Jane Porter - The Desert Sheikh's Innocent Queen - King of the Desert, Captive Bride

“We all wanted to see the pyramids and the tombs. That’s why I ended up joining them in the first place. I was trying to be smart, proactive. I thought I’d be safer traveling with a group of people than being on my own—” She broke off, realizing all over again how wrong she’d been, and the shock of it, and the anger over it, surged through her, wild, fierce, uncontrollable.

“If you hadn’t come …” she said, her voice muffled. “If you hadn’t come I would have never gotten out.”

“But I did come, and I’ve promised you my continued protection.”

She lifted her head to look at him and her eyes met his and held. His eyes were so dark, so commanding, that she couldn’t look away, and Liv didn’t know if it was the heat there in his eyes, or his slightly rough rumble of a voice, but shivers raced through her, shivers of hope and fear, anticipation and curiosity.

He was so very much a man—confident, controlled, a little ironic, a little intimate. The combination was incredibly dangerous, especially for someone like her who had such limited experience with men.

With the table now collapsed and once again stowed, she found she’d missed the protection it offered.

The table had created a sense of distance and space, and with it gone, Khalid seemed even more imposing than before. He was sitting close, very close, not even an arm’s length away, and even though they weren’t touching she could feel him, feel his warmth and energy, and it was an electric awareness. Hot, sharp, dizzying.

Liv needed that table back, needed a barrier between them, because right now she felt very exposed, and vulnerable.

Maybe this is why women in the Middle East and Northern Africa hide beneath robes. Maybe they’re not hiding their bodies from men, but from themselves.

Interesting how a man could change so much so fast. Liv had never felt delicate before, nor all that feminine, but Khalid made her aware of the differences between them, made her aware that he was bigger, taller, stronger.

He was tall and broad-shouldered and powerfully built. She was smaller, not even reaching his shoulder, and slender. But it was more than height. It was the way they were shaped. The way she was shaped. Her narrower shoulders. The swell of her breasts. The curve of her hip. The line of her thigh.

Her wardrobe only accented the differences between them, too. Everything he’d bought for her yesterday was feminine, each piece fresh, charming, stylish and of course perfectly made. Even her blue-and-white seersucker sundress, topped by a small white cardigan edged in lace, emphasized her delicate frame. The 1950s retro-style dress was innocent and yet flirtatious. The bodice molded to her breasts, nipped at her waist and then flared at her hips in a swingy skirt that hit just above her knees.

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