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March Books 1 - 4: Bound to the Sicilian's Bed Conveniently Wed! One Night With Consequences Book How to write a great review. The review must be at least 50 characters long. The title should be at least 4 characters long. The autocratic posture of his tall, sculpted frame.
That was what made her sure it was him. Other men might be as tall, their bodies just as athletically proportioned, but no one else stood like that. Head and shoulders above the rest, and not just literally. For he emanated an infuriatingly justified self-confidence. He knew that the moment he walked into a room, whether he was announced as Kaliq Al-Zahir A'zam, crown prince of Qwasir, or not, the particles in the air changed a little, so that every woman—no, every human being—was aware of the presence of a man who could not be ignored.
She swallowed and closed her eyes in disbelief, wishing that the heat spreading through her body would somehow make her invisible, camouflaged against the flames projected behind her. But she only felt herself growing more conspicuous, naked almost, beneath his dark, penetrating gaze. Why on earth was he here? Had he some financial interest in Jezebel Cosmetics?
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It was one of the world's most successful new brands, but since when did a sheikh need to dabble in the retail industry for extra cash? He bought racehorses like other people bought popcorn, for goodness' sake—to liven up a little light entertainment. Tamara would have laughed at her own pathetic supposition if her heart wasn't pulsating so wildly, and if all her attention wasn't focused on looking anywhere but in his direction.
Surely, after all this time, he hadn't come to remind her what she was missing, as if she was a task that had finally got to the top of his royal to-do list? No, he had made it perfectly clear that he never wanted to see her again. There had to be some logical explanation. Whilst the sight of your shivering side profile opens up a whole new realm of… possibilities, it rather detracts from the heat of the piece.
Let's call it a day. For once, Tamara was actually grateful to hear Henry's voice. Plagued with curiosity though she was, the need to escape was greater. If she was quick, she could make a dash for her dressing room behind the main stage and leave by the back door. Because, no matter how unimaginable his reason for being here, never discovering it was preferable to facing her greatest regret head-on.
It was bad enough that it had followed her around like a shadow all these years. But quick, she soon discovered, had not been quick enough. For, as she slung on her jacket and hot-footed the short distance to her dressing room and flung open the door, it became apparent that he had been quicker. She did not know why she drew a breath in surprise. If his purpose was to speak with her, she knew he would not let a little matter like her reluctance interfere with his plans.
With one leg tossed casually over the other, his suspended foot working impatiently, he sat back in the chair positioned right in the middle of her dressing room as if it were a throne. Tamara dared not meet his eyes: She had never seen him outside of Qwasir itself, and it struck her now more than it ever had before just how exotic he looked—that olive skin, the opulence of his thick, black hair which, while cut short, had a definite wave that seemed to speak of wildness and control at the same time.
Although he wore his dark, impeccably cut suit as if he had been born into it, seeing him in Western dress seemed only to enhance just how much an extension of the untameable desert he was. She remained at the doorway, fighting the contradicting emotions inside her which fought for supremacy. One half hating him—the only man she had ever believed herself in love with—for waltzing through the door just when she had finally started to forget, the other half feeling as if she had just woken up from a dull and lifeless sleep and discovered it was the first day of spring.
The recollection that she ought to have bowed in the presence of the crown prince and that her informal address no doubt broke a thousand codes of Qwasirian conduct came later, and was the easiest to dismiss. Though perhaps not for him, for his eyes flicked over her with such censure that she felt if she didn't say something— anything—then the room would combust.
Tamara felt herself colour involuntarily at the insinuation, all the more so because blushing was a childhood tendency that until now she had thought she'd grown out of. The flowers were just a thank you from Mike, but she might have guessed that, to Kaliq, modelling and a lack of virtue were synonymous. Did he suppose she had a different admirer in here every day of the week? How little he knew.
The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride (Royal and Ruthless) by Sabrina Philips
Kaliq suddenly raised his head, as if the concept of someone correcting him was entirely alien and he needed to check he had heard correctly. Kaliq was many things, but he most certainly was not most people. The Tales of Brian Pussycat. An Erotic Fairy Tale. Doguar and the Baboons of War. Book 1 of Basil Ackroyd's France. Playing With A Thug. A Royal Vow Of Convenience: Modern Romance August Books Collection: Scandals Of The Crown: The Royal Wedding Collection: Modern Romance March Books 1 - 4: Bound By His Heir: Modern Romance July Books Collection: March Books 1 - 4: Bound to the Sicilian's Bed Conveniently Wed!
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