by Abby Green
‘You’re a bit of a lone wolf, aren’t you?’
‘You don’t need anybody else, Sharif!’
Those words had been hurled at him too many times to count over the years. His mother had said them too, but with the emphasis on it being a good thing. She’d said, ‘You don’t need anybody else Sharif. Don’t trust anyone. Trust yourself. You are your own best friend. You’ll know what to do.’ She’d learnt a harsh lesson at the hands of his father, when he’d betrayed her trust, stolen her inheritance and broken her heart.
So, yes, Sharif was a lone wolf. He’d become one to survive. So why was it that Liyah’s observation snagged on him like a splinter piercing his skin?
‘I trust myself and I ask for no one’s opinion or help unless I want another perspective.’
‘What about your brothers?’
A heavy weight settled in his gut. ‘We didn’t spend time together when we were growing up, so we’re not close. But they trust me.’
As he said those words the weight got heavier. He’d never really acknowledged that before. But they did trust him. They had from the moment their father had died and he’d called them to the board and convinced them that it was in their interest to work together.
He knew that they might not admit they trusted him, and they certainly had their own reasons for wanting to work for the company their father had built up—but deep down there’d always be an affinity. Because they’d all suffered at the hands of their father.
‘But you don’t trust them?’
Sharif frowned sharply. Liyah was skating far too close to the truth, making guilt spike. ‘I trust them as much as you trust your family.’
She flushed at that. He could see her skin get darker. Blood rushing to the surface. His body tightened. What was he doing...provoking her when he had no intention of slaking this lust?
‘You don’t know enough about me to know who I might trust.’
‘Your sister? You sacrificed yourself for her.’
Sharif suddenly had an image of Liyah’s pretty, but far less compelling sister. He couldn’t imagine being in this situation with her and feeling this throbbing, desperate need. Which was not what he’d intended for this marriage.
‘Yes, my sister. I do trust her.’ She sounded defensive.
The car was pulling up to the kerb outside his apartment building now, and Sharif almost lamented the interruption. He found that he was enjoying parrying with Liyah because he didn’t know what she might say next. She was unpredictable.
His door was opened by the driver and he got out and went around to open Liyah’s door. She put her hand in his, the wedding ring glittering in the dark.
His insides clenched as he closed his fingers around hers. He’d never imagined putting a ring on any woman’s finger. But it looked good on her. Better than the other one, which he’d only used because it was an heirloom from his mother’s side of the family. He found that seeing his ring on her hand didn’t make him feel as claustrophobic as he might have expected.
She stepped out, close to Sharif. For a moment he didn’t move, drinking in her scent. Soft, musky. She smelled of heat and flowers.
And then suddenly she wrinkled her nose and looked up, and Sharif saw snowflakes landing on her face. Settling on her cheek.
A slow, awed smile bloomed across her face. ‘It’s snowing!’
Sharif found a smile tugging at his own mouth. ‘That’s usually what happens in New York this time of year.’
She didn’t seem to hear him. She was looking up, totally transfixed. Closing her eyes and laughing softly as more flakes fell, leaving little wet trails down her cheeks.
Surprised, Sharif said, ‘You’ve never seen snow before?’
She shook her head, making her hair ripple over her shoulders like black silk. She opened her eyes. They were a darker green in the dim light. ‘Never! It feels like being kissed.’
Sharif’s gaze dropped to Liyah’s mouth. Soft, infinitely tempting. He was about to reach for her, put a hand under the coat to find her waist, tug her towards him so he could—
Stop. The voice sounded in his head. What was he doing, being tempted by such rudimentary tactics? She was trying to entice him.
Of course she must have seen snow before—she’d been in Europe.
But they were out on the street, with people passing. No doubt paparazzi lurking. And it was for that reason and that reason only that Sharif decided he would give in to her ruse and tug her closer, cover her mouth with his.
He heard her surprised little gasp. For a second he revelled in the feel of her yielding, melting against him, head tipping back, mouth softening. He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth and had to stop a growl of satisfaction when she opened to him and he delved deep into her sweetness, fast forgetting why he had decided to kiss her in the first place when he knew it was a bad idea.
He sensed the change in her just before she tensed, her hands coming up between them. Sharif lifted his head. It was snowing harder now, with thick, fluffy flakes landing all around them and on Liyah’s hair, face.
She blinked. ‘Why did you kiss me?’
Because you couldn’t not, whispered a sly voice.
In his peripheral vision Sharif saw a flash of light. ‘Paparazzi. Shame to waste an opportunity to give them something to print tomorrow.’
Liar.
Sharif let Liyah push him back. She took a step to the side but then made a sudden jerking movement when her foot slipped on the icy ground.
Without even thinking, Sharif scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the apartment building, where the door was being held open by his security staff.
Liyah was still too much in shock to say or do anything as Sharif carried her into the building as if she weighed no more than a bag of sugar—when she knew she was no delicate flower.
Paparazzi.
She hadn’t noticed anything. But then with Sharif standing so close and that decadent, sexy scent winding around her like invisible silken thread it was no wonder.
