The Innocent Carrying His Legacy Read online

  Nazir prowled closer, since Ivy hadn’t seemed to notice him yet, curious as to how this little scene was going to play out. He hadn’t thought she’d be particularly interested in gardening and yet she seemed fascinated by what the gardener was trying to tell her, even though it was clear she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

  The sunburn on her face had faded, leaving her with a golden tan that made her light brown eyes seem more vivid, like new copper pennies, and the no-nonsense, stern expression that had been a fixture whenever he was around had faded. She seemed relaxed and interested and curious, her lovely mouth curving in a ready smile.

  A pretty woman, all bright-eyed curiosity and focused interest.

  Perhaps she will be like that in bed? In your arms? As you teach her everything there is to know about passion...

  His groin tightened, the hot possessiveness that had flooded through him that day he’d met her sweeping through him once again. He wanted to snatch her up and take her away somewhere private, somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed, where he could feast on her at his leisure like a lion with its kill.

  At that moment, the gardener noticed him and paled slightly, inclining his head and falling silent, causing Ivy to turn around to see what the problem was.

  Her gaze met Nazir’s and widened.

  ‘Leave us,’ Nazir ordered the gardener, not taking his gaze from Ivy’s.

  The gardener obediently vanished, leaving the courtyard empty but for Nazir and Ivy, the sound of the fountain cutting through the sudden, electric tension.

  Ivy drew herself up, her whole posture stiffening, the delicate lines of her face tensing into severity once again. ‘I thought I told your guard not fifteen minutes ago that I didn’t want to see you.’

  ‘You did tell him.’ Nazir came closer, watching her response as he did so. ‘And he told me. I decided it was time you stopped sulking.’

  Outrage crossed her face. ‘I am not sulking.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ He stopped not far from her, allowing her a bit of distance at the same time as he debated closing it. ‘You stormed out of our discussion without a word and since then have made no effort to communicate what offended you so much or why you’re so angry. You haven’t even wanted to discuss your current situation.’ He gave her a very level look. ‘You’re being stubborn, Miss Dean. To your detriment.’

  She’d gone pink, that luscious mouth of hers in an unforgiving line, all the curiosity and interest he’d seen in her face as she’d talked to the gardener draining away. It made him regret interrupting her.

  Alternatively, you could redirect that interest to you.

  That was true, he could. In fact, that was exactly what he was going to do.

  Ivy glanced away, clearly struggling against her anger. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘I realise that. However, your choices are becoming more limited by the second and you have no one to blame for that but yourself.’

  Her gaze came back to his, glittering bright. ‘Choices? What choices? You told me that I had to marry you. Then you locked me in this damn fortress, removed me from my job, ensured that going back home was impossible, and then had the gall, not only to insult the life I’ve painstakingly built for myself, but destroy it as well.’ She strode suddenly up to him, tilting her head back to look straight into his eyes. ‘Tell me, Mr Al Rasul, where is my choice in that?’

  She was very close. She must have been using some of the bath oils he’d had the bathroom stocked with, because one of them had been jasmine scented and he could smell the sweetness of it now, a heady perfume that rose with the warmth of her skin. Her gaze was brighter, alight not with curiosity this time but challenge, and no small amount of anger.

  Oh, she might be stubborn, but she was also passionate. A little tinderbox ready to catch fire at the slightest spark. He’d like to set her alight. He’d like to watch her burn and then stretch out his hands to the flames and let himself catch fire too.

  This is dangerous. You should keep your distance.

  He should. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. The T-shirt she wore stretched tight over her full breasts and that little rounded stomach, giving him a perfect view of her luscious, curvy figure. A strand of chestnut hair had come out of her ponytail and lay over her shoulder like a skein of discarded silk. It curled around one breast, making his fingers itch to curl around the soft roundness too, to circle the faint outline of her nipple and make it harden under his touch. To watch her gaze fill with hot sparks, not of anger, but desire.

  She was so stubborn and argumentative and prickly, and he wanted to match his will with hers, test her, push her, see how far he could go with her. It had been too long since he’d been with anyone who’d challenged him as determinedly as this woman did.

  ‘There’s always choice.’ His voice was deeper and rougher than it should have been. ‘Even if the choices you have are ones you don’t like.’

  ‘Again, what were my choices? Tell me, because I can’t see them.’

  Oh, challenging him like this was the wrong thing to do, so very wrong. Especially when he enjoyed it so much. He was a warrior; he liked a fight. He was also a possessive man, a jealous man, too, and his passions ran deep. That was why he had to be so careful. But he couldn’t remember why he had to be so careful now, not with her. Not when she was his already.

  ‘Your choices?’ He took a step towards her. ‘You could, for example, have chosen not to come so close to me.’

  She eyed him and sniffed, not alarmed, not yet. But she should be. She definitely should be. ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘And you could have chosen not to argue with me.’ Nazir took another step, closing what little distance there was between them. ‘And you definitely could have chosen not to let me touch you.’ He reached for her, settling casual hands on her hips and pulling her close, watching as her gaze widened, her mouth opening in surprise. ‘And you probably could have chosen not to let me kiss you, but, since you’re not moving, I’m going to assume that you’ve made your choice, Ivy Dean.’

