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.