Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3)

by Abby Green

  Liyah instinctively relaxed. Maggie was so friendly and open that it was impossible not to smile.

  She shook her hand. ‘It’s Liyah, please—only my father calls me Aaliyah, and that’s not a good thing.’

  Maggie shook her hand and widened her eyes even more. She leant forward and whispered, ‘Say no more. I understand all about Daddy issues. And as for these two...’ Maggie gestured with her head towards Sharif and Nikos, who were watching them.

  Liyah stifled a giggle. Nikos was rolling his eyes, but a smile played around his mouth as he wrapped an arm around Maggie’s waist and pulled her to his side, whispering something in her ear that made her blush. It was then that Liyah noticed the bump under the form-fitting silk of her beautiful black evening dress.

  ‘Congratulations,’ she said.

  Maggie put a hand on her neat bump and made a face. ‘Thanks. It won’t be easy, having two under two, but I like the idea of Daniel having a sibling close to his own age. I was an only child, and I always wanted brothers and sisters.’

  Liyah was tempted to mention the fact that having a lot of siblings didn’t exactly spell happy families...

  ‘Liyah, this is Nikos.’

  Sharif was introducing her to his brother. Liyah shook his hand, shyer than she’d been with Maggie. Nikos was smiling, and she could see how charming he was, but she could also detect that Marchetti steeliness.

  These two were so clearly in love that Liyah felt bad for having entertained cynical doubts. She was very aware of the chasm between her and Sharif. Which was crazy, because love had no place for them.

  Maggie was easy to talk to, and refreshingly normal in a world that Liyah barely recognised any more. She noticed that Sharif was tense around Nikos, but also how he couldn’t help smiling at whatever Nikos said. She sensed that Sharif wanted to let his guard down, but wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.

  They gradually moved closer to a central ballroom, where waltz music was playing. Maggie nudged her husband. ‘You should ask Liyah to dance, Nikos—after all, we never got to celebrate the wedding.’ She sent a look to Sharif, who just arched a brow.

  Liyah was embarrassed, but before she knew how to respond Nikos was bowing before her and saying, ‘If you would do me the honour, I’d love to have this dance.’

  Relieved by the distraction, and wondering how much these two knew about the reality of her marriage with Sharif, Liyah put her hand in her brother-in-law’s and let him lead her onto the dance floor. It was something of a respite to spend time with a man who didn’t affect her so acutely. Who didn’t look at her and make her skin feel tight and hot.

  Nikos was a good dancer, fluid and strong. And she breathed out and let him take control.

  He said above her head, ‘That bad, eh...?’

  She looked up. ‘Excuse me?’

  He winked. ‘I heard that sigh of relief. And I know how tough it is spending time with Sharif, so I don’t envy you.’

  Immediately Liyah felt defensive. ‘He’s really not that bad.’

  At all.

  Nikos looked at her and she blushed. ‘You...you do know? That the marriage isn’t...’

  ‘All I know,’ he said diplomatically, ‘is that I think you’ll be good for him. He works too hard and he’s too serious. I’d imagine that any adjustment in his life to accomodate someone else is a good thing.’

  ‘He’s told me you didn’t grow up together?’

  Nikos made a face. ‘No, our beloved father didn’t approve of us half-brothers actually getting to know one another. He had plans for us all in the business, and was counting on us competing against one another to keep the Marchetti Group on its toes. The fact that he wouldn’t approve of us working together is something that makes things even sweeter now. Sharif was the one who pointed out to Maks and I that it was our legacy to protect.’ Nikos shook his head ‘But after what happened to him and his mother, I don’t know how he didn’t destroy it all at the first opportunity.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have minded?’

  Nikos grimaced. ‘I didn’t care about much until I met Maggie again and knew I had a son. Now everything is changed.’ He looked at Liyah and smiled. ‘I blame my wife for the fact that I can’t seem to keep anything to myself these days.’

