Bride Behind The Desert Veil (The Marchetti Dynasty 3)
Sharif felt dizzy. He had met and slept with some of the world’s most beautiful women and not one had ever affected him like this. On a visceral, primal level. He knew that if he didn’t have this woman—
He couldn’t even finish that thought. He would have her. He had to.
Her thick, wild hair was wet, but he could see that it was already showing a tendency to curl again.
‘Where did you come from?’
A man not remotely prone to superstitions or fantasies, Sharif felt for the first time in his life as if the world around him wasn’t entirely...concrete.
‘I could ask the same of you.’
The fact that she sounded equally at a loss to explain this set of events was little comfort.
‘Does it matter?’
Sharif knew as soon as he asked it that it was a rhetorical question. They were here now. That was all that mattered.
She shook her head. ‘No, it doesn’t. Who we are doesn’t matter either.’
Sharif barely heard the thread of desperation in her voice. It was only afterwards that he would recall it. Long afterwards.
But right now he felt a weight lift off his chest and shoulders. For the first time since he could remember he was with someone who had no idea who he was. There was no preconception, no misconception, no judgement, no expectation.
‘Would you like something to eat?’
She blinked. ‘Yes...okay. I’d like that.’
Keeping hold of her hand, Sharif led the woman over to his tent.
The tent that was set up in the shelter of the trees was larger than Liyah had expected, but the man still had to duck his head a little to go in. He had to be six foot five at least. Tall enough to make her feel small. And she was used to towering over most people.
Men in particular seemed to find her height a provocation. But not this one. The way he’d looked at her so intently just now... Her heart hadn’t slowed down since she’d laid eyes on him.
Her eyes adjusted from the falling light outside to the golden glow of lots of candles. There was a table set up with food, and a place-setting for one. There was a bed in the corner, large and luxurious, with jewel-covered throws.
Liyah looked away quickly, suddenly ambushed by the memory of how it had felt to walk out of the water naked, with his dark gaze on her. She didn’t want him to see her looking at the bed. He’d already crossed about a dozen boundaries that, if her rational brain was working, she would never have allowed anyone to cross. Not to mention a complete stranger.
He let her hand go and went over to the chair and pulled it out. ‘Please...sit down.’
Liyah looked around. ‘There’s only one chair.’
‘I’ll find something. Please.’
It was so surreal that Liyah did as he bade, moving around the table to sit down. She felt him behind her, his hands close to her shoulders. Her hair was still damp. Heavy. It was too long, too unruly, but every time she got frustrated and determined to cut it she would think of the pictures she had of her mother, with the same long hair, and she’d lose the will to let it go.
Any memory or connection with her mother was so tenuous. And precious.
The man had disappeared behind a screen that presumably hid the washing area. And now he reappeared, taking Liyah’s breath away with his sheer physicality.
He had put on a plain white T-shirt and it made his dark olive skin look even darker. It highlighted the musculature of his chest, somehow mak
ing it more provocative than if he’d still been bare.
He put down a wooden stool on the opposite side of the table. For the first time she could look at him up close in the light and she was mesmerised.
He was breathtaking. His face was lean and sculpted, the low flickering candlelight casting shadows and making his skin gleam like burnished bronze. Hard jaw defined by stubble. Nose like a blade. Deep-set dark eyes. Fathomless.
His mouth was as strong as the rest of him, but wide. His lips were full, more than hinting at a sensual nature—as if Liyah hadn’t noticed that as soon as she’d seen him. He oozed a sexual magnetism that had stunned her as effectively as if he’d shot her with a dart from a gun.