by Abby Green
But here—now—that ability to remain aloof was incinerated. He’d almost forgotten his own rule. Never sleep with a woman without protection—because he had no intention of revisiting the sins of his father on an innocent child.
In another instant, with another woman, Sharif would have taken this as a wake-up call. His natural cynicism and distrust of people would have flatlined his desire.
But his entire being ached with the need to sheath himself inside her again and throw caution to the wind, following the dictates of his body, mind and soul to seek an oblivion he knew instinctively would eclipse anything he’d felt before.
He didn’t even know her name.
He would never see her after this night.
Even more disturbing was this instinct that he had to trust her. Or was that just needy desperation because he wanted her so badly?
‘You’re on the pill?’
She nodded. ‘For over a year now. I wouldn’t lie about something like this. The consequences for someone like me would be...unthinkable.’
Any sliver of sanity that might have pulled Sharif back from the edge melted into a heat haze. In this moment he believed her—and not just because he wanted to.
He said, ‘I’m clean. I got checked recently.’
Even though he never made love without protection.
Her hands went to his chest, palms flat. ‘I trust you.’
I trust you.
No women—no person—had ever said that to him before. He had never been in the business of fostering enough intimacy to invite statements like that. Until now.
But he didn’t want to dwell on that. Not when every muscle in his body was screaming with the need to join his body with this woman’s.
He forced himself to say, ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘Please—I want this. I want you.’
He found the slick folds that parted, oh, so easily when he pushed against her, and couldn’t help the low groan of intense satisfaction when he sheathed himself inside her silky tight embrace again. The fact that this didn’t just feel like sex was also something he didn’t want to dwell on.
He forced himself to control his thrusts, letting her get used to his body. He knew he was big, and he could tell she was inexperienced—even if she wasn’t a virgin.
Gradually he felt her body adjust to his, saw the way her cheeks flushed a darker pink. The way she bit her lip. The way she moved under him, lifting her hips. Her hands explored him, and if she wasn’t careful she was going to push him off the edge way before he was ready.
He caught her hands and raised them above her head, linking their fingers. He said, ‘Spread your legs wider for me.’
She did, and he sank even deeper. She let out a low moan. Sharif let her go and slid his hand under her back, arching her up so that he could find and suck one hard nipple into his mouth, rolling the taut peak before nipping gently.
Her movements became more frenzied, and he felt the telltale flutters along his length as he drove deep and hard. Sweat sheened their skin as they raced to the pinnacle, and it took more control than Sharif had ever had to call on in his life to ensure that she reached it before he did.
She arched up, her whole body taut like a bow, as her orgasm held her high before ripping through her body all the way to her inner muscles, which clenched so hard around Sharif that he was no longer capable of holding back the flood of ecstasy that wiped his brain clean of every single coherent thought.
Today
Liyah woke with a start. She was lying in an unfamiliar bed in unfamiliar surroundings and her body felt...
A rush of heat flashed through her mind when she recalled where she was.
And with whom.
The nameless man.
He was lying on his front beside her, but not touching her. One arm was carelessly hanging over the edge of the bed, the other was bent up over his head. His face was turned to the side, towards her.
Even in sleep he looked fierce. Strong. The stubble lining his jaw was darker...
Her wide awake gaze—tracked down over the sleek muscles, no less impressive at rest. Those narrow hips. His buttocks—firm. A pulse throbbed between her legs when she thought of the sheer power of his body thrusting into hers, so deep she’d seen stars.
A wave of emotion took her by surprise. After her first dismal sexual experience in Europe she’d suspected that there might be something wrong with her. But after last night...
This man had restored a very wounded part of her soul. And her confidence. He’d looked at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. He’d touched her as reverently as if she was infinitely precious, and then he’d made love to her as if he had been starving for something only she could give him.
She’d fallen into a pleasure-induced coma after that first time and had woken in his arms to find him carrying her over to a steaming hot bath that had been hidden behind the screen.
She hadn’t even been aware of how tender her muscles were until she’d felt the hot water soothe them. Still stunned after what had happened, she’d been incapable of speech. He’d climbed into the bath behind her, spreading his legs down alongside hers, and had tucked her hair up in a knot before soaping her all over, his big hands making her feel delicate and precious for the first time...ever.
She’d turned her head, afraid of the clutch of emotion in her chest—afraid of what it meant and that he’d see it —and had found his mouth. Firm and hot. She’d turned in the bath until she was straddling him, the silky water making it easy to glide over him and sink down onto his erection. The movement of their bodies, as if they’d been made for each other, had quickened as the fever of lust had taken them over, the water splashing all around the tub going unnoticed in their race to find nirvana again.
She had only the vaguest memory of him lifting her out of the bath, rubbing her down briskly with a towel and laying her back down on the bed, of his steely warmth surrounding her, his hand on her breast...
Yet here she was now. Her bones felt liquid.
