The Desert Lord's Bride / Wed by Deception: The Desert Lord's Bride. Emilie Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ at the amusement still staining his voice. “So—you welcomed the cooling off, even at the price of braving the rest of the ball wet and sticky, in a ruined gown and barefoot?”

      Her lips twisted in self-deprecation. “With the way I was sweating, this was my fate anyway. I was already squishing in my shoes. It was a relief to fast-forward to the inevitable end.”

      “May I inquire why such a cool-looking butterfly was sweating buckets in the perfectly air-conditioned ballroom?”

      Butterfly? At five-foot-six and a hundred and forty pounds, she was too substantial to be called that. And cool-looking? Was he baiting her? Trying to get her to admit why she’d been so hot and bothered? As if she’d tell him!

      Then she opened her mouth. “Are you a different species? Perfectly air-conditioned? Not according to this body’s thermostat. I entered that ballroom and almost got knocked off my feet by thousands of people emitting the steam of body heat and self-importance, then you trained those eyes on me and I just about spontaneously combusted…”

      Shut up. Just shut up.

      This was far worse than her usual candor crises. This man disturbed her. Unbalanced her. Big time. But there was no use feeling bad about it now. The damage had already been done.

      She gritted her teeth and waited for his response, expecting him to burst out laughing for real this time. Or to take advantage of her confession and proposition her.

      “So that was why you welcomed the cold shower!” Here it came. The making fun of her. The lewd proposition. Or both. “Thank you.”

      Wha…? Thank you? What the hell was he thanking her for? The ego stroke? The comic relief?

      Her chagrin evaporated as he went on, something that was no longer amusement—wonder?—coloring his magnificent voice. “Thank you for giving me the opening to let you know how you tampered with my temperature the moment you trained these eyes on me.”

      He touched her then, a thumb tracing a burning, downcast lid then a forefinger below her chin, coaxing her face up. She trembled at the barely substantial contact.

      Then he exhaled a gravelly, “Do it again.”

      His invocation raised her eyes to his without volition. And the impact was even harder this time. In the full moon’s rays, the whites of his eyes shone silver, the irises infinite by contrast, a black hole sucking her whole into it.

      Then he began unraveling the intricately folded cloth that obscured his face in slow, hypnotic movements. At last he stopped, dropped his arms to his sides and whispered, sounding as disturbed as she felt, “Look at me. All of me.”

      His command/plea shattered the spell that had been keeping her eyes captive to his, and she obeyed, letting her gaze stumble all over him, absorbing everything about him with the same greed her gown had soaked up the champagne.

      And he was magnificent.

      But…no. He was more than that.

      Long ago, when she’d believed she’d one day find love and passion with one person who’d been made for her and she for him, she’d had a vague, impossible vision of that person. This man surpassed even that spawn of an outlandish teenage imagination.

      Tall, dark and handsome were givens. The devil was definitely in the details here. How tall, for instance—ten or more inches taller than her. And though his getup only hinted at his body’s power, she’d bet he’d fill out a superhero’s suit to perfection. Then came the part of just how handsome he was.

      She’d never had a knack for poetry or art. She was all about numbers and spreadsheets and harsh financial facts. But she could see how a face like that deserved sonnets. And a wingful of portraits in a museum. His perfect face proved that asymmetrical, weathered faces didn’t have a monopoly on character.

      But what was really unfair was that his attraction went far beyond the physical. The way his gorgeous eyes spoke, communicated, the command he had over his every move and intonation, the influence he’d displayed on others, herself foremost among them. This was a man who had mental faculties as razor-sharp as his cheekbones.

      OK. Something was officially wrong with her.

      Was it possible she’d absorbed the dozen glasses of champagne subdermally? She’d gotten drunk once. She’d had an unstoppable urge to blurt out the truth unprovoked then, too.

      She succumbed to the urge now. “God, you’re beautiful!”

      She winced, bit her lip. But it was out. All she could do now was wait for him to shake his head and turn away, to burst into belated laughter or to finally pick up the invitation he must by now believe she was blatantly issuing.

      When none of her predictions came true as his scrutiny stretched, she finally snapped, “Take your cue from me, will you? Just spit out whatever you’re thinking, then be on your way.”

      Shehab stared at her. This was completely unexpected.

      She was…an absolute surprise. A shock.

      The woman the reports and pictures had painted in such clear and cruel detail was nowhere to be found. This woman decimated their assertions and his preconceptions with every move she made, every word she uttered. Her very vibe transmitted a totally alien entity to the one he’d thought he’d have to contend with.

      Or she could be the world’s best actress.

      Not that it mattered what she was.

      Whether she was demon or angel or anything in between, his mission remained unchanged.

      But something else had changed.

      Until he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been sick with projecting the various forms of revulsion he’d have to endure on this quest. He’d consoled himself that the throne of Judar was worth his very life and more, not only his freedom.

      But now what he’d thought would be an abhorrent duty was looking more and more as though it was going to be a decadent indulgence. Now he couldn’t wait to give his all to her seduction.

      And entrapment.

      Two

      She was getting away.

      He’d gaped at her too long and she’d gotten fed up. Or angry. With what sounded like a curse, she reached for her shoes, gathered up her skirt and hopped on one foot to put one shoe on. The moment she had the other on, he knew she’d run away.

      He moved into her path, his hands taking hers at the wrists in a clasp that was more pantomime than actual grasp.

      He extracted the shoe from her unresisting fingers and her supple arm fell to her side. Then, holding her gaze, he went down in front of her, slow, measured, his hand guiding the hand bunching her skirt in the opposite direction to his descent, in a movement just as leisurely, scraping her leg with the rich layers of tulle and chiffon up to her mid-thigh.

      Her knees gave a momentary buckle. With another almost-touch, he eased her back against the balustrade. Only then did he break their eye-lock, let his gaze drift down. His fingers followed, hovering an agonizingly unhurried СКАЧАТЬ