The Sheikh's Untamed Bride. Jackie Braun

of being dropped to the ground for the second time in one day, Layla gripped his shoulders and her fingers dug into an unyielding layer of solid muscle.

      In her day-to-day life at the palace she didn’t encounter men like him. Her father had surrounded himself with men like Hassan: men whose flesh was softened from inactivity, sycophants whose purpose in life was to indulge to the fullest.

      She doubted Raz Al Zahki had ever overindulged in his life. He was lean, athletic, super-fit—and dangerous in every way.

      As she turned her head, her eyes met the fierce black of his. Curiosity turned to fascination. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, now terrifyingly close to hers. Hassan’s mouth was full and fleshy, but this man’s lips were firm and perfectly shaped. His face was beauty blended with hardness. Hardness in the savage slash of his cheekbones and the lean line of his darkened jaw. Hardness in the grim set of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. And that hardness gave him an edge of danger. Even she, with no expertise or interest in men, could see why women might describe him as spectacularly handsome.

      Something tightened deep in her stomach. Heat washed across her skin and poured through her veins.

      They stared at each other and then his mouth compressed. He strode across the tent and lowered her onto the silken cover draped over the large bed, standing over her, powerful and imposing in every way.

      ‘Where does it hurt? Explain your injuries.’

      That curt command jolted her out of her dreamy state of contemplation.

      Layla told herself there was no reason to feel intimidated. He couldn’t help his height. He couldn’t help his powerful build. And she could hardly blame him for not smiling in the circumstances.

      He’d asked about her injuries.

      All the talk of romance and emotions had stressed her beyond belief, so the practical nature of his question soothed her. She preferred the definable to the indefinable and her injuries were definitely definable.

      ‘I ache all over, but particularly my legs, my back and my arms. I suspect it’s a mixture of stiffness from unaccustomed muscle use and bruising from the fall. Based on the symptoms, I don’t believe anything is broken.’

      His eyes gleamed with irony. ‘Presumably you have studied medical texts along with Aristotle and the Kama Sutra? Your reading matter is diverse, Princess.’

      She didn’t tell him she hadn’t even started the Kama Sutra. ‘I read a lot.’

      ‘You read. Your sister talks.’ He studied her for several long and deeply unsettling minutes. ‘Take the robe off.’

      ‘What?’ Feeling like a tiny mouse in the sights of a predatory eagle, Layla stared at him. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I want to assess the state of your injuries for myself.’

      ‘I don’t have any injuries,’ she said quickly. ‘Truly, it’s just muscular. Superficial. Nothing for you to worry about but I appreciate your concern.’ She’d been desperate to be out of the robes, but now she was equally desperate to keep them on. The thought of removing them in front of this man unsettled her.

      With a sigh he sat down on the bed, his thigh brushing briefly against hers. ‘You say you want marriage and yet you’re afraid even to remove your robe in my presence? Are you proposing that once we’re married we go to bed fully clothed?’

      ‘No, of course not. That’s different.’

      ‘How is it different?’

      He was testing her. He thought she couldn’t do it.

      Desperation blew away modesty. If he refused to marry her she would never see Yasmin again.

      ‘I will be fine. I will take the responsibilities that come with the role very seriously.’

      ‘Responsibilities?’

      ‘Physical intimacy is one of the responsibilities of a wife. I understand that. I understand exactly what is involved.’

      ‘Are you sure?’ Those dark eyes swept her face with disturbing intensity. ‘How much of the Kama Sutra have you read, Princess?’

      If she said she’d read the whole thing cover to cover would he marry her?

      Layla opened her mouth and then closed it again, because she knew her skills at lying were on a par with her horse-riding abilities. ‘Not much.’ She hoped honesty wasn’t going to kill her future. ‘In fact just the title so far. But I’m a fast reader,’ she added quickly, afraid that her lack of knowledge might put him off. ‘And you have experience.’

      For some reason just saying that made her body warm.

      Because looking at his face made her feel hot and uncomfortable she stared instead at his hands, but for some reason that didn’t make her feel any better. She felt as if she’d had a shot of adrenaline straight into the heart.

      ‘You are reluctant to take off your robe,’ he said softly, ‘but once we’re married you are going to be naked when you share my bed.’

      Layla felt her stomach curl. Everything inside her twisted and heated. She felt dizzy and strange.

      Nerves, she thought. ‘Does this mean you’re agreeing to my suggestion?’

      Without warning he lifted a powerful hand and pushed back the swath of fabric covering her head. His handsome face was taut and unsmiling, as if he were weighing up a decision of enormous importance.

      Layla tried not to flinch even though the gentle brush of those strong fingers against her cheeks made everything inside her clench. She told herself he had every right to look at the woman he might marry.

      Was he looking to see if she were as beautiful as his wife? Or was he deciding if he could look upon her every day and not see the face of her father and Hassan and think of the destruction they’d caused in his life.

      He continued to look, his gaze disturbingly intense as his fingers trailed slowly over her cheek.

      She knew her face was flushed. She could feel the heat and knew he would be able to feel it, too, with those fingers that seemed in no hurry to cease their exploration of her skin.

      Her heart started to pound.

      The seconds passed and a minute became two minutes and longer.

      His forefinger traced the line of her jaw.

      His eyes dropped to her mouth.

      Layla was rigid with discomfort. She had no idea of the correct etiquette in this situation. Was she supposed to do something? Say something? Was it some sort of test?

      She remembered Yasmin telling her that his wife had been stunningly beautiful.

      Was this all about comparison?

      When he spoke, there was something in his tone she couldn’t identify. ‘You are brave.’

      Torn between relief that there was at least one thing about her he liked and disappointment that such close examination hadn’t uncovered anything else to commend her, Layla felt obliged to tell the truth. ‘I’m not very brave. I ran away from the palace.’

      ‘And you ran to me and offered me everything, even though deep down the thought of it frightens you.’

      ‘I’m not frightened.’

      ‘So far I believe you have been honest with me. I advise you not to change that.’

      She hesitated. ‘I don’t think you’ll hurt me.’

      His eyes darkened. ‘I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.’

      Was he talking physically? Out of her depth in a conversation that felt like a swim in boiling oil, Layla had never felt more mortified in her life. ‘If there is pain then I’ll bear it.’

      ‘You