  ‘Oh, but I—’

  He didn’t let her finish. He bent his head and took her mouth with his.

  * * *

  Ivy wasn’t sure what was happening. Her feet should have been moving and her hands most certainly should have been pressed to his hard chest and pushing hard. Yet her feet remained rooted to the spot and though her hands were on his chest, they weren’t pushing.

  She wasn’t trying to get away from him at all. She was simply standing there, frozen, while his mouth explored hers with a possessive firmness yet gentle delicacy that had her trembling.

  She’d never been kissed before, not once. She’d never had a man’s hands on her hips, holding her still. Never been so close to him that his heat surrounded her and his scent clouded her senses. But she was now and it was...astonishing.

  His lips were hot as a brand and yet softer than she’d thought they’d be, moving on hers lazily, as if he had all the time in the world, tracing her bottom lip with his tongue then nipping gently on her top lip. Sensitising her entire mouth.

  She couldn’t quite comprehend all the sensations that were pouring through her, so much heat and gentle pressure, and a burgeoning ache that stole her breath. The smell of the desert surrounded her, along with its intense heat, and then there was a spicier, muskier scent too that she found inexplicably delicious.

  His body was so big and so powerful, the muscles beneath her hands like granite.

  He was kissing her. The Sheikh, the Commander, was kissing her.

  Her heartbeat thundered, her breath long gone.

  His hands slid from her hips, up and up to cup her face between his palms, tilting her head back and then his tongue was pushing inside her mouth in a long, hot, possessive glide.

  A flood of heat rooted her where she stood, electricity arcing through her ent
ire body. He tasted...like hot chocolate and brandy, two things she’d always secretly loved, and it shocked her that a kiss could taste like that. That a man could taste like that.

  What are you doing? Why are you letting him kiss you?

  Both good questions, but ones she didn’t have the answer to, because her brain didn’t seem to be functioning. It kept circling around to the feel of his mouth on hers, the pressure of it, the glide of his tongue as he explored and the burning heat of his palms against her cheeks.

  What had she been doing before? She couldn’t remember. Talking to someone about something. She’d been angry too, but the reasons for that were vague.

  Everything was vague except for his hands on her, his mouth on hers, sharp, bright, hot points of contact that felt more real than anything else had in her entire life.

  A little sound escaped her and before she knew what she was doing, her fingers had curled into the black cotton of his T-shirt, and she was rising on her toes, pushing against him, wanting more of his taste and his heat, wanting more of his touch, because she felt starving, as if she’d been hungry for days, weeks, no...years. She’d been starving for years, never knowing what it was that she was hungry for, and now here was this man, this unbelievably arrogant, annoying man, showing her exactly what her hunger was for.

  Him. She’d been hungry for him.

  She touched her tongue to his hesitantly, experimenting, and was rewarded by a deep growling sound that seemed to come from him. His fingers on her cheeks firmed, the kiss becoming deeper, hotter. There was demand in it now, and a possessive edge that thrilled her down to the bone.

  He wanted her, didn’t he? This powerful Sheikh, with a whole army at his back, wanted her.

  The thrill became deeper, wilder. She wanted more of it, more of his taste, more of his touch, and she felt as though she might die if she didn’t get it. She pressed herself to him, intoxicated by the feel of his rock-hard body against hers, the iron plane of his chest crushed to her sensitive breasts, something long and thick and hard pressed against the softness between her thighs, where she ached so intensely.

  Oh, he wanted her, yes, he did, and she liked that so much. It gave her a power she’d never experienced before in her entire life.

  His hands dropped from her cheeks to her hips once more, then curved down over her rear, squeezing her gently, fitting her more closely against the hard ridge of his desire. He took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down with care, sending white-hot sparks of sensation cascading through her. She shuddered, gripping onto his T-shirt, pushing herself harder against that tantalising ridge because it felt so good. She’d never known pleasure like it.

  Are you insane? You barely know him and yet you’re letting him kiss you senseless!

  Her common sense stirred at the thought, but Ivy ignored it. Common sense seemed so far away and boring right now. She felt cold, as if she’d been shut outside a house in the rain and could see through the windows and catch glimpses of a warm fire in a cosy room. He was that fire. He was that warm room. And she’d been outside all her life. Just once she wanted to go inside and be in the heat.

  Except then he pulled away from her, leaving her clutching onto nothing, her mouth feeling full and sensitised, her heartbeat raging, her body aching and her skin tight. And she was cold. Cold again.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, barely even conscious of speaking. She reached automatically for him, but he’d stepped back, out of her reach.

  There was a fierce, hungry look on his face, the brilliant turquoise of his eyes no longer so icy but blazing with heat.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered, the deep, rough sound of his voice sending yet another thrill echoing through her. ‘Unless of course you want to find yourself on your back on that couch in the salon.’

  You want that.

