Innocent in the Desert: The Sheikh's Impatient Virgin / The Sheikh's Convenient Virgin / The Desert Lord's Bride. Trish Morey
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terse order made her stumble and forget her wet skirt and mud-spattered legs and the tiny dog she had popped into the conveniently big pocket of her duffel coat. Small in stature but large in personality, the Peke inevitably flagged after playing in the park with the bigger dogs.
She turned her head in disbelief. The voice was the same, but with his jaw cleanly shaven and his head covered in a traditional headdress he looked different from earlier … not different enough to make her consider for one second responding to the command with anything other than a laugh of sheer disbelief.
Ignoring him, she set off, her jaw set, her knees getting less shaky as she strode down the crowded street, hood up, shoulders hunched and staring fixedly ahead. As she weaved her way around people, Eva muttered the occasional rueful sorry when she collided with someone.
While she continued to ignore the car that shadowed her she was aware that the window had rolled up, but it continued its relentless but leisurely pursuit. She kept up a pace that just stopped short of running.
Not a single person came to her aid.
Typical, she thought as a group of teenagers made some laughing comments. I could be kidnapped in broad daylight and nobody would lift a finger. Eva let out a relieved sigh as she approached a busy intersection; the light showed red for pedestrians and green for the lane of traffic that the limousine occupied.
Her relief was short-lived when, rather than proceed, the gleaming monster hugging the kerb came to a total halt beside her, oblivious to the cacophony of hooting horns.
Eva turned her head. This was utterly ridiculous. ‘Go away!’ she wailed above the horns.
The window rolled down.
‘Why are you running away?’
Her chin went up a defiant notch. ‘I am not running away. I’m going home.’
‘Have you thought of taking regular exercise?’ Karim asked, his eyes moving from her flushed cheeks to her heaving bosom.
‘Have you thought of taking a hint?’ she cut back sarcastically. ‘And for your information there’s nothing wrong with my fitness levels.’ It was a shame that the same couldn’t be said of her hormone levels. ‘Even if I don’t have a stomach like a washboard.’ Like you, Eva thought as an inconvenient image of his lean, streamlined body flashed across her vision.
She blinked hard to banish the image and added defiantly, ‘And I happen to think that people, especially men who are obsessed with their bodies, are narcissistic and boring!’
‘So do I.’
She gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Am I meant to believe that your six pack is natural?’
‘I am flattered that my … six pack has occupied your thoughts, but actually I don’t want to discuss my exercise regime.’ He tilted his head back and heard himself say, ‘I like your body.’ What man wouldn’t?
The low husky words had more effect on her breathing than the impromptu cardiovascular workout had. Eva was glad her face was already red as her heart attempted to climb into her throat.
‘Get in, Eva,’ he said, bored irritation in his voice and twin lines of dark colour etched across the crest of his chiselled cheekbones.
‘Yeah,’ yelled the man in the car behind, ‘do us a favour, Eva—for pity’s sake, get in!’ The comment was endorsed by several more voices from inside cars.
The limousine door swung open in silent invitation.
Muttering, ‘I know I’ll regret this,’ Eva threw her bag inside, deriving some satisfaction from the fact it hit him square in the chest before she followed it.
As the car pulled smoothly away from the kerb and into the now slowly moving traffic Eva maintained her grip on the door.
‘You are planning to jump out, possibly?’
Eva ignored the sarcasm and gave up waiting for her breathing to return to normal, finally accepting it wasn’t going to happen while she was in an enclosed space that amplified the testosterone-fuelled-aura thing her travelling companion radiated like a force field.
The car was so ridiculously big that there was no question of anything uncomfortable like touching thighs.
Not that he looked as if he wanted to touch her—strangle her, possibly …? Back rigid, she turned her head slowly, willing her expression to stay neutral. ‘If you have something to say, say it. I want to go home.’
‘That might not be possible.’
Karim saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but a moment later she tilted her chin to a challenging angle. He fought off an unexpected stab of admiration. The lost princess might have a red-headed, bloody-minded attitude, but she also had spirit.
‘Is that meant to scare me?’ she jeered. ‘What is this?’ she added when a newspaper was placed unceremoniously on her lap.
She swallowed, conscious of the shiver of apprehension trickling like ice down her spine as her eyes flickered across the headline. Two phrases leapt out at her: Virgin Princess and Night of Passion.
She closed her eyes and thought, Let me die.
‘Tomorrow’s tabloid—it gets better inside,’ he promised.
‘Tomorrow’s …?’ Hope flared—did that mean there was still time to kill the story?
‘Read it,’ he suggested, watching the emotions flicker across her face. ‘It will save explanations.’
‘I’ve seen enough. I already feel sick. They can’t write this sort of stuff, can they? Not once you tell them it’s all lies.’
A spasm of irritation contorted his lean features as he leaned back in his seat. ‘The editor gave it to me as a courtesy, so he said, but it was clear he was hoping for a quote. Why would I give him one?’
Eva pursed her lips and slung him a furious glare. ‘So you didn’t tell him it was all lies?’
He expelled a sigh through clenched teeth, muttered something in his native tongue and bowed his head before retorting, ‘It is one version of the truth and, frankly, a lot more believable than yours.’
Eva didn’t want to, but the lurid headline exerted a sick fascination and she found herself scanning it once more.
It did not read better the second time around … ‘I feel sick.’
‘Feeling I can cope with. Do us both a favour, though, and control your gag reflex.’
This heartless response drew a narrow-eyed glare from Eva. ‘How did they get this?’ she choked, shaking her head in utter mystification.
‘From your reaction I’m assuming I can discount the possibility you are the source.’
Eva was not conscious she had raised her hand until he caught her wrist and leaned into her. The action was a signal for every nerve in her body to go haywire.
‘Bad idea.’ The unmistakable warning in his steely eyes belied the lightness in his tone.
Eva twisted her wrist and to her intense relief his fingers unfolded and his hand fell. She sat there, rubbing her wrist. ‘You actually thought that I would …?’
‘It was a possibility, but your friend was always the obvious candidate.’
‘Luke!’ she exclaimed. ‘He would never betray …’
‘You would be surprised how often people will betray you when there is a cheque involved … and sometimes,’ he added, dragging his hair back from his broad brow with a hand, ‘it doesn’t even take a cheque.’ In his experience revenge for an imagined slight was often enough.
Eva began to shake her head in instinctive rejection of the cynical interruption. Was he born this distrustful or had life made him