The Desert King's Pregnant Bride. Annie West

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      MAGGIE emerged from the bathroom swathed in soft white towelling, an oversized robe that swamped her. She hadn’t even noticed Khalid take her discarded dress. The plush robe was warm against her damp skin. She hiked up the collar and dug her hands into the deep pockets.

      For a heartbeat she hesitated in the doorway, then swung round at the sound of his voice.

      ‘Feel better now?’ Khalid halted a few paces away, legs planted wide in a stance that was intrinsically male. He surveyed her from top to toe. Her pulse hammered hard and loud. ‘You look better. There’s colour in your cheeks.’

      And no wonder! Maggie felt the heat sizzle under her skin. She was uncomfortable wearing his robe, but it was all she had to hide her nakedness.

      Under his survey the brush of fabric against her bare flesh suddenly took on a new dimension. Tingles rayed out from her sensitive breasts, her stomach, thighs and buttocks as she shifted her weight uneasily.

      Or maybe it was reaction to the sight of him, clad in black trousers and black shirt that emphasised his spare, powerful frame. Her glance dropped all the way down past his muscled thighs to his bare feet. Her breath stopped. He even had sexy feet. She hadn’t known that was possible.

      Maggie snagged a desperate breath and jerked her gaze up to his, praying he hadn’t noticed her ogling him.

      ‘Thank you. I feel a lot better. Hot water works wonders, doesn’t it?’ Was she gabbling? For the first time since he found her, she felt truly nervous. She slicked her tongue over her bottom lip as her mouth dried.

      ‘Come.’ He held out his hand imperiously, and to her surprise, she reached out unhesitatingly. The hard heat of his palm and fingers enfolding hers was strangely comforting. If she could ignore the tendrils of shivery pleasure snaking up from their clasped hands.

      He led her into a large sitting room. It should have been overpowering with its gilt-edged mirrors and elegant antique furniture. But it was lit by a fire in the grate and the mellow glow of lamps. The long sofa drawn up before the fire looked cosy with its many cushions and rich red throw rug.

      ‘Sit.’ He gestured to the sofa. ‘It will be a while before your clothes dry and we can get you home. In the meantime you need to keep warm.’

      As she subsided into the soft luxurious cushions Maggie knew there wasn’t any danger of her growing cold. The hot shower, the fire, but most of all the way her blood heated at his touch, made her glow with warmth.

      Wordlessly he covered her knees, then passed her a delicate glass in a filigree metal holder.

      Maggie inhaled the steam rising from the glass. It smelt wonderful.

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘Sweet tea, Shajehani style. The perfect remedy for shock and exposure to the elements.’ He stood before her, his back to the fire. Maggie drank in the sight of him, his imposing frame, his obvious strength, the stance of a man utterly confident and in control. Something squeezed the pit of her stomach. Hurriedly she bent her head to drink.

      ‘It’s delicious!’

      ‘Surprising, isn’t it?’

      ‘No, I didn’t mean—’

      ‘It’s all right. Drink up and relax. I’ll be back soon.’ He moved away and her breathing eased.

      This was what she needed, to be alone to collect her thoughts and overcome these unfamiliar emotions that tonight ran so close to the surface.

      She stared at the blazing fire, sipped her tea and wondered at the intensity of her reaction to Khalid. He was a stranger. A breathtakingly gorgeous one. Yet it wasn’t just his looks she responded to. It was his easy kindness, that sense of rock-solid dependability, the way he took charge and looked after her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She wasn’t used to it.

      Maggie blinked. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel cared for. To lean on someone else. No one had ever taken care of her like this. Not since she was eight and she’d arrived home from school to find her mother had walked out, taking Maggie’s little sister, but not Maggie.

      There’d been no warmth at home after that day. Her father hadn’t been one for creature comforts, let alone a hug or a sympathetic smile. He’d been a hard man, dour and demanding. Even in those last months as she’d nursed him he hadn’t softened.

      ‘Is there anything else you need?’ Khalid’s deep voice came from beside her. She hadn’t heard him return.

      To her horror, the hint of concern lacing his words opened a floodgate of raw emotion. Painful emotion that ignited a terrible weakness in her. She wasn’t accustomed to sympathy.

      Her lips quivered. What was wrong with her? She’d discovered Marcus’s betrayal and she’d got a soaking. It wasn’t the end of the world.

      She was made of sterner stuff than this. Maggie Lewis never cried. It was one of the reasons she’d been accepted so quickly into the male realm of the horse stud.

      ‘No.’ The word emerged as a raw croak and she tried again. ‘No, thank you.’ She relinquished her stiff-knuckled grip on the glass as a large, tanned hand took it from her.

      ‘In that case let’s get your hair dry.’

      Maggie opened her mouth to object, but already he’d draped a towel over her head and shoulders. Long, strong fingers massaged her scalp through the thick towelling and her demurral dissolved on her tongue.

      Whorls of sensation spread from his supple hands, sensation that made the last of her resistance melt like chocolate on a hot summer day.

      Her head lolled back and forward, following the easy rhythm of his hands, till she forgot what it was she objected to. Ripples of delight spread out, down her spine, across her shoulders and lower, deep inside her.

      She had to stifle a sigh of regret when he lifted the towel away. It felt so good, the warmth, the company, the comfort of his presence.

      She squeezed her eyes shut against the awful sensation of loss and loneliness welling inside her. The aching void of emptiness that stretched all around her.

      Quickly she shook her head, hoping to dislodge the ache, the unfamiliar need. Tonight had been a shock, a blow to her self-esteem and her hopes, but she’d get over it. This curious sense of frailty was a passing thing. She’d always been strong. Always coped.

      ‘Don’t cry, little one.’ His voice was so low it was a mere thread of sound, weaving into her consciousness. His touch was tender as he wiped moisture from her cheeks.

      Maggie kept her eyes tight shut. For the second time tonight she had tears in her eyes. The second time in fifteen years. She hadn’t cried since her mother had deserted her all those years ago. Maggie had sobbed herself sick then and hadn’t cried since. Now in one night the dam had broken. A shudder of anxiety racked her.

      ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

      Khalid stared into the flames, legs outstretched in a casual pose that belied his inner turmoil. Tension pulled his shoulders tight and a charged sense СКАЧАТЬ