Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

CHAPTER FIVE

TWO DAYS LATER, Sharif waited for Liyah to appear in the apartment’s main reception room. He’d hardly seen her since that first evening—he’d been busy catching up on what he’d missed during his few days’ absence.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that if he was a regular person he would still be on his honeymoon. But before his brain could be flooded with tantalising images of what a honeymoon with Liyah might look like—feel like—he reminded himself that he wasn’t a regular person, and hadn’t been since the moment his father had seduced his mother with one eye on creating an heir and another on stealing her vast dowry.

Sharif put two fingers behind his bow tie and his top button in an effort to loosen them slightly. He felt constricted when he normally never did. The

re was a hum in his blood too—a hum of anticipation. Something he usually only associated with the prospect of bettering a rival in business or making a spectacular acquisition.

He heard a sound and instinctively tightened his fingers around the small tumbler of whisky he’d poured himself. He turned around slowly to see Liyah standing just inside the door, looking unbelievably hesitant.

And stunning.

Sharif didn’t even realise his breath had stopped until his body forced him to breathe in.

His gaze followed the outline of the satin dress from the thin straps over her shoulders to the line of the bodice that cut across her chest, where the swells of her breasts were just tantalisingly visible. It went in at her slim waist and then curved out again over her hips, falling in a straight, elegant line to the floor.

It was an earthy olive-green, and it enhanced the colour of her skin exactly as he’d imagined. The design couldn’t have been more simple. Deceptively simple, as he knew. He recognised haute couture as soon as he saw it. It could have been made for her, but he knew it hadn’t been as there hadn’t been enough time. But the material moulded to her body in a way that looked indecent enough to be bespoke.

He felt dizzy. Her hair had been straightened into a sleek fall of black silk and tucked behind her ears, where drop diamonds sparkled. But the absence of her usual unruly waves failed to diminish the incendiary memories of that night when she’d been a wild, untamed goddess, emerging from the depths of a black pool. He found this version of her more than provocative when it should be less.

He noticed that the only other jewellery she wore was a simple diamond bracelet. She held a matching green clutch bag in her hands.

She cleared her throat. ‘Is it...? Am I...okay?’

Sharif was used to women fishing for compliments, and was accustomed to handing them out without even thinking, or really meaning them. Empty platitudes. Exactly what he was expected to say. But this was uncharted territory for him.

‘You are...perfect, Liyah.’

She looked away. He saw that the hands on her bag weren’t quite steady.

A spike of concern made him say, ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

She moved one slim shoulder up and down. ‘I guess I’m not really used to this level of attention.’

Sharif thought of those photos of her cavorting on yachts and falling out of clubs in slinky short numbers that were most definitely not haute couture. The spike of concern faded. Yes, she came from a royal family, but he appreciated that his world was a step up in levels of sophistication. Still, he had no doubt that she’d become accustomed to his world very soon.

Sharif put down his glass. ‘We should go. My driver is waiting.’

He crossed the space between them and was about to take Liyah’s elbow to guide her out when he stopped. Her scent filled Sharif’s nostrils. A new scent. Tones of heady musky flowers conjuring up images of the hot dry desert, where exotic flowers bloomed in the most unlikely places. Like deserted oases.

‘My ring. My wedding ring. I forgot to put it on.’

Liyah was looking up at him and Sharif realised she must be wearing heels, because her plump, lush mouth was close enough for him to see that it was slicked only with a nude sheen. Nothing as garish as red or pink lipstick.

Close up, he could see that the green of the dress made her eyes pop, and that kohl and dark shadow had turned them a light smoky green. All in all, her make-up was subtle, merely enhancing her natural beauty.

He blinked. The ring. ‘You don’t like wearing it?’

She made a face as she pulled away. ‘Sorry, it’s lovely—I’m just afraid I’ll lose it or something.’

She turned to go back to her room—presumably to get it—and presented Sharif with a view of her smooth back. He swallowed a sound of frustration that she was getting to him like this, and forced out, ‘Wait. I have something here.’

She’d distracted him enough that he’d forgotten. He’d ordered a replacement ring, because he’d seen that the other one didn’t seem to fit.

She turned around and came back.

Sharif took a small box out of his inside pocket. He opened it and she looked down. He saw her inhale. It made her breasts swell against the dress. Blood surged to his groin and he clenched his jaw.