Sharon Kendrick - The Sheikh's Unwilling Wife

Alexa thought how deeply olive his skin looked beneath the soft lighting—yet it gave off a soft golden radiance which contrasted with his thick hair, as black as the coal which lay waiting to be thrown onto the roaring fire.

And suddenly she felt a terrible yearning—like someone standing in an icy waste who had just sighted a thick cashmere blanket. For how long was it since she had looked on a man and felt anything approaching desire?

Not since Italy.

And she had never desired anyone the way she had Giovanni—how could she? Who could possibly follow a role model like him?

Well, she wasn’t going to think of that now. Keep focussed. Find out why he’s here and keep it simple. Pinning a smile to her lips, she began to walk towards him.

Giovanni’s eyes narrowed as he saw her, and again that alien and unexpected feeling wrenched at him. How pale her face looked, he thought with a frown. And how did she always manage to project that image of being all alone in the world—so that a man wanted to reach out and safeguard her? His frown deepened. Because that was the game she played—one that all clever and beautiful women engaged in. His own mother had excelled at it. Alexa was simply capitalising on her assets—emphasising her strange fragility and her pale, doe-like beauty.

Forcing himself to concentrate instead on the darkened bow of her mouth, the sway of her hips, and the thought of her breasts hidden beneath the bulky jacket, he was rewarded with a familiar leap in his groin. He rose to his feet as she approached, because his manners were always impeccable, even if the dark light flashing from his eyes was anything but conventionally polite.

‘Here I am,’ she said flatly.

‘So I see.’

They stared at one another like two new boxers in the ring, who were trying to psych the other one out.

He would never have allowed her to go out wearing such a bulky, waterproof jacket as the one which now sparkled beneath fine droplets of seawater, he thought. Yet the dilemma with someone who looked like Alexa was that on the one hand you wanted her to display that magnificent body of hers—while on the other you did not want other men seeing it. But they were separated now, and none of the normal rules counted. How she dressed was nothing to do with him, for he was interested only in seeing her without any clothes on at all.

His eyes flickered over her, to where her glorious hair tumbled down in windswept strands over her breasts. ‘At least you’ve let your hair down,’ he observed softly.

‘Giovanni, we aren’t here to…’

‘To what, cara?’ he questioned innocently.

‘To—to make personal remarks like that.’ To make her feel like a real woman for the first time in years and remind her of his consummate skill as a lover. And wasn’t she in danger of regarding even that through rose-tinted spectacles? She must force herself to remember the reality of their wedding night and its bitter conclusion. ‘It isn’t appropriate,’ she finished.

Giovanni heard the slightly despairing note of appeal in her voice and bit back his smile. This was good. What was it that the English said? He was getting under her skin. Just as she had once got under his, playing disingenuous games in order to hook him, as women had been attempting to do since he’d first started shaving.

‘Sit down,’he said, his eyes narrowing at her look of genuine hesitation.

‘I don’t know if I should.’

His mouth curved into a mocking line. Did she really imagine that he would let her walk away from him a second time?

‘I said, sit down,’ he repeated silkily.

Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure she could walk straight out again—even if he’d told her she could. The feelings which had surged over her since he’d entered the shop suddenly took their toll, and with legs which were suddenly weak Alexa sank down onto one of the overstuffed leather sofas, glancing around her as nervously as if she was a woman on a blind date.

Sometimes when she was out she felt self-conscious, or paranoid as if people were staring at her. But today they really were. And it was nothing to do with a winds-wept woman on her way home from work—but everything to do with the exotic man who had just sat down opposite her. He was lounging back in his chair like a dangerous, undiscovered species who needed a warning notice attached to him.

He pushed a glass of wine towards her. ‘You look as if you could use it.’

Alexa took the drink but didn’t touch it. Just looked straight into his eyes and willed herself not to respond to all those potent signals he was sending out. But most potent of all was the heartbreaking similarity between him and Paolo. The same thick forest of black lashes, and the slash of high, slanting cheekbones. The same dark curls—though Paolo’s were more of an ebony tumble and Giovanni’s had been expertly clipped to lovingly define the proud shape of his head. She shook the thoughts away.

‘How did you find me?’ she questioned, curling her fingers around the glass, as if doing that would warm their frozen stiffness.

‘Oh, finding you was simple, cara—far easier than I expected.’He shrugged. He had been surprised she was still here—but then, didn’t women always go back to somewhere they’d known? She had lived here before she had come out to Italy. Before her mother had moved off to live in the wilds of Canada, and before he had foolishly decided that Alexa needed looking after and had married her.

His mouth hardened. ‘I tried your old phone number and got your voice on the answer-machine.’

‘And if you hadn’t?’

He shrugged, but his eyes glittered. ‘Then I should have had to employ someone to find you. Anything is possible.’

‘A…detective?’

‘Something like that.’

‘But you didn’t? Get a detective, I mean?’ she questioned, until she saw his face and realised that she’d said too much. Underestimated his razor-sharp intelligence. He must surely have noticed her wide-eyed fear and be questioning its source. So better start back-tracking before it was too late.

‘Whatever is the matter, Alexa? Anyone would think you had something to hide from me.’

‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic!’ she said brightly, though inside she hated herself for the unspoken lie which fell from her lips. ‘I’m just fascinated to find out what has brought you here.’

‘Are you?’He traced his forefinger along his bottom lip thoughtfully. Of course she was going to be jumpy—what woman wouldn’t be, in her situation? Was she looking at him now and realising what a stupid mistake she had made? But she was the one who had to live with the consequences of her own stupidity—and that was not the reason he was here.

‘Yes, in truth it is a fascinating story,’ he agreed, but for once in his life the words did not come easily—there was no template for this kind of situation. He ran his finger around the rim of his wine glass and realised that although they were separated he was still treating her like a wife. For simply by marrying they had forged a deep bond he had experienced with no other woman—no matter what had happened between them subsequently. Why else would he be about to confide in her an incredible story he had told no other? ‘You remember my mother?’ he asked suddenly.

It was not the opening Alexa had been expecting, and it took her off guard. ‘Yes, of course I remember her,’ she answered slowly. ‘She’s a pretty unforgettable character.’ Natala—his glamorous, gorgeous mother, with her penchant for diamonds and those slinky black satin dresses which were as tight as a second skin. Until Alexa had met Natala she hadn’t realised that mothers could look like film stars.

‘How is she?’ she questioned, not quite sure of the etiquette in asking after a woman who had once been overheard pronouncing her as—‘ordinary. And she has no money, Gio!’