Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3) by Abby Green (pride and prejudice read .TXT) 📗

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...

Liyah went hot and cold at the same time at the thought of constantly being exposed in her desire for him.

Sharif’s mouth straightened. ‘Please accept my apologies. In future I will ask your permission first.’

Liyah was sorry she’d said a word now. Sharif Marchetti, also known as Sheikh Sharif Bin Noor al Nazar, was not a man who asked permission for anything. He demanded and people acquiesced. As she’d acquiesced all too easily.

Struggling to maintain a modicum of dignity, Liyah tipped up her chin. ‘I’m quite tired now. I’m going to bed.’

‘Goodnight, Liyah.’

She turned, and walked away as gracefully as she could, aware of Sharif’s eyes boring into her back.

He was probably still laughing at her.

Sharif watched Liyah walk away, his gaze drawn helplessly to the sway of her hips. The smooth expanse of her skin above the neckline of the dress. Her bare shoulders.

She’d certainly proved to be a complementary foil this evening. If she kept it up like that she would be the perfectly convenient wife he’d wanted.

If it wasn’t for the irritating fact that you want her so badly you had to kiss her on the street like a crass boy.

Sharif ignored the inner voice and focused on the niggle of disquiet that told him a society party girl didn’t change her spots so easily.

Your brother Nikos did.

He ignored that reminder too. His brother had been one of the world’s most notorious playboys until he’d met his wife Maggie and then a year later had discovered he had a son. But, as Sharif liked to goad him all the time, he was sure it was only a temporary state of affairs before Nikos realised what he was missing and went back to his old ways.

After all, they were both their father’s sons, and their father hadn’t had a committed bone in his body. Unless you counted his commitment to fleecing his wives and using their money to build up the company...

But in the end their father hadn’t even had the commitment to further his own ambitions—had become drunk and corrupt on success, wealth and status. He’d died in the arms of his latest lover, any reputation he’d built up shot to pieces. And that was when Sharif had realised the extent of his father’s betrayal.

He hadn’t stolen from his mother and effectively killed her for the good of anything. He had done it only to satiate his intense greed and to prove that disinheriting him had been a mistake.

Domenico Marchetti had never got over the fact that he’d been passed over in his father’s will for his younger brother. Sharif’s father had arrogantly assumed he’d inherit, even though he’d put no time or effort into the modest family business, but it had been left to his brother instead.

Part of Domenico’s bid for power had included getting revenge on his brother by ruining the business. His own family’s inheritance. Sharif even had a memory of his uncle—a broken man—coming to Domenico, begging for help, for mercy. Sharif’s father had slapped him across the face and thrown him out on the street.

Sharif shoved aside the unwelcome rush of memories. Liyah might have been a compliant foil this evening, but she was probably just lulling him into a false sense of security before she displayed her true colours again and reverted to type.

And that would not happen. Not while she was his wife.

CHAPTER SIX

‘SHE’S WHERE?’

Sharif stood up from the boardroom table and a dozen faces turned towards him