Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)

Liyah said, ‘It’s so vibrant and full of life, but it can turn on you in an instant. I got caught in a sandstorm once—scariest experience of my life.’

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then Liyah said, ‘I know you said you took on your father’s business because it was your due, and your brothers’, and because you wanted to make something of it, but I can’t imagine it was easy to take over from a man you hated so much.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Sharif admitted. ‘I despised it at first. Because I despised him and anything he touched. I thought his business was a vacuous world, full of vain people. I thought it had no value. Until I had access to the accounts and saw the spreadsheets. At first it was very much a means to an end for me—rebuilding it. But over time, as I got to know more, I came to appreciate the industry. I think there’s a place for enduring brands in the world. And for fashion and art. We provide something aspirational. Inspirational. And I think we can do a lot of good in changing things for the better. In terms of the environment. Inclusivity. Diversity. Art and design and creativity is what civilises us. If that disappears, or becomes eroded, we lose something very valuable.’

Liyah stayed silent, willing Sharif to continue.

‘We had an intern in one of our offices from South Africa. He grew up in poverty in the townships. His mother cleaned in the big rich houses and she used to bring home copies of Vogue. For a young gay boy, who literally had nothing else, those magazines were a portal to another world, where he could fantasise about being someone else.’

Sharif looked at Liyah, and pride was visible on his face.

‘He won Men’s Designer of the Year at the fashion awards a few months ago.’

Liyah smiled. ‘I love that story.’

People started clapping and cheering inside.

‘We’re missing the announcement,’ she said. ‘We should go back in.’

But Sharif caught her hand and stopped her, pulling her towards him until they were touching. ‘I prefer it out here.’

‘Do you, now?’

‘Yes... I do.

He took off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, before tugging on it so that she came even closer. Surrounded by his smell and his body heat, Liyah cast aside all her concerns and gave herself up to the moment.

Because she knew that when the time came all she would have to remember would be moments like this.

Later that night—much later—when they returned to the apartment, to Sharif’s bedroom, Liyah wasn’t prepared for the urgency that gripped her as soon as Sharif put his hands on her face and tipped it up so he could kiss her.

She realised she’d been waiting for this moment all evening.

She was ravenous.

She scrabbled to undo his clothes as his hands moved over her body, undoing her dress, taking it off her. His kisses stole her sanity. She pulled back, dizzy, to see Sharif shed his clothes. A button popped. Liyah felt like giggling, but it was drowned out by the rush of blood to her head when she saw Sharif’s magnificent body bared.

He was like a warrior. And she wanted to honour him.

She dropped to her knees in front of him and heard his surprised huff of air. ‘Liyah, what are you—’

But she couldn’t resist that straining column of flesh. She wanted to taste him. The very essence of him. She wrapped her hand around him and heard him suck in a breath, whistling through his teeth.

He put his hands on her head, his fingers clamping tight as she inexpertly explored the thick, rigid flesh, running her tongue around the head before putting her mouth around him fully.

Sharif’s legs were shaking...his hands trembling. He didn’t recognise himself right now, having gone from civilised to carnal beast in about zero to ten seconds. It had taken all his restraint not to leave the party early, drag Liyah back to the apartment like some hormonal schoolboy.

He’d actually fantasised about her doing this, and now he was straining with the effort it took to keep his hips still.

Eventually it became too much. As much as he wanted to find oblivion in Liyah’s far too tempting mouth, he wanted to be buried deep inside her more. And that was a revelation he refused to look at now—usually this form of release suited him just fine, feeling like a lesser form of intimacy.

He pulled back and Liyah looked up at him, her eyes unfocused. Her hair was wild and tumbling over her shoulders, almost obscuring her breasts.

Sharif couldn’t even speak. He just pulled her up and lifted her, carrying her over to the bed before laying her down. He felt off-centre and, despite the clawing need to plunge deep and find satisfaction right now, he forced himself to go slow, to prove that he hadn’t lost it completely.

Liyah was still dizzy from the headiness of what she’d just done, from how it had felt and tasted to have him in her mouth. At her mercy. She’d felt the tension in his hips, the way his hands had trembled in her hair. But now he seemed intent on proving that any notion she might have that she had the upper hand was sadly misplaced.