Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3)

by Abby Green

  But she was cut off when the music started, drowning out what she’d been about to say. She had to face forward to watch the traditional dancers.

  Her brain was racing, wanting to know what Sharif had meant. She cursed herself again for not having looked him up. She would have been better prepared. But it was too late to dwell on regrets. Or on reckless decisions made in the heat of the moment.

  She’d never expected to see him again but now he was her husband. And she would have to deal with the consequences.

  Sharif’s blood was boiling as he sat beside his brand-new wife. Aaliyah. She now had a name. The woman who had driven him senseless with lust only a few hours ago. The same woman he’d suspected of being a figment of his imagination.

  He didn’t believe for a second that she hadn’t known who he was last night. It was too conveniently serendipitous that she’d just happened to visit the oasis when he’d been there.

  Someone must have told her that he hadn’t arrived at the palace with his entourage. And she’d come to investigate her future husband. The thought that she’d been laughing at him the whole way through the marriage ceremony, behind her veil, set his nerves on edge.

  Little happened in Sharif’s life that he wasn’t in control of. And this was not how he’d envisaged his marriage starting—with his blood boiling over with shock, anger and, even worse, lust.

  Even though her body was now covered in the voluminous red and white traditional wedding robes of Taraq, Sharif could picture every dip and hollow. How she’d looked when she’d stepped out of the water in front of him, water sluicing down over endless curves and gleaming skin. The long sleek limbs. Her breasts, perfectly shaped and heavy...the juncture between her legs where dark hair curled enticingly, inviting him to explore—

  Dio. He’d planned on making the most of his wife in the coming weeks, having her by his side at as many events as possible to ensure that the Marchetti Group brand was at its most stable and valuable for when he put his plans into motion.

  By his side. Not in his bed. And most definitely not under his skin.

  The last woman in the world he’d ever expected to see again, who he wanted nowhere near him, was in fact now his wife. And as his wife, she would be in close proximity at all times. Whether he liked it or not.

  ‘Liyah...you look so sophisticated. I’ve never seen you like this.’

  Liyah grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. The shift dress and matching jacket were in pastel pink. She hated pink. She hated anything too girly and always had, preferring a far more relaxed and casual tomboy aesthetic.

  She’d barely even taken notice of the women who had measured her up the day after her father had allowed her to take Samara’s place as Sharif’s bride. She’d been too impatient to see her horse, whom she hadn’t seen in months, while she’d been in Europe.

  But now she knew why she’d been measured up.

  Because her...her husband had provided this going-away outfit. And another bag containing a change of clothes, sleepwear, underwear and toiletries.

  She thought she looked ridiculous. Her hair was too wild and unruly for an outfit like this, but it was too late to try and tame it. And, even worse, suddenly she felt nervous. She’d managed to avoid Sharif while the reception had been underway and they’d been surrounded by a hundred people, but now she would be stepping onto a plane with him and there would be nowhere to hide.

  ‘My hair...my hair is too much.’

  Samara stepped up behind her and pulled her hair back into a low ponytail. ‘Your hair is beautiful, Liyah, like the rest of you.’

  Samara rested her chin on Liyah’s shoulder and she met her sister’s dark gaze in the mirror. Liyah didn’t even share the same eye colour as her siblings. She really was the cuckoo in the nest.

  Samara’s pretty face was serious. ‘Thank you, Liyah, for what you’ve done. You have no idea how much—’

  A rising swell of emotion made Liyah turn around. She clasped her sister close before the emotion became too much to push down. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know. Just be happy, Sammy, okay? Marry Javid and be happy.’

  At that moment Liyah truly wished for her sister that she wouldn’t be disappointed by love. Or destroyed by it, like their father.

  Her sister nodded against her. She pulled back, dark eyes bright with tears. But she forced a smile. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘And I’ll miss you. But call me any time, okay?’

  Samara nodded again.

  Maids entered to take Liyah’s bags down to where her husband waited in the royal courtyard and Liyah followed them. Samara was the only one who had come to say goodbye. Liyah hated it that it still hurt. That some small vulnerable part of her had still hoped that she’d be important to her family. To her father.

  She stopped in the shadows just under the massive stone archway that led outside. Sharif was pacing back and forth. He saw the maids coming out with the bags and flicked his wrist to look at his watch, clearly impatient. But Liyah couldn’t move.

  Gone were the elaborate gold and cream robes of the regal Sheikh—and gone was the wild nameless man who had seduced her into a place of heated insanity last night. In their place was another incarnation...this one even more intimidating.

  His tall, lean body was sheathed in an immaculate three-piece dark suit. A white shirt, open at the neck, highlighted his dark skin. He should have looked more civilised. More urbane. But if anything he looked even more elemental. Wild. Dangerous.

  Even though she’d slept with him, she felt in that moment that she’d never truly know him, and a little shiver skated over her skin. A kind of premonition that as soon as she stepped out of this shadow and into the sunlight, under his gaze and his protection, her life would never be the same. And she knew it wouldn’t—for obvious reasons, and also for much deeper and more secret reasons that she really did not want to investigate right now.

