Sandra Marton - Mistress Of The Sheikh

Enough was enough. Amanda’s composure dissolved in a burst of temper. She gave a shriek and flew at him, but Nick caught her shoulders, held her at arm’s length.

“You rat,” she said, her breath hitching. “You—you skunk! You horrible, hideous savage—”

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me. You’re a skunk. A rat. A—”

“A savage.” He swung her around, pinned her to the wall. The memory, so long repressed, burst free. “Damn you,” he growled. “You’re Dawn’s roommate.”

“Her immoral, American roommate,” Amanda said, and showed her teeth. “How brilliant of you to have finally figured it out. But then, I never expected a baboon to have much of a brain.”

The door swung open. Dawn al Rashid stepped into the room. She stared at her shirtless brother, her red-faced best friend, and swallowed hard.

“Isn’t that nice?” she said carefully. “I see that you two have already met.”

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