The Sheikh's Untamed Bride. Jackie Braun

sheets, with a thick cover for cold desert nights.

      It was idyllic.

      It was—Layla swallowed hard—it was romantic.

      Someone had laid food on a low table near to the door, but Layla wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t even think about food after everything that had happened. Did Nadia really hate her so much she would want her dead? And what had Raz said to her that had caused her such distress?

      Feeling sick from nerves and oasis water, she pulled on the clothes and sank onto the cushions.

      Despite worry about Nadia, and anxiety for her sister, her mind was dominated by thoughts of the night ahead.

      She would have spent the day reading, but her books had been left behind at the first camp so she had nothing but her imagination to occupy her time, and by the time Raz finally appeared she was so worked up she jumped out of her skin.

      ‘You startled me.’

      His gaze rested on the untouched food and a faint frown touched his forehead. ‘You haven’t touched the food. Are you unwell after the incident earlier?’

      ‘No. I just wasn’t hungry.’

      ‘If you do not eat you will make yourself ill.’

      She didn’t tell him that she already felt ill. That nerves had created an uncomfortable lump in her stomach, leaving no room for food. ‘I won’t be ill. I’m very fit.’

      ‘But you can’t swim?’

      ‘There is nowhere to swim in the palace so I’ve never had opportunity.’

      ‘Then that’s something we must fix.’ A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. ‘Swimming in the oasis is one of life’s pleasures.’

      Her heart was pumping so fast she worried she was going to pass out, and when he took her hand and drew her towards him she stopped breathing.

      ‘I am sorry for what happened to you.’

      ‘Is Nadia—?’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about Nadia. She has no relevance to what is happening between us and I’ve dealt with her. Now you need to relax.’ His voice soft, he smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘You are very tense and there is no need to be.’

      Behind him, through the crack in the tent, she could see the sun turning dark red as it set and it shocked her because she hadn’t realised it was so late.

      ‘I’m not tense.’

      ‘Yes, you are, and that is hardly surprising.’ His fingers lingered in her hair. ‘This is not how you dreamed your wedding night would be, I’m sure.’

      ‘I never dreamed about it. I’m not a dreamy person, Your Highness.’

      ‘Raz.’ He let a strand of her hair twist itself around his fingers, frowning as she flinched away from him. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of me.’

      It wasn’t fear that made her stomach cramp, but she wasn’t sure what it was because it was a feeling she didn’t recognise.

      All she knew was that she’d never felt more uncomfortable in her life. He clearly thought she’d spent her formative years dreaming of weddings and happy endings whereas nothing could have been further from the truth.

      ‘I am not a romantic person,’ she reminded him. ‘I thought I’d made that clear. I hope that won’t be a problem. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.’

      What if he did?

      Perhaps he was expecting her to fall instantly in love with him and she knew that was never going to happen.

      The heat in the tent was stifling and he was standing close to her. So close she could feel the heat and power of him. The breath was locked in her throat and Layla had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Was he expecting her to kiss him? Was he supposed to go first or was she? Both together?

      Layla desperately wished she’d had time to study the various options.

      She wished she’d read that book long before now, instead of grabbing it as an afterthought on the run from the palace and her old life.

      The gaps in her knowledge were glaringly obvious. For a start, she was confused by how long he’d stood there just looking at her. She’d assumed it would all be over quickly. Instead he seemed to be taking his time. His hand had migrated from her hair to her cheek and the slow, exploratory stroke of his fingers unsettled her.

      Her tummy tightened into a knot and her pulse leaped and pounded.

      She wanted to look away but his gaze drew her to him, holding her eyes with his. And then his eyes flickered to her mouth and that made her feel strange, too. As did his next words.

      ‘So what did you dream about when you were growing up in the palace?’

      How was she supposed to answer that? Every day had been focused on survival. On protecting her sister. ‘I didn’t really dream. I prefer to focus on things that are real. Tangible.’

      ‘You had no wish for the future?’

      ‘If I did then it was a hope that the future would be better than the present.’ She saw him frown slightly and felt his thumb slide slowly over the line of her jaw.

      ‘The present was hard for you?’

      What could she say? However hard it had been for her, she knew it must have been so much harder for him. He’d lost his father and the woman he’d loved. ‘I had my sister.’

      A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re being evasive, but I’ll overlook it for now because the past has no place in our bedroom.’

      Our bedroom.

      Her heart was pounding furiously and she found herself trapped by his dark gaze as he slid his hands into her hair and tilted her face to his.

      ‘If I do anything you don’t like you must tell me,’ he breathed.

      She’d just had time to think that was a very strange thing to say, because she had no expectation of liking any of it, when he lowered his head.

      Anticipation held her rigid.

      That sensuously curved mouth hovered close to hers, prolonging the moment of contact. Just as Layla was beginning to wonder whether there was a reason he was taking so long, whether there was something she was supposed to be doing that she wasn’t, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.

      The gentleness threw her. Braced for something quite different, she found the slow, deliberate movement of his lips on hers shocking. Equally unexpected was the sudden tightening of her stomach and the warmth that rushed through her body and into her limbs. The feelings intensified but still his mouth moved over hers while his hands, buried in her hair, held her head trapped.

      She felt his tongue trace the seam of her mouth, teasing, coaxing, and she parted her lips, shocked to feel his tongue delve into her mouth.

      Something—nerves?—made her shaky? and she closed her hands over his arms to steady herself, her fingers moving over the solid muscle of his biceps. His physical power was undeniable, and she remembered the way he’d controlled the stallion and lifted her out of the pool. But he used that strength lightly now, his hands gentle as he smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her mouth, all the time watching her through slumbrous dark eyes that made her aware of every part of herself.

      Layla had never felt anything like this before, and she felt a flash of panic because she was a person who liked to understand things and rationalise them. But there was no understanding the searing heat that shot through her body and pooled low in her belly.

      Releasing her head, he curved one arm around her back, slid the other around her waist and pulled her into him. She felt the strength and power of his thighs and the hardness of him. Pressed against the evidence of his masculinity, she discovered that the