  Ivy took a breath, the thought winding around her and pulling tight. No. God, no. She didn’t want that. This man had not only imprisoned her, he was going to force her to be his wife. He’d made sure she couldn’t return to her job and, not only that, he’d insulted her. He’d told her that the life she’d built so carefully and painstakingly, the life she was very proud of, was a small one.

  It’s just his opinion. Why do you care?

  A good question and one she’d been asking herself for the past two days, too angry at him and the situation he’d put her in to want to even see him, let alone discuss it. Sulking, he’d said, and he was right, much as it pained her to admit it. She supposed she had been sulking. But she’d been angry and much of the last couple of days had been spent trying to get rid of it. Anger had never helped her when she’d been desperately wanting to be adopted by someone, and it certainly wasn’t going to help her now, when she’d been imprisoned by the world’s most annoying Sheikh.

  The first day she’d spent pacing around in her set of rooms, fulminating about him, cursing him and his lineage, and feeling very smug when she’d told the guards who’d asked if she would receive him that, no, she most certainly would not receive him.

  The second day, she’d got bored with pacing, and had started investigating the harem section of the fortress, searching for something to do. The staff didn’t speak English, but that hadn’t stopped her, and eventually, with lots of pointing and gesturing and miming various actions, she’d managed to get them to give her some cleaning equipment. Then they’d watched her with some amusement as she’d proceeded to give the entire place a thorough dust, sweep and polish. Of course that hadn’t taken her all day, only the morning, and afterwards some more guards had arrived, bringing with them a laptop so she could access the Internet, and a phone so she could call the home to let them know where she was.

  She’d been angry about that too, determined to find fault with the gesture, mostly because she didn’t have any family to inform of her whereabouts and only a few work colleagues who would notice or care. And besides, she didn’t want him to be nice to her. She didn’t want to let go of her anger, since that would just let the fear in and when it came down to a choice between being angry or afraid, it was anger every time. Fear made a person so passive and Ivy didn’t want to be passive.

  Dutifully, she’d called the home and spoken to her work colleagues, and, while they’d been grateful to hear from her, all they’d been able to talk about was the ridiculous sum of money that had appeared in the home’s bank account, a huge donation from an anonymous benefactor. That had made her angry too.

  Eventually, sick of herself, she’d gone out into the courtyard to talk to the gardener, because the shrubs and trees were beautiful and she’d always loved plants, and she’d wanted to know how he managed to keep them looking so good in the middle of the desert.

  Then the Sheikh had prowled out from under the colonnaded walk, coming towards her even though she’d told his guards she didn’t want to see him, and then he’d kissed her...

  The air felt painful on her skin, the sun too bright, and she was hot yet cold at the same time. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She’d had no experience of sex, no experience of men, had told herself for years she didn’t want any experience either because relationships weren’t for her. She was too busy with the home, too busy with her life, too busy, full stop. She hadn’t met anyone she’d been attracted to, and, anyway, sex sounded like such a faff. Uncomfortable and awkward and just, no, thank you.

  Yet the ache inside her now and the desperate hunger that went along with it belied all those excuses. Because that was what they were. Just excuses. Lies to make herself feel better about the emptiness of her life. An emptiness that Connie had once filled as her friend, and now Connie was gone...

  He’s right. It’s a small life you’ve led.

  Ivy turned abruptly away from his burning gaze, the sound of her heartbeat almost deafening. There were tears in her eyes and she wasn’t sure why, but one thing she did know was that she didn’t want to cr
y in front of him. That kiss had ripped her open and she couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing what was inside: her desperate loneliness and the intense neediness she tried so hard to conceal.

  She brushed past him, heading blindly away, only for long fingers to wrap around her upper arm and jerk her back against his long, hard body.

  ‘Don’t you walk away from me,’ he growled, his breath warm near her ear. ‘I haven’t finished and neither have you.’

  She trembled, horrified to find herself close to yet another emotional meltdown. ‘Please,’ she forced out. ‘Please, let me go.’

  ‘No,’ he said, and before she could move his arms came around her, iron bands holding her against his hot, hard body.

  A shudder coursed down her spine, the heat of him surrounding her, seeping into her, warming all the cold, dark places inside her, making her want more, making her desperate for all the heat he had to give.

  She didn’t want to give in. Didn’t want to cry in his arms, but stupid tears filled her eyes all the same. And that meant there was only one thing left for her to do in order to distract him.

  Ivy took a shaking breath and turned in the circle of his arms, tilting her head back to look up into all that blazing turquoise blue. Then she put her hands on his hard chest, went up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.

  He went very still, every muscle stiffening, and she waited for him to shove her away, because clearly she’d transgressed. And part of her was desperate for the distance, while another part hurt at the anticipated rejection, not wanting him to push her away.

  Then he gave another, deep growl, the sound vibrating against her palms, and she was being kissed again, harder and with more demand, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, searching and tasting.

  Oh, yes, this was what she wanted. This was what she’d been craving for so many years, a deep and secret craving that she had no words for. But she did now. She knew now.