The Sheikh Who Married Her. Lynn Raye Harris
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her mother was ill, and she knew in her bones that her father’s way of dealing with it would be to retreat even more into the world of the intellect instead of feelings and emotions. Gina would sit awkwardly by her mother’s hospital bedside and hardly know what to say or talk about. Yes, her heart would swell with sympathy, but she should have rebelled long ago against the path that had been laid out for her. She should have given academia and books a very wide berth. What had it done for her? She was dull, dull, dull! A twenty-six-year-old singleton who lived on convenience foods because she’d never learned how to cook—a pattern she’d inherited from her busily studying parents—and who had never had even one relationship with a man that meant anything.
She had a couple of similarly situated friends, who scorned the very idea of a meaningful relationship because it would undoubtedly be messy and distracting and take their concentration away from their studies. But since coming to Kabuyadir Gina knew that the ‘distracting’ and totally wonderful concept of a mutually loving relationship was crystallising more and more into a longed-for desire in her heart. So much so that she could no longer ignore it.
‘Did you know that the ancient seers and astrologers used to track the destiny of kings through the stars?’ Her companion pointed up towards the navy blue bowl of sky that was liberally arrayed with clusters of tiny winking diamonds.
A totally helpless shiver briefly convulsed Gina. Not only were Zahir’s darkly handsome looks mesmerising, but his voice was imbued with power and magic, too. Coupled with the dreamlike atmosphere of a still-warm desert night, enchantment was being woven round her heart with delicate but unbreakable gossamer threads that would hold it willing prisoner for a long, long time.
‘What about those of us who are merely ordinary, and not kings or queens or anybody special? Do the stars show us our destiny too?’
Gina’s heart missed a beat when Zahir captured her free hand and turned both her palms upwards. His dark gaze looked to be deeply examining the fine lines—some with intricate little chains—that mapped her otherwise smooth skin. The playful caress of a soft breeze lifted a fiercely shiny coil of his hair and let it drop back against his cheekbone. Heat invaded her insides like a wild summer storm that plastered her clothes to her frame and ripped her hair free from its usual neat arrangement as though it wanted to free her soul, too.
‘I do not believe you are ordinary in any way. Your destiny is beautiful, rohi. How could it be otherwise?’
‘You’re just being kind. You don’t know me. Nothing extraordinary ever happens to me … apart from coming here, I mean.’
‘It grieves me that you clearly have no sense of your own great worth, Gina … your incandescent loveliness.’
‘No one has said such things to me before.’
‘Then the people in your life must be blind … deadened to beauty and grace.’
She stared wide-eyed as he bent his head towards hers, with no thought of trying to struggle against a tide that now seemed inevitable. Her sadness and frustration with life was completely banished, to be replaced by the most ridiculous hope and longing as his large strong hands settled firmly on either side of her hips. The intimate contact was like a sizzling brand, burning through the thin material of her dress. When Zahir’s mouth descended on hers, his lips were softer than down and more tender and erotic than Gina could have imagined.
He gentled her as though she were a nervous lamb, or a small bird he didn’t want to scare or overwhelm with his powerful strength. Beneath his mindful gentle exploration a melting heat drowned her insides in a sea of sensuous honey. The dark trimmed hair that covered his chin and the space above his upper lip was far softer than she would have expected. It was a pleasurable sensation like no other. She would never forget it. As his masculine heat and scent invaded her blood like a drugging opiate, she sensed her knees tremble violently. It shocked her to realise that she wanted more … much more of this potent magic he was delivering.
‘You are cold?’ he asked concernedly, his hands still clasped round her hips as his eyes smiled down into hers.
‘No, not cold … I’m shaking because I’m nervous, that’s all.’
‘I have overwhelmed you …’
When Zahir would have respectfully withdrawn, Gina reached out to lay her hand over his heart. The fine cotton of his robe was as sensuous to the touch as the most luxurious velvet. Beneath it she sensed muscles that radiated the masculine strength and energy of a trained warrior contract. The instant flaring of his inky-dark pupils easily confirmed just how he felt about her touching him. In a trice his arms came around her waist, and suddenly her trembling body was on shockingly intimate terms with the hard male reality of him.
Her thoughts careened into an abyss as pure compelling sensation took over. How could something she’d never even come close to experiencing before suddenly be as essential to her as breathing? If he let her go now she would have to beg him to keep holding her. She would risk everything—her pride, her fear, her very heart.
Just before his lips claimed hers, the mingling perfumes of jasmine, rose and orange blossom was carried on the air from the flowers that abounded in the garden, heightening moments that would be imprinted on Gina’s mind and heart for an eternity. There was a sense of wildness—a raw, elemental hunger about Zahir’s passionate kiss. The suggestion of bare control thrilled her, echoing as it did her own helpless urgency and gnawing need. As her mouth cleaved to his, their tongues swirling and entwining hotly, it made her cling to him to keep her balance.
He tore his lips away from hers, his breath ragged, his glance molten. ‘You are leaving tomorrow, and I …’ He shook his head, his expression torn. ‘I do not know how I can bear to let you go.’
‘I don’t want to go … but I have to, Zahir.’
‘Must we part this way? On my honour, Gina, I have never felt like this with any other woman before … As if … as if she were a part of me that I never even knew I had lost until I saw her.’
Devouring him with her eyes, Gina felt her heart squeeze with anguish at the mere thought of them being separated. Would people judge her as heartless—as cold and unfeeling—because she preferred to stay here with Zahir instead of going home to see her sick mother? Right then she didn’t care. How could she when she’d been so bereft of love—of warm, human touch—for too long? Why should she feel guilty and weigh herself down with painful responsibility when his impassioned confession echoed the heartfelt yearning in her to reach out for something wild, warm and wonderful beyond imagining?
‘You are staying in one of the houses in the grounds, I presume?’ He drew her with him beneath the shelter of a shady tree, glancing behind them as if to check whether they were being observed. But the shadowed fragrant garden was empty and still except for the hypnotic drone of the cicadas and the soft gushing of the water fountain.
Worrying her lip with the edge of her teeth, Gina nodded.
‘Can we go there?’ Zahir’s thumb was stroking back and forth across the fine skin of her fingers, and the tension between them grew tight as a bowstring on the verge of snapping in two.
‘Yes.’
They moved in silence towards the end of the garden, where a vine-leaved arbour led onto another paved area. There sat a long, low adobe-style residence, with an arch-shaped entrance like the Ace of Spades. It was decoratively outlined by ornate gypsum, its walls inset with traditionally narrow windows to keep out the glare of the heat. Within the garden was a tranquil pond and a beautiful mosaic-tiled fountain. Because rainfall was more abundant up here in the mountains greenery thrived, and heavily perfumed blossoms were everywhere. The temperature was not so fierce, either. Occasionally they were blessed with distinctly cool breezes.
About two hundred yards away, secluded by magnificent date-palm trees, was another building. This was occupied by Gina’s boss, Peter Moyle. But Peter was still at the Husseins’ party, and she and Zahir could slip inside Gina’s lodgings unnoticed.
Feeling