  Liyah smiled too. ‘She’s very sweet.’

  Nikos looked over her head, presumably at his wife, and said, ‘Yes she is.’ And then, in an ominous voice, ‘Incoming—behind you. I warn you now: the man is a terrible dancer.’

  Nikos disappeared into the crowd just as Sharif appeared in her eyeline. He was glowering after his brother. They stood in the middle of the dance floor, with couples moving around them.

  Sharif took Liyah’s hand and moved to walk off, but she dug her heels in and hissed, ‘It’s the middle of the song.’

  Sharif faced her. ‘I told you I don’t do this sort of thing.’

  Liyah stepped close to him. Lifted her hands. For a moment Sharif looked so like a petulant little boy that she had to bite back a laugh. But then he muttered something and took her into his arms.

  Instantly flames raced along Liyah’s veins. Her core grew heavy and hot with desire. Sharif didn’t have his brother’s fluidity, it was true, but he moved with competent grace for such a big man.

  Liyah looked up. ‘Why do you hate dancing so much? You’re not as bad as—’ She cut herself off at Sharif’s sharp look.

  ‘Nikos oversharing again? Marriage and fatherhood have turned his brain soft.’

  When he didn’t say anything else, Liyah prompted, ‘Well...?’

  Sharif sighed. ‘My father made me go to the Bal des Débutantes, here in Paris.’

  ‘I know of it... I didn’t go, but my sisters did.’

  Liyah felt the familiar prickle of shame and tried to ignore it. The Bal des Débutantes was an invitation-only exclusive event, designed to introduce prominent young men and women of the world to society. Obviously she hadn’t been deemed prominent enough by her family.

  Sharif said, ‘You were lucky. My father and I were both invited. Except my father didn’t turn up. I missed the waltz class before the event and I was the only cavalier at the ball who didn’t know how to dance. Throw in the fact that my father was reaching nuclear levels of press coverage at the time, and my mixed race heritage among the blue-eyed Princes of Europe made me stand out like a sore thumb... It didn’t end well.’

  Liyah’s eyes widened. ‘You got into a scrap?’

  Sharif lifted the hand holding hers and pointed at a scar by his jaw.

  Liyah reached out and ran her finger along the small indentation.

  The moment Liyah’s finger touched Sharif’s skin an electric jolt went right down to his solar plexus. He stopped moving. She looked up at him, eyes huge. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, marking her out amongst all the other women with their complicated up-dos and overdone faces.

  He didn’t know what had compelled him to tell her to leave her hair down.

  Yes, you do. You wanted to see her again as you saw her that night. Naked. Wild.

  He shoved the provocative thought aside.

  Once again she made everyone else pale in comparison. She was vibrant. Full of an earthy sensuality that called to him on such an urgent and deep level that Sharif knew he was fighting a losing battle.

  She barely had to touch him and he burned. He felt volatile, and it hadn’t been helped by seeing Nikos and Maggie.

  Being around his brothers, and now their wives, always put him on edge, left him filled with mixed emotions. Protectiveness, regret, affection... But also a strong instinct not to trust—and guilt. Because he hadn’t told them everything he was planning.

  Just seeing Liyah dancing with Nikos, smiling at whatever he was saying, had made the darkness inside him lash and roar, even when he knew for a fact that Nikos had eyes only for Maggie. He’d learnt
not to test Nikos’s loyalty in that regard, and now, with Maggie pregnant again, they inhabited a place that Sharif could not understand.

  Seeing them so happy brought back painful echoes of his relationship with his mother. Her unconditional love and his feeling of security. Something that he’d told himself he would never need again, because the pain of losing it had been so great.

  Sharif gritted his jaw. He really wasn’t in the mood for these introspective thoughts. And yet here was Liyah, her huge green eyes looking up at him and making him feel as if she was seeing all the way down to where he kept his darkness hidden.

