Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

And why was her first reaction dismay?

Terrified he’d see how much he’d got to her, Liyah said stiffly, ‘I think you’re right. Obviously neither of us are really suited to this...arrangement—’

‘I don’t mean that—’ Sharif interrupted her, but then broke off abruptly. He cursed.

Liyah realised the car had stopped moving, they were back at his apartment.

Before she could try to figure out what he had meant he was out of the car, opening her door and reaching for her, taking her hand and leading her into the building. When they were in the elevator he didn’t let go of her hand. Still he didn’t say anything.

Electricity crackled in the air between them. She was afraid to look at him, or put a name to it, or think about what it meant. But she could feel it in her gut. Desire. The flames were getting loose and licking at her insides. But what if she was wrong? What if—

The elevator doors opened and Sharif led her into the apartment’s foyer. The door closed behind her and Sharif let her hand go. She wobbled a little in her heels. Why was she out of breath all of a sudden?

Feeling incredibly nervous, she started to babble. ‘I liked Nikos and Maggie. They’re genuinely in love, aren’t they?’

Sharif’s expression was stark. He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before and then he said, ‘I don’t know much about love—but I know about this.’

Liyah frowned. ‘About...?’

But her words were cut off when Sharif clamped his hands on her waist and pulled her into his body. All the air left her chest.

‘This marriage in name only is not working.’

The look in his eye was explicit. His body was hard. His heart hammered under her hands, which were splayed across his chest. Liyah opened her mouth and then shut it again. The flames of desire licked higher. But even as they did, and as she became aware of the full meaning behind Sharif’s declaration, she felt the need to resist.

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

‘I want my wife.’ He growled the words.

It took a second for her to absorb that fact. To acknowledge how badly she’d wanted him to want her. How much it had flayed her inside to think that one night had been enough for him.

Then it sank in. Stark. Unvarnished.

‘I want my wife.’

This was how he did it. No romance. He hadn’t even said I want you. She was a commodity to him. He just wanted to scratch an itch—she was no different from his other lovers. Maybe seeing his brother with his wife had made him realise that he was missing convenient sex in his convenient marriage.

That suspicion made something close down inside Liyah.

She took a step back, dislodging Sharif’s hands. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m prepared to renegogiate the parameters of this arrangement just because you want someone to warm your bed. I’m sure you have plenty of contacts you can call to alleviate your...urges.’

Deep inside, Liyah wondered what on earth she was saying. She was willingly pushing him into another

woman’s bed! But he’d never been hers in the first place. Not really. No matter how serendipitous or magical that night at the oasis had felt.

‘I told you—I don’t need any adverse press at this time.’ He took a step towards her.

Panic at his proximity and her own weakness made Liyah put out a hand as if to ward him off. Or grab him and bring him closer? teased a sly inner voice.

She dropped her hand. ‘So now I’m convenient not just for a marriage but also to scratch a physical itch?’

He took another step closer. His scent wrapped around her like a siren call. Woody and oriental. Infinitely seductive. She wanted to close her eyes, breathe him in until she was dizzy.

He made a sound like a strangled laugh. ‘Believe me, there’s nothing “convenient” about how you make me feel.’

Panic spiked. ‘I don’t mind if you want to take someone else to bed. I won’t say anything.’

He came closer, as if she hadn’t spoken. Liyah felt as if she was under water. His hands were opening his jacket that was still on her and pushing it apart, over her shoulders and down her arms. It fell to the floor at her feet with a muted swish of fabric.