  The self-protective walls she’d cultivated her whole life suddenly felt very flimsy.

  The sun was setting, bathing everything with a golden glow. It had been around this time yesterday that Liyah had left the palace to ride out to the oasis.

  Suddenly, in spite of everything, she had a sense that she didn’t regret what had happened at the oasis. It had been too earth-shattering to regret. It had changed something inside her.

  A man who looked like an aide hurried over to Sharif’s side, and Liyah heard Sharif speak in a low, harsh tone.

  ‘Find her.’

  Steeling herself, Liyah stepped forward out of the shadows. ‘I’m here. Ready to go.’

  Sharif turned around, his whole body reacting with a jolt of awareness just to hearing her husky voice.

  Damn.

  She had changed out of the traditional wedding robes that dated back to when her family had been Bedouin nomads. Sharif had asked an assistant to ensure she received appropriate clothes for her transition into his world as his wife, but clearly he hadn’t researched much about her, or what she looked like.

  Nor did you, reminded an inner voice.

  He quashed the sting of his conscience when he thought of how little it had registered when he’d been asked if he would mind marrying the eldest Princess of Taraq and not her sister.

  He’d agreed, and in the same instant moved on to the next item on his agenda—because it really didn’t matter to whom he was married. All he needed was a wife.

  But now he was aware of the significance of having chosen another woman, however carelessly.

  Would the other sister have been sent to the oasis to seduce him, too?

  The pastel pink did nothing for her skin tone, and the plain design of the dress effectively hid the spectacular curves that he couldn’t stop seeing in his mind’s eye. All he could think about was the fact that this woman needed to be dressed in bold and vibrant colours. With jewels at her throat and
ears. Her wrists. Arms. And with silk and satin clinging to every luscious inch of her body.

  Nothing could really detract from her sheer luminous beauty, though. Not even her unstyled pulled-back hair, or the fact that her face was scrubbed clean. Sharif couldn’t recall the last time a woman had made so little effort for him.

  Irritation at his reaction to her and this whole situation, which had morphed beyond what he’d expected, made his voice sharp. ‘We should leave. My plane is waiting at the airfield.’

  He noticed how she lifted her chin at his tone and something flashed in those stunning green eyes. A flash of defiance. His blood sizzled and he gritted his jaw.

  He ignored his driver standing to attention and opened the back door of the Jeep himself. ‘Please.’

  He’d said please more than he’d ever said it in his life within the past twenty-four hours.

  Aaliyah moved forward, the nude high heels making her legs look even longer and more lissom, reminding him of how strong her thighs were. Firm and lean from riding her thoroughbred stallion to deserted oases so she could swim naked and tempt men. Tempt him.

  Suddenly the thought that he might not have been the only one to see her like that made his blood spike to dangerous levels.

  He gritted his jaw even harder as her clean, unmanufactured scent tickled his nostrils as she got into the car and her dress slid up, revealing a taut and silky-smooth thigh. He’d noticed that the heels put her tantalisingly closer to his mouth too.

  He closed the door and walked around the vehicle to get into the front beside the driver. The sooner they were back in his world, on his turf, where he could regain some sense of control, the better.

  Liyah woke with a start, not sure were she was. There was a voice.

  ‘Mrs Marchetti?’

  Who was Mrs Marchetti?

  It came again, insistent, along with a peremptory knock on wood.

  She was on her husband’s private jet.

  It all came rushing back.

  ‘Mrs Marchetti? We’re landing in half an hour.’

  Liyah sat up in the bed. The voice was on the other side of the bedroom door. ‘Thank you. I’m awake,’ she croaked out.

  ‘Would you like some breakfast?’

  Liyah saw the pink trails across the sky outside. They’d chased the dawn from the Middle East to the west.

  ‘Just some coffee would be lovely, thank you.’

  She was about to land in a whole new world and life. She’d expected this to be happening with a stranger. Well, he still was a stranger. But one she knew intimately.

  Liyah saw the en suite bathroom and went in, groaning when she saw the frizz ball her hair had become. Her face was creased too, from where she’d lain down. She felt sticky.

  She noticed that someone had left her bags in the bedroom and took the opportunity to freshen up, pulling out a pair of dark trousers and a long-sleeved cashmere top. Simple, elegant. Better than the powder-pink dress.

  She took a quick shower, tying her hair up out of the way. It was too much of a job to get into washing and drying it now.

  When she’d dried off and changed, she found a mercifully flat pair of shoes and took a breath and went into the cabin.

  She could see Sharif’s dark head over his seat-back. When she came closer he was engrossed in his laptop. He glanced at her as she came alongside him and slid into the seat on the other side of the aisle. She only realised then that she’d left her hair in a knot on the top of her head, too wild to let loose.

  The steward came over with a steaming coffee and Liyah smiled her thanks, accepting it gratefully, hoping she didn’t look too dishevelled.

  She took a sip, relishing the hot tart taste, and then risked another look at Sharif. He closed his laptop and she noticed stubble on his jaw. He’d taken off his jacket but still wore the waistcoat of the suit. Shirtsleeves rolled up. He was utterly civilised and uncivilised all at the same time. A potent mix.

