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

electric frisson sizzled up his spine. Her eyes widened as if she felt it too. The buttons at the front of her dress were fastened just low enough for him to see the curve of her breasts, the V in her cleavage.

It was an effort to drag his gaze up and see that Liyah was speaking.

‘Martine was telling me that it’s taken six months to make this dress.’

Sharif tore his gaze off Liyah and smiled at the woman. ‘Your work, as always, is sublime, Martine.’

The woman went even pinker now.

He took Liyah’s hand and the hungry beast inside him seemed to calm somewhat. A niggling observation he chose not to investigate.

Just as he was bringing her back to where he’d been talking with the design team at the house, the head designer appeared in their path.

He exclaimed dramatically, ‘Who is this creature?’ while looking at Liyah.

Sharif felt his hackles rise—which seemed to happen a lot lately, whenever someone looked at Liyah. ‘This is my wife, Liyah.’

‘You are exquisite.’

The man walked around her, looking her up and down. She looked slightly bemused. Then he introduced himself to Liyah and took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and bowing theatrically.

Liyah smiled at the dramatics.

Sharif’s hackles went even higher.

The designer looked at Sharif. ‘I have been looking for the right person to try on one of my newest designs and now I’ve met her. Please can I borrow your wife for ten minutes?’

Sharif wanted to growl at the man. No. But he knew he was being totally irrational. The designer was paying Liyah a huge compliment, and he would look petty if he refused.

‘Of course.’ He turned to Liyah. ‘If you don’t mind?’

She looked a little uncertain, but she shrugged. ‘Not at all—if it’ll fit?’

The designer looked excited as he grabbed Liyah’s hand and pulled her away from Sharif. He said, ‘Oh, it’ll fit—I know it will. And you will look fabulous. Then all we have to do is convince your husband to let you wear it in public.’

The first thing that erupted into Sharif’s head when Liyah emerged from behind a curtain some twenty minutes or so later was that there was no way in hell she would ever appear in public wearing the most provocative outfit he’d ever seen.

It was moulded to every dip, hollow and curve of her body. Being round-necked and long-sleeved didn’t make it any more demure.

The designer stood beside him and said in an awed voice, ‘Have you ever seen anything more perfect?’

Sharif got out a strangled, ‘What is it?’

‘A sequinned zebra print catsuit.’

Liyah looked like a feline goddess. Even the fact that she didn’t have the confidence of a model couldn’t detract from the overall look.

Sharif’s phone rang at that moment and he picked it out of his pocket, actually relieved that he had a moment’s distraction from the vision in front of him. It was his chief strategic advisor, reminding him of an invitation to go to the opening of a new nightclub in Paris that evening.

Sharif had dismissed the invitation originally, because he loathed nightclubs. But his advisor was saying now, ‘I know you don’t usually go to events like this, but the club is owned by Felipe Sanchez—who we both know is worth keeping an eye on because he’s starting to encroach on our territory...buying up designer labels and luxury brands that are outside our sphere of interest. But, as we know well, today’s undesirable brand could become tomorrow’s behemoth. We need to keep an eye on him. If you went to the opening, perhaps your presence...and your wife’s...would eclipse some of Felipe’s bid to grab publicity. I don’t think I need to tell you that Princess Aaliyah is attracting a lot of press attention. They want more of her...’

As much as Sharif hated the notion of doing anything in response to someone else’s provocation, he knew his advisor was right. The last thing he needed was a rival upsetting his plans before he was ready to unveil them to the world. And, as much as he didn’t want anyone else to see Liyah as she was right now, he knew that if she appeared in public in this outfit, on his arm, an eclipse would be guaranteed.

If not a nucelar meltdown...

That evening, central Paris

Liyah was naked in public. Well, not literally naked. But she felt naked—because she was so far out of her comfort zone that it was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

She was wearing the catsuit she’d tried on earlier in the atelier and the material was gossamer-light, heightening her feeling of being exposed. She and Sharif had just stepped out of his car. Before them lay a red carpet, populated by well-known faces from the music world, actors and actresses... And at the other end of the carpet were the glittering lights of the newly opened nightclub. The pounding drum and bass of the music could be felt even from here.

Up till now, attending an event with Sharif had been a sophisticated and elegant affair. Tonight was something very different. Edgier, younger. Sharif wore a plain black suit and a black shirt, unbuttoned. Liyah saw a girl walk past wearing what looked like two slivers of silver lamé held together by pins.

Suddenly she didn’t feel so naked, and when Sharif took her hand and said, ‘Okay?’ she looked at him and nodded, aware that for the first time she wanted to please him.

When he’d asked if she’d mind wearing this outfit to an event this evening, her first instinct had been to say No way. It was the kind of thing she would never wear in a million years. It had been one thing to try it on for the designer—but another entirely to wear it publicly, as if this was the kind of outfit, or event she took in her stride. When underneath it all, in spite of her metamorphosis over the last few whirlwind weeks, she was still just a