She noticed, almost lazily, that there were pink trails in the sky outside, just visible above the opening in the tent.
Pink trails heralding dawn.
The dawn of her wedding day.
Suddenly Liyah wasn’t feeling lazy any more. Panic gripped her belly. She was due to have henna painted on her hands and feet this morning, in preparation for the afternoon’s ceremony.
She had to go. Now.
She managed to leave the sumptuous bed without waking him, and stole to the opening of the tent. But there she stopped, giving in to temptation and taking one last look, knowing she’d never see him again. Knowing that she might always wonder if she’d dreamt this night up.
Her eyes devoured his majestic form. Even though he was sprawled in louche splendour across the bed, he was no less impressive or intimidating. His body and his face would be imprinted on her memory. For ever.
That clutch of emotion caught at Liyah again. What had happened here had been so...unexpected. Unprecedented. And magical. It would be her secret to carry with her, deep inside, where no one would ever find it.
Least of all her new husband.
When Sharif woke his head felt fuzzy, as if he’d had too much to drink. And his body felt pleasantly achy. Heavy. But also light.
But he hadn’t had too much to drink.
He’d just had the most intensely erotic experience of his life.
Sharif jacknifed up to sit in the bed as vivid memories assailed him.
But beside him was an empty space. No sign of the wild-haired temptress with the green eyes who had rendered him insensible with desire.
Desire? He grimaced at that. Desire was too ineffectual a word for what he’d felt for her from the moment he’d seen her revealed by the pool.
A wave of lust gripped him as the previ
ous night came back in glorious Technicolor. The way she’d sat astride him, taking him deep into her body, the look of awe on her face, her cheeks darkened with pleasure. And how it had felt when her secret inner muscles had milked him—
Dio. Sharif never dwelled on sex with lovers. He had it—he moved on.
He got out of the bed, feeling dizzy for a moment. Dizzy after a night of unbridled pleasure. He sensed the tent was empty and walked to the entrance, pulling back the material over the opening.
Dawn was bathing the oasis in deep pinks and golds. Sharif stepped out. Naked. The cool air made his skin prickle, but so did the fact that there was no sign of the woman.
Her horse was gone.
She was gone.
He walked over to the pool. Its serene surface left no hint of the unearthly goddess who had disappeared into its depths only to emerge and prove that she’d been all too earthly.
Sharif’s skin prickled even more, and it had nothing to do with the cool air and everything to do with a sense of exposure. Had she in fact existed at all? Or had it been a particularly lurid dream? Was he so jaded that he’d conjured up an erotic fantasy to entertain himself on the eve of his wedding to a woman sight unseen?
In fact the more he thought about it, the more he found it almost easier to believe it hadn’t happened. He was no saint, but neither was he inclined to ‘instalust’ or casual sex with a stranger. Usually his women were carefully vetted.
Not that it stopped them from crying to the tabloids when he ended their liaisons, a snide inner voice reminded him.
He ignored the voice. And then went cold as he thought of something else. They hadn’t used protection. He’d taken her at her word when she’d mentioned being on the pill.
He shook his head. It couldn’t have happened. He never indulged in unprotected sex. A man like him was a magnet for women who wanted to secure their lives by having his baby. And he was not in the market for babies. Not now. Not ever.
In a bid to wake himself out of this reverie and come back to sanity, Sharif stepped into the water and dived deep into its inky depths. The shock of the water made his brain freeze, and only when his lungs were ready to burst did he come back up to the surface.
As he sucked in deep breaths his mind cleared. It had been a dream. Lurid and very real, yes, but a dream. That was the only way he could explain it. And he always had crazy dreams when he was in the desert. Admittedly, never like that...
Sharif walked out of the water, a sense of almost relief coursing through him. Relief that it hadn’t been real, but also a tinge of regret. But of course she hadn’t been real—a woman like that couldn’t possibly be...
Just then something caught his peripheral vision. Something white. He went over to it. It was near the shoreline, on the ground.
Sharif stooped down and picked it up. A scrap of material. White. Cotton. Plain. Underwear.
A flash of memory came back to him—the woman stepping out of her clothes. Diving into the water.
She had been real.
The relief that coursed through him made a mockery of his assurance that it had all been a dream, but Sharif’s mouth firmed. It might have been real, and he might have acted completely out of character, but she was gone now, like a ghost, and she would have to remain that way. Within a few hours he was to marry a woman he’d never met. He didn’t need the distraction of an erotic temptress.
It was time to avenge his mother’s betrayal and her death, and nothing would get in his way.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOUR WIFE MAY now reveal her face.’
Liyah’s heart was thumping so hard she was surprised no one else could hear it. It had taken off like a racehorse, obliterating the escalating dread, the minute she’d seen her husband-to-be and recognised him as her nameless lover from the previous night.
No longer nameless.
