скачать книгу бесплатно
The Sheikh's Bride
Sophie Weston
Leonora Groom is an heiress in disguise, desperate to be loved for herself and not for her father's money. Yet she finds her cool facade cracking as the irresistible Amer el-Barbary woos her under the velvet Nile sky.Bored with dating shallow women, Amer sees Leonora as a tempting breath of fresh air. But how will Leonora react when he reveals that he is a sheikh, a true prince of the desert, who wants her for his bride?
“Shall I tell him to go away again and leave us alone for a couple of hours?” Amer said softly.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Leonora spoke with difficulty.
He was so close she could feel his little puffed breath of frustration. She thought, why doesn’t he touch me? But still he did not.
Instead, he murmured, “That’s the first lie you’ve ever told me,” and she felt a sort of agony at his words.
She held her breath. But Amer rolled aside and sat up. He gave the boatman a few orders. He did not sound annoyed. He did not sound as if he cared much at all.
Leonora smoothed her hair with a shaking hand. She had never been so intensely aware of sensation before, nor of her own sensuality. Never realized so totally that she was a physical creature. Never wanted….
Dear Reader,
Let your imagination take flight as Sophie Weston brings you a truly delicious touch of Eastern promise.
Amer el-Barbary is an Arab prince, a true lord of the desert—every woman’s fantasy man. He’s rich and masterful, living life on the edge of danger. And he’s about to capture Leonora Groom’s heart—and your own—in this most romantic of stories, The Sheikh’s Bride.
The Sheikh’s Bride
Sophie Weston
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u7a745bbf-2e4d-515b-811f-5fd077fa2289)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua2a0931d-72b6-5a05-a890-f57bc034d867)
CHAPTER TWO (#u354c6f2b-ffdd-552a-8c4a-0de7224f7c98)
CHAPTER THREE (#u88e1127b-e34f-5fd8-b279-34e27d11a1d7)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
‘WHAT are we waiting for?’ asked the co-pilot.
The pilot looked down from his cockpit at the Cairo tarmac. In the early morning, the dust was tinged with diamond light and the roofs of the distant airport building gleamed. A couple of men in dark suits were doing an efficient sweep of the apron on which their plane had come to a halt.
‘Security,’ he said briefly.
The co-pilot was new to flying the Sheikh of Dalmun’s private fleet. ‘Do they always go through this?’
The other man shrugged. ‘He’s an influential guy.’
‘Is he a target, then?’
‘He’s megarich and he’s heir apparent to Dalmun,’ said the pilot cynically. ‘Of course he’s a target.’
His companion grinned. His girl-friend regularly brought home royalty watching magazines.
‘Chick magnet, huh? Lucky devil.’
The security men had finished their surveillance. One of them raised a hand and a white stretch limousine came slowly round the plane. The pilot, his cap under his arm, stood up and went to shake hands with the departing passenger.
An early-morning breeze whipped the Sheikh’s white robes as he strode towards the limousine. In spite of the entourage that followed, he looked a lonely figure.
The pilot came back into the cockpit.
‘We’re on stand-by,’ he said briefly.
Other cars arrived. The security team swung into them then the limousine drew away, flanked by its guardians.
The pilots sat back, waiting for an escort to the plane’s final parking place.
‘What’s he doing here?’ asked the co-pilot idly. ‘Business or pleasure?’
‘Both, I guess. He hasn’t been out of Dalmun for months,’ said the older man unguardedly.
‘Why?’
The pilot didn’t answer.
‘I heard there was a bust up. His old man wanted him to marry again?’
‘Maybe.’ A second monosyllabic answer.
‘So what do you think? Has he been let out to find himself a bride?’
The pilot was betrayed into indiscretion. ‘Amer el-Barbary? A bride? When hell freezes over.’
CHAPTER ONE
LEONORA pushed a grubby hand through her hair and breathed hard. The lobby of the Nile Hilton was full to bursting. She had lost three of the museum party she was supposed to be escorting; she had not managed to spend time with her mother who was consequently furious; and now this week’s problem client had come up with another of her challenging questions.
‘What?’ she said distractedly.
‘Just coming in now.’ Mrs Silverstein nodded at the swing doors. ‘Who is he?’
A stretched white limousine, its windows discreetly darkened, had pulled up in the forecourt, flanked by two dark Mercedes. Men in dark grey suits emerged and took up strategic stances while a froth of porters converged on the party. The doors of the limousine remained resolutely closed. Leo knew the signs.
‘Probably royal.’ She was not very interested. Her father’s recently acquired travel agency did not have royal clients yet. ‘Nothing to do with me, thank God. Have you seen the Harris family?’
‘Royal,’ said Mrs Silverstein, oblivious.
Leo grinned. She liked Mrs Silverstein.
‘A lord of the desert,’ the older woman said.
‘Quite possibly.’
