Inherited For The Royal Bed. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
rel="nofollow" href="#u5c5cdf22-48b7-5573-b615-2b6d2baf990c">CHAPTER FOUR
IF LINA HAD expected a warm welcome from her self-styled guardian, she’d have been disappointed.
The tight curve of his mouth could be classed as a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those gleamed as cool and impenetrable as black onyx. Yet something about the quality of that look sent a tremor of yearning through her insides.
Severely she told herself she hadn’t expected warmth.
It was just that he’d been kind.
He’d treated her, not as an encumbrance or an embarrassment, but as a person who mattered.
When she looked at him she felt something like the prickle of delight she’d known years before in her home on the edge of the desert. She’d looked at the night sky and lost herself in the beauty of the diamond-bright wash of stars. Then she’d felt small and vulnerable but at the same time exultant, as if the vast night sky had touched her with a tiny spark of its magic.
Lina was too old for girlish fantasies about a handsome sheikh. Even though he’d swept in and rescued her. Even though such fantasies had been her solace and her rock as she grappled with life beyond Halarq and everything she knew.
Yet, to her dismay, she discovered fantasies weren’t so easy to banish. She looked into those midnight eyes, heard the warm burr of his voice, and felt it again, that swirl of starlight and wonder. That ripple of hyper-consciousness. Even the contrast of his spare, burnished flesh against pristine white robes caught and held her gaze. And the honed, arrogant but beautiful angles and planes of his face.
He’d altered in four and a half years. His shoulders seemed even wider than before, his chest deeper. There were new lines around his eyes and mouth too, but they only accentuated the masculine charisma of that strong face.
For one mad instant, when she saw a pulse pound at his temple and those broad shoulders stiffen, she’d thought he, too, was affected. But that was her imagination running riot. A second look confirmed she was wrong.
He led her to a pair of opulent antique chairs positioned on the far side of the room. They were a formal few metres apart, slightly turned to make the best of the view from the citadel, down over the ancient sprawling city.
‘Is it good to be home?’
Lina turned in her seat to find him watching her closely. A shiver skated through her at the intensity of his regard. She sat straighter.
‘I...it feels strange.’ Though what felt most strange was hearing him speak of home. As if she truly belonged though she was an outsider here. ‘I don’t really know the city. I was only here a short time.’
His sleek black eyebrows lifted. ‘You would rather return to your old town? Your old home?’
‘No. No!’ The shiver that tracked her spine this time had nothing to do with the man sitting across from her. Her fingers curled tight in her lap as she leaned closer. ‘Please don’t send me back. There’s no place for me there.’
She paused, pushing down the rising fear that she’d be made to return to the family who despised her. For years she hadn’t entertained the possibility. Surely the Emir had saved her from that?
‘I’m sure I’ll adjust quickly to life in the capital.’
She’d adapted to moving from a provincial town to an international school in Switzerland. To make matters worse, it wasn’t just any school, but one patronised by the wealthy and privileged. It taught not only the usual academic subjects, but all the other things deemed necessary for a young woman about to take her privileged place in society. Presumably some officious secretary, on receiving the orders to enrol her in a school at royal expense, had automatically searched for the best, because only the best was ever provided for the Emir.
The other girls, all from wealthy families, had initially treated her as a freak. A freak who barely spoke their languages. Who couldn’t even read or write.
She’d been a figure of fun, the butt of malicious jokes and cruelty. It had only been in her last two years, as the oldest pupil there, that she’d found her place and become a mentor for the younger girls. She’d worked hard and shown true flair in her passion for languages and history, even if her writing was still laborious.
‘You’re certain you don’t want to return?’ She looked up to see his eyes narrowed on her, his hard, handsome face close to a frown. ‘There hasn’t been a softening in your relationship with your aunt and uncle?’
Lina snorted at the absurdity of the idea, then ducked her head, apologising. People did not snort in front of national leaders.
‘I take it that’s a no.’
She looked up in time to catch a glimmer in his eyes that she couldn’t identify. It made him seem more approachable. More like the man she’d met years ago who’d been stern yet gentle. Instantly Lina sank back in her chair, relief buzzing in her veins.
‘I’ve had no contact with them since the day my uncle left me at the servants’ entrance to the palace.’ For all they knew she could have spent the intervening years warming the Emir’s bed as his concubine.
Heat swept Lina’s breasts and throat and she moistened her lips as her throat dried.
Not in embarrassment at the idea, but because the thought of sharing Sayid Badawi’s bed appealed too much.
She’d once glimpsed behind the serious visage and imposing title to the virile, fascinating, kind man beyond. And she couldn’t seem to cure herself of the yearning to know more of him. Experience more.
As if he’d be interested in someone like her!
His stare didn’t waver, nor did he feel the need to fill the silence. She wondered frantically what he read in her face.
Lina had devoured every story she could find about him. They painted a portrait of a strong, determined leader, a man with a vision for his country. And a man who, discreetly but definitely, had an eye for beautiful women.
Could he see how she felt about him? Did he sense that tickle of heated awareness? She’d never felt it with any other man. Only him.
As she watched, his hands gripped the arms of his chair. His ring of authority, a wide band of gold inset with a glowing cabochon ruby, caught the light.
Lina’s pulse throbbed but curiously, as she met that midnight gaze, her heartbeat seemed to slow, grow ponderous and heavy. The air thickened, making her lungs chug hard to draw in oxygen.
Though they didn’t sit close, Lina could swear she inhaled that spicy, sensual aroma she’d smelled only once before. Citrus and cedar wood with a darker note of something she registered as warm male skin.
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