Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

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...