The Sheikh's Arranged Marriage: The only thing worse than falling in love with the man she'd married was knowing he would never feel the same... by Clare Connelly Page A
Authors: Clare Connelly
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carefully. “I suppose it will take a period of adjustment for you.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever grow as used to it as someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Born to a position such as this. From the moment you first took breath you have been coddled and surrounded by wealth. It’s a very different way to live.”
“You are dodging the subject of children,” he said in a gently mocking voice. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
She felt a wave of nausea. Of course she wanted children. It’s just that to become pregnant they would need to... consummate their marriage... and that made her very, very nervous. And very, very excited, too.
When she didn’t respond, he dipped his face, so that their eyes met. “You must like children?”
“Yes. I always wished I had a brother or sister, but my mum – my real mum – used to say I was enough of a handful for six kids.”
He raised his brows. He couldn’t quite reconcile that image of Rebecca with the very calm and in-control version he had married.
As if reading his mind, she shook her head slowly. “Winona and Greg very quickly taught me that the kind of backchat I used to give my parents wouldn’t fly in their home.”
“They were strict.”
“Strict doesn’t begin to describe it.” She shivered involuntarily and fixed him with a small grimace. “I prefer not to speak about them.”
He dipped his head in assent but his mind was ticking over this information. He knew she had lived with them until she’d come to Assan. Why would any woman of twenty four choose to continue living with guardians who were apparently so unpalatable? There was a bleakness in her brilliant blue eyes, as though someone had tamped down on the sparkle that usually danced within her irises.
He watched her face empty of light and felt a sort of constriction in his chest, as though a band had been wrapped around his midsection. He brought his hands to rest on her cheeks, one on either side of her face, fingers splayed wide. He lowered his mouth and pressed his lips lightly to hers, tasting the salty water from the pool on her.
The black lycra she wore covered her body modestly, but he could still feel. He could feel the swell of her pert breasts, the indent of her waist, and the curve of her bottom. He ached to slip his fingers inside the swimsuit and touch her soft flesh, but he didn’t want to simply obliterate her sadness with sex. He wanted to comfort her, too. It was a new sensation for him, to feel so protective of a woman. It made him pull back, slowly, watch her face as she lifted her eyelids and stared straight back at him.
She turned her face away and bit down on her lower lip. He was trying so hard to feel attracted to her, but despite his best efforts, obviously he didn’t feel the same overpowering urge that she did to remove clothes and entwine limbs and bodies. Why would he? Compared to the women he was used to, she was a very, very poor second choice.
She breathed out, shakily, then turned a watery smile on him. “I am going to turn into a prune if I don’t get out of this water.”
He nodded. “Come. Let’s get you dried off.”
She shot him a quizzical look as she pulled herself out of the pool and wrapped a large beach towel around herself.
He followed suit and she had to look away or the sight of him in a pair of brief black swimmers would have made her melt into a pool of desire. It was the most flesh a man had ever revealed to her, and just the sight of his broad chest, slim waist and strong thighs made her pulse race like fireflies beneath the skin.
“Look at me,” he commanded huskily. She swallowed, but did as he said. Her pupils dilated with desire as she stared at him, covered in water, his black hair slicked back from his face. Realisation dawned on him as he saw her obvious inexperience communicated by everything from her stance to her wide eyed surprise. “You’ve never seen a naked man.” He
She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever grow as used to it as someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Born to a position such as this. From the moment you first took breath you have been coddled and surrounded by wealth. It’s a very different way to live.”
“You are dodging the subject of children,” he said in a gently mocking voice. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
She felt a wave of nausea. Of course she wanted children. It’s just that to become pregnant they would need to... consummate their marriage... and that made her very, very nervous. And very, very excited, too.
When she didn’t respond, he dipped his face, so that their eyes met. “You must like children?”
“Yes. I always wished I had a brother or sister, but my mum – my real mum – used to say I was enough of a handful for six kids.”
He raised his brows. He couldn’t quite reconcile that image of Rebecca with the very calm and in-control version he had married.
As if reading his mind, she shook her head slowly. “Winona and Greg very quickly taught me that the kind of backchat I used to give my parents wouldn’t fly in their home.”
“They were strict.”
“Strict doesn’t begin to describe it.” She shivered involuntarily and fixed him with a small grimace. “I prefer not to speak about them.”
He dipped his head in assent but his mind was ticking over this information. He knew she had lived with them until she’d come to Assan. Why would any woman of twenty four choose to continue living with guardians who were apparently so unpalatable? There was a bleakness in her brilliant blue eyes, as though someone had tamped down on the sparkle that usually danced within her irises.
He watched her face empty of light and felt a sort of constriction in his chest, as though a band had been wrapped around his midsection. He brought his hands to rest on her cheeks, one on either side of her face, fingers splayed wide. He lowered his mouth and pressed his lips lightly to hers, tasting the salty water from the pool on her.
The black lycra she wore covered her body modestly, but he could still feel. He could feel the swell of her pert breasts, the indent of her waist, and the curve of her bottom. He ached to slip his fingers inside the swimsuit and touch her soft flesh, but he didn’t want to simply obliterate her sadness with sex. He wanted to comfort her, too. It was a new sensation for him, to feel so protective of a woman. It made him pull back, slowly, watch her face as she lifted her eyelids and stared straight back at him.
She turned her face away and bit down on her lower lip. He was trying so hard to feel attracted to her, but despite his best efforts, obviously he didn’t feel the same overpowering urge that she did to remove clothes and entwine limbs and bodies. Why would he? Compared to the women he was used to, she was a very, very poor second choice.
She breathed out, shakily, then turned a watery smile on him. “I am going to turn into a prune if I don’t get out of this water.”
He nodded. “Come. Let’s get you dried off.”
She shot him a quizzical look as she pulled herself out of the pool and wrapped a large beach towel around herself.
He followed suit and she had to look away or the sight of him in a pair of brief black swimmers would have made her melt into a pool of desire. It was the most flesh a man had ever revealed to her, and just the sight of his broad chest, slim waist and strong thighs made her pulse race like fireflies beneath the skin.
“Look at me,” he commanded huskily. She swallowed, but did as he said. Her pupils dilated with desire as she stared at him, covered in water, his black hair slicked back from his face. Realisation dawned on him as he saw her obvious inexperience communicated by everything from her stance to her wide eyed surprise. “You’ve never seen a naked man.” He
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