Delayed mortification rose inside her. She hadn’t even put up a modicum of resistance. It was as if she’d been waiting for him to kiss her all evening.
They were at the elevator now, and she said stiffly, ‘You can put me down now.’
At least there was the voluminous coat between them. The thought of Sharif carrying her while she was wearing just the flimsy dress was far too reminiscent of when he’d lifted her out of the bath at the oasis and carried her over to the bed.
He put her down and the doors opened. Liyah stepped in, dismayed at how shaky her legs were. Sharif got in beside her, instantly dominating the space and sucking up all the oxygen, turning it hot and making it hard to breathe. Liyah was suddenly sweltering in the coat but didn’t want to take it off.
When the doors opened into the penthouse suite Liyah stepped out and finally shucked off the coat with relief. Thomas appeared as if from nowhere, and Liyah smiled her thanks as he took it and faded into the background again.
She turned to Sharif, avoiding looking at him directly. ‘Please don’t do that again without warning me first. I know I’m little more than an employee, but you can’t just...manhandle me when it suits you.’
Liyah winced inwardly at her choice of words. It hadn’t felt like manhandling. At all. It had felt delicious to be standing in the freezing cold, with snowflakes falling like feathers on her skin and Sharif’s mouth on hers, incinerating her from the inside out. She could still almost feel the imprint of his hand on her waist.
He was silent for so long that Liyah risked a glance. He was smiling. Smiling!
He said, ‘Manhandle?’
Liyah’s mortification turned to anger. She crossed her arms. ‘Yes—manhandle. As in put your hands on me, and your mouth, without asking permission.’
She thought then of all the women who’d
given her sly looks earlier. No doubt they wouldn’t complain if Sharif manhandled them. In fact she was fairly certain that it was something he’d never been accused of before.
It wasn’t really fair to level it at him now...but if he thought he could just kiss her like that in public with no forewarning...
Liyah went hot and cold at the same time at the thought of constantly being exposed in her desire for him.
Sharif’s mouth straightened. ‘Please accept my apologies. In future I will ask your permission first.’
Liyah was sorry she’d said a word now. Sharif Marchetti, also known as Sheikh Sharif Bin Noor al Nazar, was not a man who asked permission for anything. He demanded and people acquiesced. As she’d acquiesced all too easily.
Struggling to maintain a modicum of dignity, Liyah tipped up her chin. ‘I’m quite tired now. I’m going to bed.’
‘Goodnight, Liyah.’
She turned, and walked away as gracefully as she could, aware of Sharif’s eyes boring into her back.
He was probably still laughing at her.
Sharif watched Liyah walk away, his gaze drawn helplessly to the sway of her hips. The smooth expanse of her skin above the neckline of the dress. Her bare shoulders.
She’d certainly proved to be a complementary foil this evening. If she kept it up like that she would be the perfectly convenient wife he’d wanted.
If it wasn’t for the irritating fact that you want her so badly you had to kiss her on the street like a crass boy.
Sharif ignored the inner voice and focused on the niggle of disquiet that told him a society party girl didn’t change her spots so easily.
Your brother Nikos did.
He ignored that reminder too. His brother had been one of the world’s most notorious playboys until he’d met his wife Maggie and then a year later had discovered he had a son. But, as Sharif liked to goad him all the time, he was sure it was only a temporary state of affairs before Nikos realised what he was missing and went back to his old ways.
After all, they were both their father’s sons, and their father hadn’t had a committed bone in his body. Unless you counted his commitment to fleecing his wives and using their money to build up the company...
But in the end their father hadn’t even had the commitment to further his own ambitions—had become drunk and corrupt on success, wealth and status. He’d died in the arms of his latest lover, any reputation he’d built up shot to pieces. And that was when Sharif had realised the extent of his father’s betrayal.
He hadn’t stolen from his mother and effectively killed her for the good of anything. He had done it only to satiate his intense greed and to prove that disinheriting him had been a mistake.
Domenico Marchetti had never got over the fact that he’d been passed over in his father’s will for his younger brother. Sharif’s father had arrogantly assumed he’d inherit, even though he’d put no time or effort into the modest family business, but it had been left to his brother instead.
Part of Domenico’s bid for power had included getting revenge on his brother by ruining the business. His own family’s inheritance. Sharif even had a memory of his uncle—a broken man—coming to Domenico, begging for help, for mercy. Sharif’s father had slapped him across the face and thrown him out on the street.
Sharif shoved aside the unwelcome rush of memories. Liyah might have been a compliant foil this evening, but she was probably just lulling him into a false sense of security before she displayed her true colours again and reverted to type.
And that would not happen. Not while she was his wife.
CHAPTER SIX
‘SHE’S WHERE?’
Sharif stood up from the boardroom table and a dozen faces turned towards him expectantly. He waved a hand to indicate they should go on without him and walked over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, shoving his free hand in the pocket of his trousers.
The disembodied voice came again. ‘She’s in Central Park, sir...playing in the snow.’