  He’d noticed the emotion in her eyes when he’d shown her the press release about those paparazzi photos claiming to be of her. He knew damn well that he could have left it alone...that his comment about her reputation hadn’t been entirely true—those photos had barely made a dent in the mainstream gossip columns. But he’d seen how much it had affected her when she’d told him about it, and he’d wanted to avenge her. So he’d instructed his legal team to extract an apology and a retraction from the magazine or force them to face a lawsuit.

  They’d issued the press release within hours.

  Sharif was aware of the song coming to an end and the sense of exposure mixed with those other volatile emotions in his gut boiled over. He needed to shut out the voices and the swirling thoughts and refocus. And he knew only one way to do that.

  Stop denying himself. Stop denying them both.

  He led Liyah off the dance floor, his blood pounding. They were almost at the main entrance when he felt her pulling on his hand. He stopped, looked at her.

  She said, ‘I know you don’t like to hang around, but we literally just got here.’

  Sharif felt drunk with lust. The light made her skin gleam dark golden. The swells of her breasts above her bodice were a provocation he had no intention of resisting any longer. He’d forgotten why he’d ever thought it would be a good idea not to sleep with his wife.

  He felt it in her too. She trembled whenever he touched her. Even now a blush was rising into her cheeks, staining them darker.

  She said, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘I don’t think this is working.’

  She frowned. ‘You don’t think what isn’t working?’

  But Sharif was striding through the lobby of the hotel now, cutting a swathe through the throng of guests, Liyah’s hand clamped firmly in his.

  Liyah said from behind him, ‘What about Nikos and Maggie? Don’t we need to say goodbye? Don’t you have people to meet?’

  ‘Nikos can look after it. I’ll send him a text.’

  They walked outside and a valet scrambled to call Sharif’s car and driver around. He felt Liyah shiver beside him and took off his jacket then put it on her.

  He texted Nikos.

  We’ve left. Will you cover for me?

  He got a text back almost straight away.

  Of course. Welcome to my world, brother.

  There was a winking emoji, and then a laughing crying emoji.

  Sharif scowled and shoved his phone back in his pocket. This, with Liyah, was nothing like what Nikos had gone through with Maggie. For a start, she’d had Nikos’s son—when he’d met her again, he’d been a father.

  Sharif felt desperate. Almost feral. Things he never usually allowed himself to feel. He was always so careful to show the world that he was not his wayward father. Or his playboy brother. But he didn’t have a playboy brother any more. Right now he was channelling the Marchetti rebelliousness all by himself and he couldn’t care less.

  He wanted his wife.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LIYAH ABSORBED THE heat and scent from Sharif’s jacket as the car pulled to a smooth stop beside them. He opened the door and she got in. She didn’t know what was going on with him, but she desperately resisted the temptation to believe that the heated look in his eyes meant something.

  They joined the crazy Paris traffic and Liyah said nothing at first. Waiting to see if Sharif would elaborate. But he was silent. Brooding.

  Eventually Liyah had to break the growing tension. ‘Um...what you said about something not working...what did you mean?’

  Sharif turned to look at her, snapping out of his brooding mood. He lounged back against the side of the car. Liyah had never seen him like this. It intimidated her as much as it excited her. There was something careless about him. No... Something reckless. Dangerous.

  ‘I meant that I don’t think our current arrangement is working.’

  The driver put up the privacy shield between the front and the back seats.

  Liyah’s stomach plummeted. She’d asked too many questions. She didn’t fit into his world. She didn’t look like those other effortlessly soignée women. He didn’t want to dance. Not with her, anyway.

  And why was her first reaction dismay?

  Terrified he’d see how much he’d got to her, Liyah said stiffly, ‘I think you’re right. Obviously neither of us are really suited to this...arrangement—’

  ‘I don’t mean that—’ Sharif interrupted her, but then broke off abruptly. He cursed.

  Liyah realised the car had stopped moving, they were back at his apartment.

