The Desert King's Pregnant Bride. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
wanted to talk about ground rules.’ Khalid’s voice was a rich drawl. ‘I agree. It’s well past time for that.’
The intensity of his stare held her taut and breathless as her heartbeat thudded, loud in her ears. Something had changed. Treacherous undercurrents swirled between them.
‘Perhaps we could work the details out tomorrow. It’s getting late.’ Her words tumbled out in a rush. Maggie felt strangely vulnerable in this highly charged atmosphere.
‘There’s no need to wait until tomorrow,’ he murmured.
‘There isn’t?’ Maggie watched him stride around the desk, each movement slow and purposeful. She found herself turning so her back was to the desk and Khalid stood between her and the door. Tremors of shock vibrated through her. And something else. A tiny thrill of excitement. She must be mad!
‘No,’ he said, his voice a deep rumble. ‘We’ll sort this out tonight.’
Her eyes were lustrous gold in the lamplight, shot with emerald fire. Khalid had never known any like them. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breasts thrusting in wanton invitation against the fabric. Her lips parted as her breaths shortened.
His body tensed to the point of pain as he prolonged the suspense of anticipation a moment more. He’d never been one to rush his pleasure.
And Maggie would be pure pleasure.
Annie West spent her childhood with her nose between the covers of a book—a habit she retains. After years of preparing government reports and official correspondence she decided to write something she really enjoys. And there’s nothing she loves more than a great romance. Despite her office-bound past she has managed a few interesting moments—including a marriage offer with the promise of a herd of camels to sweeten the contract. She is happily married to her ever-patient husband (who has never owned a dromedary). They live with their two children amongst the tall eucalypts at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. You can e-mail Annie at www.annie-west.com, or write to her at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
Recent books by the same author:
THE GREEK TYCOON’S UNEXPECTED WIFE
THE DESERT KING’S PREGNANT BRIDE
BY
ANNIE WEST
With warmest gratitude to:
Leanne McMahon, equine expert extraordinaire; Anna Campbell, the best friend a girl could have; and my very own hero, Geoff. Thank you. This book wouldn’t have been possible without you!
CHAPTER ONE
MAGGIE bowed her head against the sheets of icy rain as she plodded along the muddy road.
Slick fabric stuck to her where she’d forgotten to do up her raincoat. Water sluiced down her legs, into her wellington boots. Her hair, so carefully washed and dried, now hung in saturated rat-tails against her neck. Vaguely she was aware of the chill numbing her body. After running, stumbling, then trudging so far in the lashing darkness, her steps slowed, became unsteady.
If she’d been thinking clearly, she’d have taken her battered Jeep. That hadn’t occurred to her. One look between the carelessly drawn curtains of Marcus’s sitting room and coherent thought had fled.
She’d stood, rooted to the spot, heedless of the drenching rain. When her brain had finally caught up with the message her eyes had conveyed, she’d simply run. She must have raced past her car into the welcoming blackness.
Pain tore at her throat as she sobbed in a deep racking breath. She had to get home, before the emotions churning inside overcame her.
Yet she couldn’t escape the memory of what she’d seen: Marcus, naked in the arms of his lover.
Now she understood why he’d blown hot and cold, sometimes too busy to see her and at others attentive and loving. His affection had been a sham. He’d only wanted her to conceal his affair with the trophy wife of a jealous horse breeder.
Maggie’s stomach churned. She’d been so gullible.
She’d believed him when he’d spoken of respecting her, not rushing her after her recent loss. He’d said she needed to be sure before they took their relationship further.
In her innocence Maggie had been sure. She’d decided to show him she was a desirable woman, mature and ready for a deeper relationship. She’d read every magazine she could lay her hands on, aiming to transform herself into the sort of woman she thought he wanted. She’d overcome her fears and thrust aside self-doubt. She’d even taken the long trip to town and bought herself a dress!
Her bitter laughter was swallowed by the rushing wind.
He’d never wanted her. She’d been too inexperienced and starved of affection to see he was using her. Nausea welled in her throat and she bent over to dry-retch again.
Strangely, this time as she looked down she could see her boots and her legs, wet and muddy below the raincoat. She frowned muzzily, trying to focus on the present, not the scene of contorting naked bodies replaying in her head.
Where was the light coming from?
‘Do you need help?’ A deep voice curled out of the roaring darkness to reach her.
Blindly, she raised her head and found herself blinking in the headlights of a massive off-road vehicle. A man stood silhouetted before it. He was tall, lean and unfamiliar. Something about the set of his broad shoulders and his wide-planted feet intimated he was a man prepared for anything, a man able to deal with trouble of any kind.
Maggie knew an instant’s insane craving to lean forward into his strong body, rest against those more-than-capable shoulders and slump into oblivion.
Then sense overcame instinct. She had no idea who he was. Besides, she’d just learned her judgement was fatally flawed. She’d believed Marcus to be everything she wanted in a man, a lover, a mate. She’d thought…
The shadow moved closer, near enough to make her stunningly aware of his superior height and power.
‘You’re not well. How can I assist?’ This time Maggie caught the faintest trace of an accent.
‘Who are you?’ she said, barely recognising the reedy whisper as her own voice.
Silence for a moment as the wind stirred the collar of her coat and drove the rain almost horizontal.
‘I’m a guest at the Tallawanta Stud. Staying up at the homestead.’
Now she recognised the latest top-of-the-range vehicle. Only the best for those at the big house. And there was a special guest this week. The Sheikh of Shajehar, who owned the whole enormous horse stud, had sent an envoy on an inspection tour.
That explained his accent. The precise, clipped English, as if he’d attended a top British public school. It was overlaid with a slight softening of consonants that hinted at something far more exotic.
‘Or do you intend that we both stand out here till we’re saturated to the skin?’
There was no impatience in that voice, but nor was there any mistaking its steely undertone. Maggie jumped, reining in her wandering thoughts. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t seem to concentrate properly.
Only now did she realise the stranger wore no overcoat. He must be even wetter than she.
‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head dazedly. ‘I’m not…’
‘Have you been in an accident?’ Again that easy, calm voice with just a hint of iron in its depths.
‘No. No accident. I… Could you give