He was Sheikh Sharif Bin Noor Al Nazar. Or, as he was better known in America and Europe, Sharif Marchetti, CEO of a vast luxury conglomerate.
This information had been supplied to her by the gossiping women at the henna painting ceremony earlier that day, while there had also been mention of how handsome he was.
Liyah’s head had been too full of the previous night to take much notice.
He was resplendent in Al-Murja royal dress, which made him look even taller and broader. The cream silk of his royal robes, with gold thread piping, enhanced his dark skin tone. He wore no headdress. But Liyah noticed that his hair had been trimmed since last night. And his jaw was clean-shaven.
She remembered the graze of his stubble against her inner thighs...
She slammed a door on that incendiary memory.
The shock that had hit her like a body-blow as soon as she’d recognised him still gripped her, keeping her in a sort of paralysis. The only thing that had given her the time to absorb that shock was the fact that he hadn’t yet recognised her. But he was about to...
The women came forward—her sister Samara was one of her attendants today—and they deftly and far too quickly removed the elaborate face shield that was a traditional part of weddings in Taraq, and had been for hundreds of years.
Liyah blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the throne room in the royal palace. A grand description for what was really a modest fortress.
She looked up at her husband with dread lining her belly and saw the expressions chase across his face as if in slow motion. Recognition. Confusion. And then shock, disbelief. Anger.
And then his mouth opened and he uttered one word. ‘You!’
Somehow—miraculously—no one seemed to have caught Sharif’s exclamation of recognition, and the ceremony finished as Liyah’s hand was placed over his—the moment when she was deemed to be his wife.
Her hand was covered in the dark, intricate stains of henna. The red swirls swam a little in front of her eyes and she had to suck in a breath, terrified she might faint. The heavy robes and headdress she wore weren’t helping.
Her gaze had slid away from his as soon as he’d spoken, but she could feel those dark eyes on her, boring into her, silently commanding her to look at him.
She felt numb, and she welcomed it, because if the numbness wore off then she knew she would be subjected to an onslaught of sensations and memories.
When she’d returned to the palace earlier, and undergone the pre-wedding bathing ritual, she’d lamented her mystery lover’s touch and smell being washed from her body, even though she knew how inappropriate it would have been to go to another man while his imprint was still on her.
But he was no longer a mystery. He was her husband. And that fact filled her with so many conflicting feelings that she felt dizzy all over again.
They were led in a procession with the guests and both families into another formal room. The ballroom. Where a lavish feast had been laid out.
Normally weddings in Taraq would be three and four-day affairs—but, as her father had told her, this was to be a much briefer celebration.
Liyah and Sharif were seated at the top table, side by side. She took her hand from his and sat down, studiously avoiding looking to her right, where he sat. The ring that had been placed on her finger during the ceremony felt heavy. She’d barely looked at it—a thick, ornate gold ring, with a bluish stone in a circular setting surrounded by diamonds.
The King of Al-Murja, a man as tall and dark and handsome as Sharif, sat nearby, looking austere. As austere as her husband.
Husband. She felt dizzy again, even though she was sitting down.
Liyah cursed herself now for not having looked him up. If she had, she would have known who he was at the oasis.
And would that have changed her behaviour?
Liyah couldn’t say how she would have reacted last night even if she’d known who he was. It was all too much to process.
And then, from her
right, came a low and steely tone. ‘Look at me, wife.’
Liyah gulped and slowly turned her head to meet those far too memorable dark eyes. She noticed now that there were gold rings around his irises. So not totally dark. Golden. Molten.
‘So what was that last night? Were you trying out the wares before you committed to marriage with a stranger? Should I be flattered you deemed me suitable?’
His voice was cold enough to make her shiver—a big difference from how he’d sounded last night. The mid-Atlantic twang mocked her now. As did her instinct last night that he was not just anyone.
‘No,’ she croaked. ‘It wasn’t like that. I had no idea who you were.’
He made a rude sound. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
His accusing tone broke Liyah out of her shocked paralysis. ‘Wait... Did you know who I was?’
‘No.’
A dart of hurt lanced her. He’d been equally disinclined to know about her. But she shouldn’t be surprised—after all her sister had told her. He just wants a wife. He doesn’t care who that is.
‘Then I could accuse you of the same—maybe you did know who I was and you wanted to make sure I was suitable.’
‘You weren’t a virgin. That would make you very unsuitable to some.’
Liyah flushed at that. In this part of the world he would be within his rights to reject her on those grounds... Except the time to do it would have been the moment he’d recognised her.
‘Are you going to say something?’ Liyah immediately thought of the potential repercussions for her younger sister, who might be denied the husband she wanted to punish Liyah.
But Sharif shook his head slowly. ‘No. I’m not a hypocrite. I’m far from a virgin. I don’t expect my wife to be. Anyway, that’s not what this marriage will be about.’
Liyah looked at him. She frowned. ‘What’s that supposed—’
