The Desert Lord's Bride / Wed by Deception: The Desert Lord's Bride. Emilie Rose
so wrong I would laugh if this wasn’t so distressing. I want you, Farah. I’ve never wanted anything or anyone like I want you.” He took a step toward her and she flinched. He flinched, too, stopped. “Ya Ullah, are you afraid of me?” Her eyes closed on a look of total confusion. And he rasped, “Am I paying the price for all of the people who tried to take advantage of you? But as you said, it’s even worse. I doubt you actually feared any of them.”
Her face contorted on emotions so clear it felt as if she’d shouted them in his mind. Mortification ruled them all.
But her tears were stopping. Then she hiccupped. “It was just-just—finding the plane taking off, that look on your face— and I scared myself with my own speculations…” She paused, gave him a hesitant, vulnerable look. “Do you really want me?”
He drove his hands in his hair in frustration he had no need to feign. “Can’t you feel it, in your every cell, setting your senses on fire, how much I desire you?”
She nodded, shook her head, at a total loss. “I do—but I felt…something deeper. If you have any hidden agenda besides…”
He wanted to swear to her that he didn’t. He couldn’t. The lie clogged in his throat. But he had to defuse her doubts. He must. His only recourse was to reach for whatever truths existed between the lies, press those home to her.
He came down beside her, reached for her restless hands, found them freezing in sweat. He exerted enough pressure to beseech her not to pull them away, while letting her feel she could if she wanted, his eyes soothing her with all his will.
“Every word I told you about how much I desire you is the truth, Farah. And I can’t bear to see you in this condition, to know that I’m the reason for it.”
She shook her head again. “You’re not, it was me.”
“It was me.” He smoothed a glossy lock of hair away from her cheek. “I should have realized how this situation would be overwhelming for you. You were shaken from all that had happened in the past hours, our meeting, our surrender to what you so aptly called ‘magic’ followed by the paparazzi’s intrusion and our escape from them. But instead of giving you time to catch your breath, I whisked you onboard my jet, where you found yourself surrounded by two dozen strange men, most of them armed, as you must have sensed. Then, without even consulting you, I ordered take off. You thought we’d have dinner onboard on the ground, didn’t you?”
Her eyes said she hadn’t thought at all. He caressed her cheek, almost moaning at its firm softness. “You haven’t even thought what would happen, and you found yourself receding from your world. Then I added insult to injury when the takeoff had my mind straying to a precarious deal I’m involved in at the moment, giving you a glimpse of the ruthless businessman side of me. It’s no wonder you leaped to conclusions.”
She winced, bit her lip. Then she finally quavered, “Can you order us to land, please?”
His every muscle clenched. “You don’t believe me.”
“I do,” she protested. Then she pulled an adorably sheepish face. “I just need to be on the ground so I can dig a hole deep enough never to be seen again.”
He exhaled the breath that had been about to burst his lungs. But he wouldn’t let his guard down again. He’d averted a catastrophe this time. He couldn’t let another brew.
He moved closer, still testing. She melted against him and he inhaled with the reprieve. “Don’t feel embarrassed by your fears, ya saherati. You had every right to wonder, to worry. In fact, I’m almost upset with you for not being more stringent in your examination of my character and intentions before you put yourself in my power this way. You know, like you were cross with me for trusting you based on such a short acquaintance. But then, I believe you wouldn’t have done that with anyone else, that you instinctively felt that you have more power over me than you could ever hand me over you.”
Farah closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of him, wishing she’d blip out of existence.
She’d made a mess of things. And he was letting her off the hook, exonerating her of all blame, shouldering it all himself.
But she couldn’t believe he wasn’t offended for real. She was used to being maligned by strangers, by public opinion, but if someone she cared anything for jumped to such unfounded and offensive conclusions about her, she wouldn’t be quick to forgive and forget. Could it be true he did so completely?
She opened her eyes, found anxiety still tingeing his gaze.
He had. And more. He felt horrible about his alleged role in her out-of-the-blue upheaval. He’d come up with explanations that saved her from looking like an irrational airhead. She felt herself shrink to the size and significance of a bug.
She pressed her face into his hand. “Please, stop being so gallant and understanding or no hole will be deep enough.”
She felt like whooping when his lips twitched. “I can see this developing into a loop, with me saying I did it and you saying, no, I did. So how about we let our feelings of guilt cancel out each other and get on with our enchanted evening?”
“Why would you want to spend more time with a moron who more or less accused you of being a fraud or even a criminal?”
“I can wonder why you would want to spend more time with a lout who didn’t even ask your permission before taking you out of your national airspace. But I won’t. We agreed to think the best of each other’s actions and motivations.”
She gave him a sardonic look. “I didn’t agree to anything. But you’re used to this, aren’t you? You announce stuff and assume everyone’s in agreement with it.”
“See?” His eyes crinkled. “I did it again. You’ve uncovered my biggest vice. I’m part bulldozer.”
She gave in to the urge, ran a finger down a slashed cheekbone. “Only part? And that’s your biggest vice? You sure there aren’t bigger ones?”
“As much as I’d love to have you take my character apart and haul out vices for examination, we have more pressing issues to worry about now. Like food. Didn’t you work up an appetite after all the upheavals? I ordered my chef to prepare my favorite dishes from my country’s cuisine for you to sample.”
The way he said that, and in his mouth-watering voice, too, made her stomach grumble.
His lips spread wide. “I guess I have my answer.”
He pushed more buttons. In minutes he opened the door to a parade of waiters holding their trays high. Even under covers, aromas emanated from the dishes that had her licking her lips.
He rose to his feet, held out his hand. She took it, let him pull her to her feet. Before she fell against him, he pulled back, his eyes once more becoming unfathomable. This time the only alarm she felt was that she might have, in spite of his assurances, introduced distance between them.
He led her behind the screen to a dining area with stainless steel–backed, burgundy velvet-upholstered chairs and a Plexiglas table for two laid out in stunning hand-painted china, silver, crystal and burgundy silk.
As soon as the last waiter had departed, Shehab raised a silver dome off a service plate. The sight and aroma hit her senses in unison.
At her moan he said, “This is matazeez—veal cubes cooked in tomato sauce before adding okra, aubergine and zucchini. The stuff that looks like ravioli is specially prepared dough that’s rolled out and cut and dropped in the mix before it’s fully cooked so that it retains its chewiness. Some people consider this a full meal, some eat it with rice or khobez.”
“That’s this bread?” He nodded, and as she bent for a closer sniff, his smile grew as hot as the dish simmering on the flames. “Who would have guessed you’d know so much about the preparation of the dishes you love.”
“You didn’t think it possible