Sharif’s blood leapt. He’d make her pay for that. He put his phone away, the smile still on his face.
The past three weeks had been...interesting. He’d had a few events to attend, accompanied by Liyah, and he’d found that as she’d grown more comfortable in his milieu she’d become quite happy to talk to people and not depend on him. If anything, he was the one looking for her now, and he didn’t like how used he’d got to having her by his side.
He’d found her in a corner the other evening, talking to a septugenarian professor in Arabic about Taraq.
And one day, at the end of the working day—for normal people—she’d appeared in his
office with tickets that she’d bought for a sold-out Broadway show. At first he’d been inclined to refuse, aware that he had enough work to keep him there for hours. But Liyah had looked so crestfallen that he hadn’t had the heart to say no.
Sharif couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone to a show that hadn’t been a premiere, or part of a gala night. It had been revelatory...how such a regular thing could be so enjoyable. Although in truth he’d got more enjoyment out of watching Liyah enjoy the show. Wearing those glasses that made her look like a sexy academic.
And now he was going home—early, for him—because all day he hadn’t been able to get the image of how she’d looked that morning out of his head. Sleepy and sexy. Hair in a wild tangle around her head.
She’d not slept in her own room since they’d returned from London. She shared his room. Which he’d never done with any woman. But he found that he liked seeing her things strewn around the space. Her creams and lotions in the bathroom. Her scent in the air...
He scowled again. He was definitely losing it. The sooner her allure started to fade—as he was sure it would—the better. It was coming closer and closer to the time when he would make the announcement about selling off the Marchetti Group, and he was aware that he was using Liyah as a distraction to avoid thinking about his brothers.
The car pulled up outside the apartment building and Sharif felt his anticipation build as he got nearer to the apartment door. This was also a novelty. Having someone waiting for him. Welcoming him. He’d always been so careful to keep women out of his private space before.
But not Liyah.
As soon as he walked through the door smells assailed him. Smells of Al-Murja. The desert.
He shucked off his jacket and loosened his tie. Explored the apartment, following the smells to the kitchen. He was prepared to see his chef—but it wasn’t his chef. It was Liyah. She was wearing jeans and a loose shirt. Bare feet. Hair up in a loose knot.
She was listening to jazz, humming to herself. And the smell of the food made Sharif’s mouth water. He smelled spices and lemon. Chicken... Lamb?
He knew he should resist this vision of domesticity. It wasn’t what he’d signed up for with this marriage. But it was more seductive than he liked to admit...
Liyah sensed Sharif and whirled around to see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Tie undone, shirt open at the top. Stubbled jaw. Her belly dipped and swooped. Her heart hitched. She felt shy. Which was ridiculous after what they’d done the previous night.
‘Hi.’
‘You’re cooking.’
Liyah smiled. ‘I can see why you’re CEO—your powers of observation are truly impressive.’
Sharif made a face. He came in, nose twitching. ‘What are you cooking?’
‘I have a couscous, cherry tomato and herb salad. Lamb and pistachio patties. Harissa chicken. Hummus. Flatbread. Here.’
She handed him some flatbread and hummus. He tasted it.
‘That’s good. Really good. Where did you learn to cook?’
‘I taught myself when I was at university. I felt homesick for Taraq and I found that cooking meals that reminded me of home helped.’
Sharif said, ‘I’ll have a quick shower and join you.’
Liyah looked at him. ‘You’re so sure you’re invited?’
Sharif came around the ktichen island and pulled her close, covering her mouth with his. She felt the inevitable spark leap to life between them.
Still there. Not gone yet.
With every kiss now, every night of making love, Liyah was more aware that sooner or later there would come a time when Sharif wouldn’t look at her in quite the same way. Wouldn’t want her with the same desperation she felt.
He let her go and walked out of the room, leaving Liyah dazed and hungry. And, annoyingly, not for the delicious food she’d made.