Sheikh's Baby Of Revenge. Tara Pammi

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes, amber-hued, stared back at her. Moonlight came in patches through the archway, outlining the man. He was blurry because she had forgotten her glasses.

      But she could still make out broad shoulders that tapered to lean hips and powerful thighs. She searched for his face. Square jaw, sharp blade of a nose, high forehead.

      Her gaze went back to his eyes. Eyes that were staring at her with unhidden curiosity.

      Was he a royal guard? Another spy her obsessed father had set on her? Or worse, a guest of the palace?

      No, anything would be better than her father’s spy. She would even prefer to brave her betrothed and explain herself than to face her father.

       And if it was her father’s spy...

      As if even her flesh remembered, a shaft of pain pulsed up her jawline and she flinched.

      She could swear his scowl deepened the darkness as the man emerged from the shadows. “Are you hurt?”

      “No. I’m...fine.” She dusted her palms on her thighs and winced. The skin of her palms had been pierced when she had tried to break her fall with them.

      “You’re not a natural liar, ya habibiti.”

      The upper-class aristocratic accent—similar yet different from her own or from the prince’s—caught her interest. With his perfect diction and the natural command in his very stillness, he could be a visiting royal—the last person she needed to be seen with. Or to have recognize her, come tomorrow.

      He took another step toward her.

      Still on her knees, Amira scooted back. Pains and aches forgotten, all she wanted was to get away from the...interesting stranger.

      Whether he noticed her retreat or not, his long strides continued to eat up the distance between them. “Let me see if you’re hurt. You landed so hard you could have broken something.”

      Another scoot back. At this rate, her knees were going to get skinned. “I did not...break anything.”

      “Let me be the judge of that.”

      Her normally placid temper simmered. “Since I have a degree in nursing, I think I can judge whether I broke something or not.” She hissed a breath out. “Please...just leave. I’ll be on my way in a couple of minutes.”

      “You don’t have to fear me.”

      She was panicked, yes, but strangely, there was no fear in it.

      She took a deep breath. Sandalwood, combined with something utterly masculine, filled her lungs as he reached her, settling into a strange tightness in her lower belly.

      Arrested by her body’s reaction—neither flight nor fight but more of a languid uncoiling low in her belly—she looked up at him.

      Straight white teeth flashed at her when he smiled. “You intend to stay there?”

      She nodded, aware of how stupid she must look, mooning over him and yet unable to stop.

      “I’m perfectly fine with having a conversation on the...dirty floor,” he said matter-of-factly. And before she could comprehend, he sank down on his knees with a fluid grace that was reminiscent of a jungle predator.

      The traveling moon chose that exact moment to cast a bright, silvery glow through the archway, illuminating the planes of his face.

      Breath arrested, Amira stared.

      Deep-set amber eyes glinted with humor, and even that couldn’t stop her appraisal. As if hand-chiseled by a master sculptor, he was breathtakingly handsome.

      There was almost something royal about those features, something familiar yet painfully elusive.

      She could see a high forehead, the sharp blade of a nose, weather-beaten skin that glinted dark gold—which told her he spent quite a lot of time in the harsh sun—and a defined jawline that invited her fingers’ touch. Breathing shallowly, she fisted her hands in the folds of her gown.

      His lashes flicked down to where she hid her hands and then up, that glimmer of humor deepening in his eyes.

      “Tilt your head forward so that I may better look at you,” he said in a low voice, no less commanding for its softness.

      Years of obedience browbeaten into her, Amira dutifully did. Only when his gaze moved over every inch of her face with a penetrating intensity did she realize what she had done.

      Color filled her cheeks. Instead of moving back, instead of lowering her eyes as she had been taught again and again by her father, she used the moment to study him some more.

      A sharp hiss from his mouth jerked her gaze to his. In the flash of a breath, the humor disappeared, replaced by a dark vein of anger. His amber eyes glowed.

      He lifted his hand to her face and Amira instantly cringed back. The softening of his expression told her what she had done. Shame filling her, she looked down at her palms. Hard concrete at her knees pulled her back to reality.

      It was high time she was on her way. He was tying her insides into strange knots.

      “May I touch you?”

      His husky question jerked her gaze to his face again.

      She thought she saw him swallow and that was strange.

      “I promise I mean you no harm.”

      His eyes were deep pools, devoid of the barest expression, and yet there was an intrinsic trust deep in her belly that he would keep his word. That this was a man who didn’t raise his hands against the weaker sex or people dependent on his mercies, for any reason. Not the least of which would be to establish his own superiority or to enforce his will.

      Yet power seemed to emanate from his very pores. He would command any room he entered. And as to his will—she would bet any man or woman would surrender to it easily. With pleasure, in the latter case.

      Slowly, she nodded. Something in her leaped quietly—anticipation, she realized. With every cell in her being, she wanted to feel this man’s touch, however fleetingly.

      She thought he would pull her to her feet. Instead, his fingers landed on her jaw with such gentleness that hot tears prickled behind her eyelids.

      “These are fingerprints marring your lovely cheek.” The words were devoid of emotion, feeling. Contained violence shimmered in his stillness. He was furious at the sight of the bruise on her jaw.

      That simple concern on her behalf sent sorrow spiraling through her.

      She closed her eyes, loathe to betray her weakness in front of him. She had never shed a single tear, even when her father’s palm once landed on her jaw with such force that her head had jerked back, leaving her with neck pain for weeks. But now...she felt like stretched glass.

      As she stoppered the emotion flowing through her, she felt other things. It was as if her senses were slowly opening up. His huge body gave out warmth on the chilly night, enveloping СКАЧАТЬ