Bella and the Merciless Sheikh by Sarah Morgan Page A

voice harsh, he kept his back to her and Bella stared blankly at his wide shoulders, wondering why he was so angry. She was feeling a thousand different emotions, but anger certainly wasn’t one of them.
    But she didn’t argue. She saw the white robe that he’d spread on the bed, picked it up and slipped it over her head. It fell to the ground and she pulled a face.
    â€˜Great. Right on trend. Do you have a pair of scissors or something? I’m going to break my neck if I wander around in this.’ She was surprised that her voice sounded so normal, because inside she felt anything but normal. That kiss had left her feeling as though she’d been mixed in a cocktail shaker.
    He turned swiftly, his dark eyes hooded, his mouth a firm, uncompromising line as he swept her appearance in a single glance. Without saying a word he took the dagger from the folds of his robe and stepped towards her.
    Alarmed, Bella took an involuntary step back wards. ‘There’s no need to— Oh—’ She squeaked in astonishment as he bent down, sliced the blade through the fabric and removed the surplus material in two bold strokes. The robe now stopped just above the ankle and Bella stared at his dark, glossy hair, heart thumping.
    â€˜So the blade isn’t ornamental, then,’ she croaked, and he straightened in a lithe movement, his eyes menacing.
    â€˜No.’ He slid it back inside his robe. ‘It isn’t.’
    She licked her lips. ‘Why do you carry a knife?’
    Without bothering to answer her question he strode out of the tent, leaving her staring after him, wondering what she’d done wrong.
    He’d kissed her , hadn’t he? Surely he couldn’t blame her for that.
    Irritated by the injustice of it all, Bella sat down on the bed, touching her lips with her fingers. Her lips were so dry after her day in the desert, it must have been like kissing sand paper.
    Feeling more vulnerable than she wanted to admit, she combed her fingers through her rapidly drying hair, wishing she could do something about her appearance.
    There must be something she could use to see her reflection.
    Typical, she thought gloomily. She met the man of her dreams and she didn’t even have a mirror or a decent pair of shoes.
    No wonder he’d virtually run out of the tent. He’d probably prefer to look at his horse.
    Bella’s wounded pride made her reluctant to leave the tent, but her restless nature made it impossible for her to sit still for long. And she couldn’t quite believe that he’d knocked her back.
    She was used to fending men off, not chasing after them.
    Telling herself that if he didn’t want to look at her, then he could face the opposite direction, Bella stalked out of the tent.
    The throb in her head was growing steadily worse again but she was too proud to ask if he had any tablets.
    â€˜I have made you tea.’ His deep voice came from a few metres away and she turned to look at him, noticing that he’d built a fire.
    â€˜If it’s herbal tea, I might just have to kill you.’ Bella rubbedher hands up her arms, wondering how it was possible to feel shivery in the desert. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything more interesting to drink? Champagne?’
    He didn’t smile. ‘It’s Bedouin tea.’
    â€˜What’s Bedouin tea? Tea you drink before you go to bed?’ Still cross with him, she knelt down gingerly on the rug he’d placed on the sand, determined not to show how bad she felt.
    â€˜It’s made from tea leaf, sugar and desert herbs—’ He poured some of the dark liquid into a cup and handed it to her. ‘It has a very distinctive flavour. Try it.’
    â€˜I’ve drunk more tea in the past two weeks than I’ve had in my whole life.’ Bella sniffed the tea cautiously, took a sip and wrinkled her nose. ‘It tastes…different. I hadn’t imagined you drinking