Sheikh's Convenient Marriage. Кейт Хьюит

ring as he joined her on the back seat. Suddenly, she imagined what her life might have been like if Gabe had refused to marry her, as he could so easily have done. She imagined her brother’s fury and her country’s sense of shame and she felt a stab of gratitude towards the Englishman with the hard body and the dark golden hair.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

      ‘For what?’

      ‘Oh, you know.’ She kept her voice light. ‘For saving me from a life of certain ruin—that sort of thing.’

      He gave a short laugh. ‘I did it because I had to. No other reason. Don’t start thinking of me as some benign saviour with nothing but noble intentions in his heart. Because that man does not exist. I’m a cold-hearted bastard, Leila—or so your sex have been telling me all my adult life. And since that is unlikely to change, it’s better that I put you straight right from the start. The truth might hurt, but sometimes it’s a kinder pain than telling lies. Do you understand?’

      ‘Sure,’ said Leila, her voice studiedly cool as her fingers dug into the wedding bouquet which she would have liked to squash against his cold and impassive face. Couldn’t the truth have waited for another day? Couldn’t he have allowed her one day of fantasy before the harshness of reality hit them? But men only did that kind of mushy stuff in films. Never in real life.

      ‘But understand something else,’ he added softly. ‘That my lack of emotion does not affect my desire for you. I have thought of nothing else but you and although I badly want to kiss you, you’ll have to wait a little while longer. Because while I’m fairly confident the press haven’t got hold of this story, I can’t guarantee that the paparazzi aren’t lying in wait outside my apartment. And we don’t want them picturing you getting out of the car looking completely ravaged, do we, my beautiful blue-eyed princess?’

      ‘We certainly don’t,’ said Leila, still reeling from his cold character assessment—followed by those contrasting heated words of desire.

      But there were no paparazzi outside the apartment—just the porter who’d been sitting behind the desk the first time she’d been here and who now smiled as they walked into the foyer.

      ‘Congratulations, Mr Steel,’ the man said, with the tone of someone who realised that normal deference could be relaxed on such a day. ‘Aren’t you going to carry the lady over the threshold?’

      Gabe gave a ghost of a smile as he stared down into Leila’s eyes. ‘My wife doesn’t like heights,’ he said. ‘Do you, darling?’

      ‘Oh, I absolutely loathe them,’ she said without a flicker of reaction.

      But irrationally, she felt a stab of disappointment as they rode upstairs in the elevator. Despite what he’d said in the car, it wouldn’t have hurt him to play the part of adoring groom in front of the porter, would it? They said that men fantasised about sex—well, didn’t he realise that women did the same thing about weddings, no matter how foolish that might be?

      ‘Why are you frowning?’ he questioned as the door of his apartment swung silently shut behind them.

      ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

      Tilting her chin with his finger, he put her eyes on a collision course with his. ‘Try me.’

      She tried all right. She tried to ignore the sizzle of her skin as he touched her, but it was impossible. Even that featherlight brush of his finger on her chin was distracting. Everything about him was distracting. Yet his grey eyes were curious—as if he was genuinely interested in her reasons. And wasn’t that as good a start as any to this bizarre marriage?

      So start by telling him what it is you want. He has just advocated the use of truth, so tell him. Tell him the truth. She held his gaze. ‘If you must know, I quite liked the idea of being carried over the threshold.’

      Dark eyebrows arched. ‘I thought you might find it hypocritical under the circumstances.’

      ‘Maybe it is.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been carried anywhere before—well, presumably I was, as a baby. But not as an adult and never by a man. And this might be the only stab at it I get.’

      ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. He took the bouquet from her hand and placed it on a nearby table. ‘Would carrying you to bed compensate for my shocking omission as a bridegroom?’

      She met the glitter of his eyes and excitement began to whisper over her skin. He was flirting with her, she realised. And maybe she ought to flirt right back. ‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully. ‘We could try it out and see.’

      He gave a flicker of a smile as he bent and slid one arm under her knees, picking her up with an ease which didn’t surprise her. Leila might have been tall for a woman but Gabe made her feel tiny. He made her feel all soft and yearning. He made her feel things she had no right to feel. Her arms fastened themselves around his neck as he carried her along a long, curving corridor into his bedroom.

      She’d only been in here once before to unpack her clothes and find a home for her shoes. But then, as now—she had been slightly overwhelmed by the essential masculinity of the room. A vast bed was the centrepiece—and everything else seemed to be concealed. Wardrobes and drawers were tucked away out of sight, and she could see why. Any kind of clutter would have detracted from the floor-to-ceiling windows which commanded such a spectacular view over the river.

      She tried to imagine bringing a baby into this stark environment and felt curiously exposed as he set her down on her gleaming wedding shoes.

      ‘Won’t we...be seen?’ she questioned, her gaze darting over his shoulder as he began to unfasten her dress.

      ‘The windows are made specially so that people can’t see in from the outside,’ he murmured. ‘Like car windows. So there’s no need to worry.’

      But Leila had plenty to worry about. The first time they’d done this, there had been no time to think. This time around and she’d done nothing but think. How many women had stood where she had stood? Women who were far more experienced than she was. Who would have known where to touch him and how to please him.

      His fingers had loosened some of the fastenings, and the dress slid down to her waist, leaving her torso bare. She felt exposed. And vulnerable. He bent his head to kiss her shoulder, but she couldn’t help stiffening as he traced the tip of his tongue along the arrowing bone.

      He drew his head away from her and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘I don’t know. This feels so...’ Awkwardly, her words trailed off. She could pretend that nothing was wrong but she remembered what he’d said in the car. That the truth could hurt, but lies could hurt even more. And if she kept piling on layer after layer of fake stuff, her life would be reduced to one big falsehood. In a marriage such as theirs—wasn’t the truth the only way to safeguard her sanity? ‘So cold-blooded,’ she said.

      ‘You’re nervous?’

      ‘I guess so.’

      ‘You weren’t nervous last time.’

      ‘I know.’ She licked her lips. ‘But last time felt different.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘Because we weren’t thinking or analysing. There was no big agenda. No frightening future yawning ahead of us. It just...happened. Almost like it was meant to happen.’

      For a moment she wondered if she’d said too much. Whether that final sentence had sounded like the hopeless yearning of an impressionable young woman. The truth was all very well, but she didn’t want to come over as needy.

      He stroked his hand down over her cheek and moved it round to her neck. His grey eyes narrowed and then suddenly he dug his fingers into her hair and brought his mouth down on hers in a crushing kiss.

      It was the kiss which changed everything. The kiss which ignited the fire. All the pent-up emotion she’d kept inside for weeks was now set free. And suddenly