  ‘Did you work all night?’

  He accepted a coffee from the steward too. He looked at her, arching a brow. ‘Concerned about me, Aaliyah?’

  His voice made her insides tighten with awareness. This man was so dangerous. And he already knew so much about her. Too much.

  Up until the cataclysmic moment when she’d realised who her husband was, she’d felt safe in the knowledge that her uncharacteristic behaviour would never be scrutinised in the cold light of day. But the universe was laughing at her now. Not only would her behaviour be scrutinised, but she’d married a man whose only impression of her was based on the illicit night they’d shared together. And she had no defence. She’d been bolder and more brazen than at any other time in her life.

  ‘Don’t call me Aaliyah. It’s Liyah. Please.’

  ‘Liyah, then.’ His gaze dropped, taking in her change of clothes. ‘Dark matte colours and pinks do nothing for you,’ he observed. ‘We’ll remedy that. I have lots of events lined up that you’ll be required to attend by my side.’

  Liyah flushed at the way he assessed her so coolly, as if she was some kind of mannequin. Feeling defensive she said, ‘I didn’t choose the clothes. They were picked for me.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t offer any information on what you preferred,’ Sharif pointed out.

  Liyah said nothing, because she had scant interest in fashion or trends, and she wasn’t sure she would have been adept at knowing what did suit her. The fact that she suspected this man did made her feel defensive all over again. She really knew next to nothing about him.

  ‘My father said you control a...a luxury conglomerate?’

  His dark gaze narrowed on her face. She felt very bare. Not that she was used to wearing make-up, but she’d like some kind of armour right now.

  ‘Yes, I run it with my two half-brothers.’

  So, he had family. Liyah absorbed that.

  Sharif frowned. ‘You really didn’t know who I was at the oasis?’

  She shook her head. ‘I figured there would be plenty of time to learn about who you were. After all, we’re married now, for better or worse. For a long time.’

  ‘You weren’t much interested in the prenuptial agreement. My staff told me you only glanced through it before signing.’

  Liyah shrugged. ‘I thought that would please you?’

  ‘It intrigues me. I don’t know a woman who wouldn’t have gone through the document with a team of lawyers and dissected it to within an inch of its life before engaging in negotiatons for the maximum they could get their hands on.’

  ‘The women you know don’t sound very nice.’

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. ‘That could very well be the case, but as one of the wealthiest people on the planet I do tend to attract a certain type. So what makes you different? I know you don’t have your father’s fortune to fall back on, because your family is all but bankrupt—like your country. Hence the eagerness to marry you, or anyone, off.’

  Liyah blinked. ‘So it’s true...the rumour about the fiscal debt in Taraq?’

  Sharif nodded. ‘Your father and his ministers have overextended themselves hugely in redeveloping the country.’

  Liyah had heard the rumours—especially when she’d been abroad—but hadn’t known if they were true or not. Naturally her father would never share such information with her. Not even when she was helping dig her own country out of debt with this marriage.

  ‘I don’t depend on my father for an income or an inheritance,’ Liyah said. ‘He wrote me out of the family will long ago.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because my mother left an inheritance to me, her only child. My father couldn’t touch it, and I inherited when I was eighteen. It’s probably nothing compared to the wealth you command, but it’s enough to keep me secure.’

  ‘That’s the only thing you checked in the prenup—to make sure that our marr
iage didn’t give me any rights over the money you have independently.’

  Liyah nodded. ‘So I don’t need anything from you.’

  An expression crossed his face, too fast to decipher, but Liyah thought it was scepticism.

  He said, ‘That’s refreshing to know. But let me know how you feel when I initiate our divorce and you’ve become used to a life of comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams.’

  ‘Divorce?’ They’d only just got married.

  ‘You really should have read that prenuptial agreement properly. It’s all in there. When you signed the contract, the day before the wedding—hours before we met at the oasis—you agreed to a divorce at the earliest in six months and at the latest in a year’s time. This is a marriage in name only—purely for appearances.’

  Liyah let this sink in. She should be feeling relief right now, at the thought that not only was this a marriage in name only but that it was also to be shortlived. But what she was feeling was more ambiguous. Curiosity...

  ‘Why such a specific timeframe?’

  ‘Because I only need a wife until such time as I don’t need one any more. Once certain...objectives have been met.’

  The air steward approached them again, to inform them that they’d be landing any minute and to ask them to make sure they were buckled in.

  Liyah’s head was buzzing with this information. If what Sharif was saying was true, then within a year at the most she’d have her freedom again. And by that time Samara would be married into her new family, so Liyah wouldn’t have any reason to return to a place that had never really welcomed her. She really would be free.

  So why didn’t that induce joy?

  The wedding ring on Liyah’s finger felt very heavy all of a sudden, and she twisted it absently on her finger.

  Sharif asked sharply, ‘Does it not fit?’

  Liyah looked at him. She shook her head. ‘It fits fine...it’s just...big.’

  The plane touched down smoothly at that moment. As the roar of the throttle eased, and the plane made its way to the hangar where they would disembark, Liyah asked, ‘This really was always intended to be a marriage in name only?’