  Before she could try to figure out what he had meant he was out of the car, opening her door and reaching for her, taking her hand and leading her into the building. When they were in the elevator he didn’t let go of her hand. Still he didn’t say anything.

  Electricity crackled in the air between them. She was afraid to look at him, or put a name to it, or think about what it meant. But she could feel it in her gut. Desire. The flames were getting loose and licking at her insides. But what if she was wrong? What if—

  The elevator doors opened and Sharif led her into the apartment’s foyer. The door closed behind her and Sharif let her hand go. She wobbled a little in her heels. Why was she out of breath all of a sudden?

  Feeling incredibly nervous, she started to babble. ‘I liked Nikos and Maggie. They’re genuinely in love, aren’t they?’

  Sharif’s expression was stark. He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before and then he said, ‘I don’t know much about love—but I know about this.’

  Liyah frowned. ‘About...?’

  But her words were cut off when Sharif clamped his hands on her waist and pulled her into his body. All the air left her chest.

  ‘This marriage in name only is not working.’

  The look in his eye was explicit. His body was hard. His heart hammered under her hands, which were splayed across his chest. Liyah opened her mouth and then shut it again. The flames of desire licked higher. But even as they did, and as she became aware of the full meaning behind Sharif’s declaration, she felt the need to resist.

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

  ‘I want my wife.’ He growled the words.

  It took a second for her to absorb that fact. To acknowledge how badly she’d wanted him to want her. How much it had flayed her inside to think that one night had been enough for him.

  Then it sank in. Stark. Unvarnished.

  ‘I want my wife.’

  This was how he did it. No romance. He hadn’t even said I want you. She was a commodity to him. He just wanted to scratch an itch—she was no different from his other lovers. Maybe seeing his brother with his wife had made him realise that he was missing convenient sex in his convenient marriage.

  That suspicion made something close down inside Liyah.

  She took a step back, dislodging Sharif’s hands. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m prepared to renegogiate the parameters of this arrangement just because you want someone to warm your bed. I’m sure you have plenty of contacts you can call to alleviate your...urges.’

  Deep inside, Liyah wondered what on earth she was saying. She was willingly pushing him into another
woman’s bed! But he’d never been hers in the first place. Not really. No matter how serendipitous or magical that night at the oasis had felt.

  ‘I told you—I don’t need any adverse press at this time.’ He took a step towards her.

  Panic at his proximity and her own weakness made Liyah put out a hand as if to ward him off. Or grab him and bring him closer? teased a sly inner voice.

  She dropped her hand. ‘So now I’m convenient not just for a marriage but also to scratch a physical itch?’

  He took another step closer. His scent wrapped around her like a siren call. Woody and oriental. Infinitely seductive. She wanted to close her eyes, breathe him in until she was dizzy.

  He made a sound like a strangled laugh. ‘Believe me, there’s nothing “convenient” about how you make me feel.’

  Panic spiked. ‘I don’t mind if you want to take someone else to bed. I won’t say anything.’

  He came closer, as if she hadn’t spoken. Liyah felt as if she was under water. His hands were opening his jacket that was still on her and pushing it apart, over her shoulders and down her arms. It fell to the floor at her feet with a muted swish of fabric.

  He said, almost to himself, ‘The problem is that I don’t want anyone else. I only want you.’

  You. Not my wife. Her. Liyah.

  Treacherously, she felt her defences weaken.

  Up close, he still towered over her, even in heels. His jaw was dark with stubble. He was so broad that he blocked everything else out.

  And then he said, ‘You really wouldn’t mind?’

  Liyah couldn’t think straight. ‘Wouldn’t mind what?’

  ‘If I slept with another woman?’

  A raging hungry beast reared up inside her, and his scent and proximity made her defences crumble to dust. She had an image of him at the oasis, watching her emerge from the water, holding his hand out to her. Something very elemental moved through her.

  This man was hers.

  And right then she couldn’t remember why it was so important to fight that.