Leo decided not to spoil it by telling her the man was probably also Harvard educated, multilingual and rode through the desert in an air-conditioned four-wheel drive instead of on a camel. Mrs Silverstein was a romantic. Leo, as she was all too aware, was not.
‘I wonder who he is…’
Leo knew that note in her voice. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ she said firmly.
Mrs Silverstein sent her a naughty look. ‘You could ask.’
Leo laughed aloud. It was what her client had been saying to her for three weeks.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I’m your courier. I’ll do a lot for you. I’ll ask women how old they are and men how much it costs to feed a donkey. But I won’t ask a lot of armed goons who it is they’re guarding. They’d probably arrest me.’
Mrs Silverstein chuckled. In three weeks they had come to understand each other. ‘Chicken.’
‘Anyway, I’ve got to find the Harris family.’
Leo slid through the crowd to a marble-topped table where a house phone lurked behind a formal flower arrangement. She dialled the Harris’ room, casting a harassed eye round, just in case they had come down without her catching them.
The limousine party were on the move, she saw. Men, their mobile phones pressed to their ears, parted bodies. Behind them walked a tall figure, his robes flowing from broad shoulders. Mrs Silverstein was right, she thought ruefully. He was magnificent.
And then he turned his head and looked at her. And, to her own astonishment, Leo found herself transfixed.
‘Hello?’ said Mary Harris on the other end of the phone. ‘Hello?’
She had never seen him before. Leo knew she had not. But there was something about the man that hit her like a high wind. As if he was important to her. As if she knew him.
‘Hello? Hello?’
He wore the pristine white robe and headdress of a desert Arab. In that glittering lobby the severe plainness was a shock. It made him look even more commanding than he already did given his height and the busy vigilance of his entourage. His eyes were hidden by dark glasses but his expression was weary as his indifferent glance slid over her and on across the crowd.
‘Hello? Who is this?’
Leo read arrogance in every line of him. She did not like it. But still she could not stop staring. It was like being under a spell.
Mrs Silverstein slid up beside her and took the phone out of her hand. Leo hardly noticed. All she could do was look—and wait for his eyes to find her again.
I’m not like this, said a small voice in her head. I don’t stare blatantly at sexy strangers. Leo ignored it. She did not seem as if she could help herself. She stood as still as a statue, waiting…
A man Leo recognised as the hotel’s duty manager was escorting the party. He was bowing, oblivious to anyone else. As he did so, he brushed so close to her that she had to step back sharply. She hit her hip on the table and grabbed a pillar to save herself. Normally a gentle and courteous man, the duty manager did not even notice.
But the object of all this attention did.
The white-robed figure stopped dead. Masked eyes turned in Leo’s direction.
It was what she had been waiting for. It was like walking into an earthquake. Leo’s breath caught and she hung onto the pillar as if she would be swallowed up without its support.
‘Oh my,’ said Mrs Silverstein, fluttering.
Leo clutched even tighter. She felt cold—then searingly hot—then insubstantial as smoke. Her fingers on the pillar were white but she felt as if the strength had all been slammed out of her.
Then he turned his head away. She was released.
Leo sagged. She found she had been holding her breath and her muscles felt as weak as water. She put a shaky hand to her throat.
‘Oh my,’ said Mrs Silverstein a second time. She gave Leo a shrewd look and restored the phone to its place.
Across the lobby, there was an imperious gesture. One of the suited men stepped respectfully close. The tall head inclined. The assistant looked across at Mrs Silverstein and Leo. He seemed surprised.
Leo knew that surprise. The knowledge chilled her, just as it had in every party she had ever been to. She was not the sort of woman that men noticed in crowded lobbies. She and the man in the grey suit both knew it.
She was too tall, too pale, too stiff. She had her father’s thick eye brows. They always made her look fierce unless she was very careful. Just now, too, her soft dark hair was full of Cairo dust and her drab business suit was creased.
Not very enticing, Leo thought, trying to laugh at herself. She had got used to being plain. She would have said that she did not let it bother her any more. But the look of surprise on the man’s face hurt surprisingly.
The white-robed figure said something sharply. His assistant’s face went blank. Then he nodded. And came over to them.
‘Excuse me,’ he said in accentless English. ‘His Excellency asks if you are hurt.’
Leo shook her head, dumbly. She was too shaken to speak—though she could not have said why. After all, with his eyes hidden by smoked glass, she had no evidence that the man in the white robes was even looking at her. But she knew he was.
Mrs Silverstein was made of sterner stuff.
‘Why how kind of—of His Excellency to ask,’ she said, beaming at the messenger. She turned to Leo, ‘That man didn’t hurt you, did he dear?’
‘Hurt me?’ echoed Leo. She was bewildered. Did he have laser-powered eyes behind those dark glasses?
Mrs Silverstein was patient. ‘When he bumped into you.’
