, would you let me?’

He took a step back, looking almost affronted. ‘Of course. You’re free to go.’ But then his expression changed and he said, ‘If you want to. But I don’t think you do want to...’

He sounded so sure of himself. Part of Liyah wanted to prove him wrong. She wanted to turn, go outside, pick up her clothes and leave. But a much bigger part of her—the part that had felt little or no compunction about revealing her naked body to him—wanted to stay.

As if sensing her vacillation, he said, ‘This thing between us...this connection...is not usual. You do know that?’

Of course she didn’t. She’d believed that she’d wanted a man before—correction, a boy—but what she’d felt then had been nothing remotely like this swooping exhilarating rollercoaster of sensations. Even the food had tasted more delicious than anything she’d ever tasted before.

Fearing for her very sanity, she almost whispered, ‘Are you actually real?’

He took a step towards her again and she could smell him, spicy and musky. He took her hand and lifted it up, placed it on his chest, over his heart.

She felt the strong rhythmic thump-thump under her palm. It sent a veritable tsunami of emotions through her. It was so illicitly intimate, yet reassuring at the same time.

Her father ran a conservative household. He didn’t approve of displays of affection in public, or in private either. Any physical touch Liyah had experienced growing up had come at the brusque hands of nannies, or the women in the palace hammam.

She’d been in the hammam the day before, and to her eternal shame—because she didn’t usually indulge in self-pity—a sense of loneliness and vulnerability had gripped her. She’d found tears running down her face. The only saving grace had been that she’d known they wouldn’t be noticed during the ancient full-body-washing ritual.

Tears were a weakness that Liyah rarely indulged in. She had no reason to feel sorry for herself. She’d been born into a privileged world, albeit one that came with responsibilies and duties. She’d had a moment of believing she might escape them—when she’d been in Europe—but deep down she’d always known that her fate was not her own. She just hadn’t known how that would manifest, or that it would manifest so dramatically.

And yet here she was, with her palm on this man’s chest, his heart echoing the drumming of her blood. A sense of fatality gripped her. She had no idea what her husband-to-be was like, or who he was beyond a name—her own stubborn fault for not wanting to know...as if that might stop it happening—but tomorrow she would no longer be this anonymous woman.

No longer free to feel the heartbeat of a stranger under her palm. No longer free to swim naked or to take off on her horse when the whim took her. No longer—

‘Kiss me, please,’ she blurted out, the words rising up from an unstoppable place inside her.

Sharif’s blood leapt. He wanted nothing more than to kiss this woman. And a lot more. But he forced himself to stop for a second.

He put his hand over hers on his chest. It felt incredibly feminine and delicate. ‘Are you sure?’

He had seen the turmoil on her face just now, as if she was agonising. But now it was clear, determined.

She nodded. And said, ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

Sharif took his hand from hers and put his hands on her upper arms, tugging her gently towards him until he could feel the heat of her body through the thin robe.

Her hair was already starting to curl wildly again. Her green eyes were huge. Unusual, and adding to her striking beauty. Not many had light-coloured eyes in this region. He wondered again for a second who she might be, but then pushed it aside. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was this.

He pulled her closer until he could feel the lush curves of her body come into contact with his. Dio. He felt like a schoolboy with his first woman all over again. What