Sharif couldn’t see Central Park from where he was. It was north and he looked south, towards lower Manhattan. He cursed.
‘Playing with who?’
‘Er...some kids, sir.’
Sharif absorbed this.
Liyah had sent a text from the phone he’d furnished her with earlier, wanting to know if there were plans for that evening. He’d informed her that, yes, there were. They were due to attend a dinner. And then she’d asked if she could have a few hours to go out. He’d said of course she could. He wasn’t her gaoler.
He’d fully expected that she would use the car to drive her from designer boutique to designer boutique. Not that she would ditch the car and insist on walking. To Central Park. To play in the snow.
‘Send me a picture,’ said Sharif, then terminated the conversation with his security officer and went back to the table, sitting down again. He vaguely tuned in to the discussion, but when his phone vibrated in his pocket he took it out again.
He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. An image of a wrapped-up Liyah, her hair reverted to its wild and unruly state since the other night, flowing from under a woollen hat around her shoulders. She was grinning at what looked like an army of small children as they launched themselves at her. In the next picture she was on the ground, covered by the same children, with snow spraying all around them.
Sharif found this utterly incomprehensible. And it was hard to compute how it made him feel. Envious? He rejected that thought. Why on earth would he be envious of—
‘Sir... Sir?’
Sharif looked up from his phone. His chief financial advisor was looking at him with a frown.
‘If we want to put these plans in motion by the end of the month, we need to sign off on this today.’
A jolt went through Sharif. What was he doing? He never let anything distract him from his endgame. And certainly not a woman.
He put his phone away—but not before sending a terse text to Liyah.
Make sure you’re ready at six p.m. It’s a formal dinner, cocktail dress. The styling team will meet you back at the apartment.
Sharif threw his phone down. Why did he suddenly feel like a buzz-kill?
That evening Liyah was the one waiting for Sharif to finish getting ready for dinner. Apparently he was hosting an exclusive event to welcome the new head designer of an iconic fashion house.
Liyah stood at the window, her image reflected back to her, but she wasn’t seeing that.
When Sharif had arrived back, a short while ago, he’d immediately said, ‘Why didn’t you go shopping today?’
Liyah had been genuinely perplexed. ‘Was I supposed to? I have more clothes than I could possibly wear.’
‘Why did you go to the park?’
‘Why not? I wanted to see the snow.’
‘And those kids?’
It had been more like an interrogation than a catch-up on the day’s events. But then she’d reminded herself that this was hardly a regular marriage situation. And Sharif had probably assumed she’d spend the day in a beauty salon or perhaps an opium den.
Liyah had folded her arms, glaring at Sharif, hating how even in a plain dark suit and a white shirt open at the neck he still managed to pack the same punch as if he was wearing a tuxedo.
Or nothing at all.
‘They saw me in the snow. They laughed at me when I told them it was my first time seeing it. And then they started a snowball fight.’
Eventually he’d said, ‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’ Liyah had repeated testily. ‘I am allowed to go outside and play in the snow?’
His gaze had narrowed, become dark and unreadable. Liyah had noticed his unshaven jaw and deep inside a pulse had picked up pace.
‘Don’t provoke me, Liyah. And don’t forget that you’re most likely being followed by paparazzi
at all times. We leave in half an hour.’
Liyah’s hair and make-up had already been done, so she’d just had to put on the dress. It was snowing again outside, making Manhattan pristine.
The sight of the snow mocked her. There’d been something poignant about experiencing it for the first time on her own in the park, despite the kids. And that had freaked her out—because throughout her time away from home over the past couple of years she hadn’t ever felt lonely before. And yet today she’d found her mind wandering to Sharif. Wondering what he was doing. Thinking of the way he’d moved through that room full of people last night. So alone. Tense.
He intrigued her. He seemed so different here from the man she’d met in the desert.
She moved slightly, and the reflection of the dress glittered back at her. It was a simple elegant design—A-line, tea-length, strapless. Dark bronze silk over cream tulle. She wore matching shoes and her hair had been straightened again, slicked back into a low bun at the back of her head. Kohl made her eyes seem bigger, and gold hoops in her ears swung and caught the light.
She didn’t feel like herself. But she could appreciate that Sharif wouldn’t want her to look as wild as she had at the oasis, or even on her wedding day—and, even though she mightn’t want to admit it, this new version of herself wasn’t entirely...unwelcome. In spite of her avowed tomboy tendencies, Liyah couldn’t help but feel...pretty. Maybe even a little beautiful.
The sparkling green of the small emeralds in her wedding ring caught her eye. She hadn’t taken it off since Sharif had put it on her finger and a prickle skated over her skin. At that moment she caught sight of him behind her, reflected in the window.
How long had he been there?
He was wearing a three-piece suit. And suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. She was glad she wasn’t facing him directly, because her heart was practically jumping through her chest. It was so mortifying that he had this effect on her, when all she’d been to him was a random hook-up in a desert oasis before he had to commit to a convenient marriage.
‘Ready to go?’ he said from behind her.
