Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3) by Abby Green (free e reader .TXT) 📕

like to affect this act of faux innocence and naivety. What I do care about is that you do not repeat that behaviour while you are married to me. Luckily the pictures didn’t get picked up by the wider gossip sites. And we’re going to keep it that way. You won’t be hooking up with any of your Eurotrash party friends while you’re with me.’

Liyah felt sick. She could see the pictures in her mind’s eye. Lolling on the deck of a massive yacht in the sparkling Mediterranean Sea drinking champagne. Falling out of famous nightclubs being held up by so-called friends. Shopping in the most famous shops and streets of Spain, Italy, Paris... You name it, she’d been there.

Except she hadn’t.

Because the girl in those pictures hadn’t been her.

The words to try and explain this to Sharif trembled on her tongue, but he was like a stone. Disgusted. Disapproving. And a need to protect herself rose up. She would only be with this man for a year at the most. He didn’t deserve to know the real her—the woman far removed from those pictures.

And how could she defend herself when his first impression of her had been the wanton woman he’d met at the oasis, who had shown no hesitation in jumping into bed with a complete stranger? No wonder he believed the worst.

She forced the emotion out of her voice. ‘You can rest assured that I won’t be a liability while we’re married.’

Thomas appeared in the doorway at that moment, with perfect timing, to announce dinner.

Liyah preceded Sharif out of the room and tried not to feel like a chastened child. But it was hard when she wanted to stamp her feet and tell him that he had it all wrong. The injustice made her breathless, but she felt a stronger need not to let him see the soft, vulnerable part of her that very few had ever seen.

To Liyah’s relief, Sharif hadn’t brought up those lurid paparazzi shots again over their deliciously cooked dinner of tender chicken and rice infused with herbs and spices. But it appeared that he wasn’t prepared to let everything go.

He leant back now, a nearly empty wine glass in his hand, and looked at her. ‘I believed that someone must have hurt you, but if anything it’s more likely to have been the other way around. Who was he?’

Liyah kept her face expressionless, even as she sucked in a breath at the barb. He thought she’d been acting the whole time. Feigning her reticence and lack of experience.

An image came into her head. A young man—her age. Tall, handsome. Cheeky smile. Charming. Intelligent. How easily he’d swept her off her feet and made her believe that he was truly interested in her. How easily she’d let him breach barriers she’d never allowed anyone else to, so self-protective and distrustful.

But when she’d first arrived in Europe a couple of years ago she’d been hungry to experience this new world and be a modern, independent woman. So one night she’d allowed him the ultimate intimacy.

She hadn’t told him she was a virgin, too embarrassed and shy, and eager to relieve herself of the burden of innocence. But when she’d tensed at the unexpected pain on penetration he’d stopped, a horrified look on his face, clearly not expecting a fellow university student of twenty-two to still be a virgin.

For a moment she’d thought he’d force himself on her, but he’d jumped up and hurled a string of profane insults instead. And then she’d discovered that she was the butt of a random drunken bet between him and his friends to see how quickly he could get her into bed. Apparently he’d won his bet.

After that Liyah could remember covering up with tomboyish clothes. Tying her hair back. Wearing her glasses all the time. Diminishing herself as much as possible to avoid sticking out on the university campus. Drawing attention.

And yet Sharif had just had to look at her and she’d forgotten the painful lessons she’d learnt in a heartbeat. Sheer instinct had overridden every rational bone in her body, proving that there was still a shameful hunger inside her, ready to expose her weakness for connection and intimacy at all costs. She’d learnt nothing. And this man wasn’t about to believe what she had to say in her defence. So she would protect herself by playing to his low regard of her.

She pushed the hurt down and lifted her chin. ‘He was nobody. I don’t even remember his name.’

‘I almost feel sorry for him.’

‘He really doesn’t need your sympathy,’ Liyah forced out. Seeking desperately to get the focus off her, and ruffle Sharif’s irritatingly judgemental and cool demeanour, she said, ‘Considering our experience of each other, and the fact that this is a marriage in name only, will you be discreet?’

Sharif’s gaze narrowed on her. Liyah’s face grew hot.

He said, ‘Taking lovers and causing headlines is the absolute antithesis of what I’m aiming to achieve by marrying you. I’ve got more important things to worry about.’

‘Like what, exactly? Why is it so important to you to have a wife right now, when clearly it’s not something you relish?’

Sharif looked at Liyah. Her cheeks had darkened with colour. Her eyes were flashing and he could see her chest moving up and down. She was agitated. Because he’d caught her out? Because he was setting parameters? Whatever the reason, it was having an incendiary effect on his blood and he had to shift discreetly in his seat.

He had to focus on what she’d asked. His first instinct was to give her some platitude, but something stopped him. He’d never been in this situation before, with a woman who was ostensibly going to be by his side for the foreseeable future. The longest liasion he’d ever had had lasted about two weeks.

‘I’m at a crucial juncture in the development of the Marchetti Group and having a wife by my side will take me—us—to the