Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

She stood up. ‘Sure.’ What else was she going to say?

Sharif took her hand and started to lead her through the crowd. Liyah faltered when she saw an anteroom where people were starting to dance to a popular tune. She loved dancing. She’d developed a surprising interest in, and love for clubbing when she’d been in Europe. Liking the sense of being anonymous in a crowd. Liking the music.

Sharif stopped and looked from her to the room. ‘I don’t dance, Liyah.’

She opened her mouth to say something—she wasn’t sure what—but Sharif had already turned and begun leading her away.

They were stopped just as they reached the main door by a smirking older gentleman.

He said, ‘Callaghan.’

The man inclined his head. ‘Marchetti. I’d offer you congratulations, but I have to admit that the cynic in me thinks that it’s a very opportune moment for you to appear with a convenient wife in tow. Your brothers and now you...allaying the jitters of the board so you’re in peak position to launch—what, exactly? I haven’t found out what you’re up to yet, Marchetti, but I will...don’t worry.’

Sharif said, ‘With an imagination like that, Callaghan, you’re clearly a frustrated novelist. And have you met my wife, whom you accuse of being a pawn?’

His easy, drawling tone belied the tension Liyah felt in the hand that was wrapped around hers.

The man had the grace to look sheepish as he acknowledged Liyah.

She held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Liyah.’

The man shook her hand perfunctorily, muttering something unintelligible, and walked off.

Sharif said something unsavoury under his breath and they walked out of the room.

‘Who was that?’ Liyah asked, when it became obvious that Sharif wasn’t about to elaborate on the exchange.

‘Him? Oh, just a freelance business reporter.’

‘What did he mean about an “opportune moment”?’

‘He’s just looking for a story.’

Liyah wasn’t convinced, but they were at the main doors leading outside now, and an attendant appeared with Liyah’s coat. Sharif took it and helped her into it. Liyah couldn’t help shivering when Sharif’s fingers brushed the back of her bare neck when she lifted her hair out of the way.

He stilled for a moment, and then said, ‘We’ll be back at the apartment soon.’

He’d obviously mistaken her shiver as an indication of feeling cold. Not awareness. Thankfully. She shivered all over again under the coat at the thought of him realising just how much he affected her.

In the back of the car, Sharif heard Liyah ask, ‘Do you always leave these events early? Or was it just tonight?’

He forced his jaw to unlock. It had gritted tight on the sight of that reporter. Actually, it had been gritted all evening, as he’d tried to remain unaware of Liyah beside him, sinuous and sultry in that dress—which was now, thankfully, covered up.

This was unprecedented territory for Sharif. He wasn’t used to women having such a visceral pull on him. He was used to desiring women, of course, but also to relegating it very much to a place he had total control over.

He’d almost fumbled his speech because he’d been so aware of Liyah, sitting just feet away, her skin gleaming against the green of the dress. And, even more d

istractingly, he’d been acutely aware of the attention she’d drawn from other men. Which usually didn’t bother him in the slightest, because the women he dated impacted on him only in a very peripheral way.

But Liyah is your wife, so it’s natural that her effect is different.

Sharif relaxed his jaw some more. That was it.

He reached for his bow tie, loosening it. He looked at her and almost forgot what she’d asked. The soft lights in the back of the car made her seem unreadable, infinitely mysterious. All he wanted to do was clamp his hands in her hair and tug her towards him, so that he could crush that provocative mouth under his and punish her for proving to be such a distraction.

He forced his blood to cool. ‘Did you want to stay and dance? Pretend you were back in the clubs of Europe?’

‘I do like dancing, actually. That’s not a crime, is it?’