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

He sat down on a chair near hers and picked up her book from where she’d put it down. A weighty tome on the history of New York.

She said, a little defensively, ‘I wanted to read up about the city.’

Sharif put the book down. ‘Perfectly commendable.’ Although annoyingly inconsistent with the kind of person he thought she was. Right now she looked about as far removed from a partying socialite as it was possible to get.

Sharif made a mental note to get his team to make a more thorough investigation into what she’d been doing in Europe, suddenly suspicious as to why she was behaving so differently.

‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Paul, the chef, made me a delicious beef stew. There’s loads left over if you’re hungry.’

A pang caught Sharif unexpectedly in the chest. No one had ever worried about saving him food before.

He shook his head. ‘I had take-out in the office.’

Liyah made a face. ‘That’s not very healthy.’

Sharif smiled mockingly. ‘Concerned for my welfare, Liyah? I told you—I don’t need a wife, except on paper.’

Those mesmerising green eyes sparked and narrowed. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t concern myself with your wellbeing again.’

Sharif cursed himself for goading her. Before he did something he’d regret, he stood up and put his hands in his pockets. ‘You should go to bed, Liyah, it’s late. And we’re going to be taking a flight to Paris tomorrow night.’

Liyah was still trying to control her heart, which had been racing since she’d seen Sharif in the doorway, looking sexily dishevelled. Jaw stubbled. He loomed over her now, and she scrambled up from the chair and moved to the window, putting some distance between them.

Whenever he was around it felt hard to breathe.

She felt prickly—because she’d been unprepared to see him again, even after a day apart. Not prickly because she’d felt a little abandoned. She didn’t like the sensation that she was in control of so little. Not helped by Sharif’s effect on her.

‘I have no objection to going to Paris, but a bit of forewarning would be nice.’

A muscle in Sharif’s jaw pulsed. But he said equably, ‘I’ll arrange for my assistant to forward you my schedule, so you know what’s coming up.’

‘Thank you.’ Now she felt as if she was overreacting.

Sharif shrugged minutely. ‘No problem. I should have thought of it before now.’

‘What’s happening in Paris?’

‘Some meetings with my brother and our team there, and there’s an event to attend.’

‘What kind of event?’

‘A charity ball.’ Sharif glanced at his watch. ‘I have some more work to do this evening. The stylist will come tomorrow to make sure you have all you need for the trip.’

Liyah felt a spurt of relief that she wouldn’t have to figure it out herself, but at the same time she felt indignation that he didn’t trust her to pack the right things.

He turned and left the room, and Liyah’s eyes were drawn helplessly to his fluid grace. All that taut energy. She turned around, disgusted with herself, and then groaned when she saw her reflection in the darkened window.

She imagined how Sharif had seen her just now. Hair piled up. Leisurewear. No make-up. Wearing glasses, reading a book. It was no wonder he didn’t desire her any more. And that was fine with her.

Just fine.

Paris

‘You like to be high up, don’t you?’

Liyah couldn’t keep the amused tone from her voice as she looked around Sharif’s Paris apartment. It was on the top floor of a stunning nineteenth-century building, with views from almost every window of the Eiffel Tower in the near distance. It had a terrace and an elegantly modern interior design.

‘I appreciate a good view.’

Liyah turned around to face him. ‘Yes, but how often do you actually look at it?’

‘Has anyone ever told you that you ask a lot of questions?’

Liyah blanched as a nanny’s voice came back into her head. ‘Always with the questions, Aaliyah. No one wants a princess who asks too many questions for a wife.’

She’d been about six, and even at that young age she’d decided that if she couldn’t ask questions then she didn’t want to be a princess, or anyone’s wife.

‘What is it?’ Sharif’s voice was sharp.

Liyah shook her head. ‘Nothing—just a moment of déja-vu.’

He looked at his watch. ‘I’m afraid I have to go straight to the office, but I’ll take you to lunch in a few hours. You should get some rest.’

Liyah had slept on the plane—an overnight flight, bringing them into Paris early in the morning. She’d noticed that Sharif hadn’t slept. He’d been on his laptop or his phone the whole time. He evidently didn’t need sleep, like mere mortals.

‘I’m okay. Actually, I might take a walk around...stretch my legs.’

Sharif shrugged. ‘Whatever you want. One of the security team will go with you.’

Liyah opened her mouth to object, but shut it again when she saw the look on Sharif’s face. It wasn’t worth arguing. Even though she came from a royal family, they’d never been important or rich enough to merit serious protection. But she was at another level now.

He left the apartment, and after Liyah had freshened up she explored a little more, finding a media room and a gym with a lap pool. It looked very inviting, but she wanted to get out into the fresh air and see Paris again. It was one of her favourite cities.

She bundled up against the cool late winter breeze and set out to the Eiffel Tower, which was further away than she’d thought. An optical illusion.

When she reached it, she stood in the plaza among lots of other tourists milling around, and looked up at the majestic structure. Paris had been the first foreign city she’d visited after London, and she’d adored wandering around, getting lost in the arrondissements, sitting in cafés and lingering over coffee, watching the world go by.

You were lonely, though.

Liyah pushed the voice aside. Not lonely. Independent. Happy.

She saw her security man a few feet away,