Sheikh's Baby Of Revenge. Tara Pammi

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      His fingers turned her jaw to the moonlight so that the bruise, which she hadn’t covered after washing off her makeup, was visible. The pad of his thumb traced it and she flinched. More from the heat his touch generated than from pain.

      A sharp curse flew from his mouth. “Forgive me, I promised not to cause you harm.”

      “You didn’t,” she said automatically.

      He raised a brow. “No?”

      “Our skin has thousands and thousands of nerve centers that react to external stimuli, did you know? Your palm is rough against my skin and also, I’m barely ever touched by anyone other than my father—and not in such a leisurely, soft way, either—so I feel a flash burn where your skin touches mine—” when his brows rose, she hurried to explain “—not like fire burns us, more pleasurable than that, and I believe that’s why I flinched. Because even pleasure, especially when it’s unexpected and unfamiliar to the recipient, causes flinching.”

      The utter silence that ensued sent blood pooling up her neck and into her cheekbones. She clamped her palms over her mouth. No wonder her father got aggravated whenever she opened her mouth.

      A slow smile dawned in his eyes, causing lines at the ends of his eyes and adorable creases in his cheeks. His teeth flashed at her again and that smile made him a thousand times more gorgeous.

      “I state facts and run my mouth endlessly when I’m anxious or agitated or upset or sad or angry. My father thinks I do it to ignore his dictates and to insult him.”

      “And when you’re happy?”

      She smiled. “You’re very smart, aren’t you? You know, people think intelligence is...” She cleared her throat and she blushed fiercely again. “I do it when I’m happy, too, yes. Pretty much all the time, now that you make me think about it.”

      His smile turned into laughter. It boomed out of him. Low, gravelly, utterly sensuous, but also a little rough and strange. As if he didn’t do it much.

      Amira wanted to roll around in that smile. She wanted to be the one who caused his serious face to smile and laugh again and again. She wanted to spend an eternity with this exciting stranger who made her feel safe. She wanted to...

      “I have to leave.”

      He sobered up. And frowned. “So I can take your word that you’re not hurt?” He flicked another glance at her jaw. “Other than your jaw?”

      “I misjudged the distance between the last ledge and the stairs, but I’m not hurt.”

      He nodded. “And what is so irresistible that you took such a dangerous route...? What is your name?”

       Zara, Humeira, Alisha, Farhat...

      “You’re thinking up fake names.”

      She blinked. Like a hawk, he watched with predatory intensity. And something else... Possessiveness, perhaps.

      She swallowed. “I would get into trouble if word gets out that I escaped my room or that I was wandering the palace without guard or that I spent all this time in the dark with a stranger...a lot of trouble.”

      “No one will know,” he said. “I will get you back to your room unharmed and undiscovered.”

      And all the while he tempted her, he watched her. As if he found her endlessly fascinating. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said.

      His fingers pushed back a strand of hair that brushed her jaw. Featherlight and tender, his touch knocked down the little sense remaining in her skull. “I think you do trust me. Which is why you have lingered here so long already. All you need to do is take the final step, ya habibiti. We’re strangers passing a few moments together in a long life.”

      Another rough-padded finger lifted her chin until she was gazing into his eyes. His nostrils flared, the set of his jaw resolute. “I would have your real name.”

      If he had commanded her, Amira would have prevailed. But beneath that request was a thread of longing that resonated in her soul. What could such a commanding man want that he was ever denied?

      He was harshly beautiful, like the rugged landscape of the desert, and yet he looked at her with such pure need.

      The last of her good sense and diffidence melted. Innocent she might be when it came to men but she already felt like she knew him.

      He wouldn’t hurt her.

      “Amira...my name is Amira.”

      Fire awakened in his eyes. They both knew she had given him more than just her name in that moment.

      He tilted his head—a regal nod for granting him the privilege of her real name. Warmth filled her chest. “I’m Adir.”

      “Salaam-alaikum, Adir.”

      “Walaikum-as-salaam, Amira.”

      He took her hand in his, completely engulfing hers. Sensations shimmered through her, flowing like a river from where their hands touched to spread all over her body. And then he was softly tugging her to him. Raising their clasped hands, he placed a soft kiss to the tender skin at her wrist.

      It was a chaste kiss—nothing more than a buss from those lips to her skin. And yet her pulse skittered under his mouth. “Meeting you has made an awful night a thousand times better.”

      The way he held her gaze, the banked fire in it...she wanted to answer it with her own fervor. For one night, she just wanted to be Amira and not a power-obsessed man’s daughter, nor the fiancée of a mostly indifferent prince. She wanted to sink into Adir’s arms and let him carry her away.

      “You know, when you smile, you get two dimples. Did you know that dimples are caused when a facial muscle called zygomaticus major is shorter than normal? Sometimes, they’re also caused by excessive fat on your face. Although, in your case, it’s definitely not excessive fat, because you look hard as those rock structures we see in...in...”

      His smile dawned as slow and bright like the sun over the horizon.

      Amira buried her face in her hands and groaned loudly.

      “So you’re informing me that my facial structure is flawed, yes?”

      She tried to tug her hand from his. He didn’t let her. “Oh, please, you know you’re flawless.”

      That seemed to take him aback. Didn’t he look at himself in mirror? Did he not have women flocking to him for a glimpse of that wicked smile?

      Still smiling, he pulled her to her feet. “You’re...like a desert storm, Amira.”

      “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

      His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Do you want a compliment, ya habibiti?”

      “Yes, please.”

      Again that pure laughter—a reward for her СКАЧАТЬ