The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction by Dani Collins

Author:Dani Collins
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-02-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

FERN HURRIED FROM the bus stop with the collar of her raincoat clutched tightly closed against her throat. With her other hand, she grasped the umbrella in a firm grip against the midday gusts trying to yank it away. The rushed walk made her breathless, partly due to the extra weight, she supposed. Possibly because she needed more iron.

Pregnancy was a lot of work, she had discovered with a small pang of understanding for her mother’s beleaguered outlook. It was disconcerting to feel as though your body wasn’t yours anymore, but she didn’t resent the process, Mother. She didn’t blame this baby growing inside her for the anxiety she felt about their future.

She blamed herself.

Tramping quickly through the puddles in her boots, she felt icy splashes strike her knees through her tights, urging her even faster toward the sanctuary of Miss Ivy’s little flat. Not a whole house. Not even a proper two-bedroom. Fern was on the sofa bed at Miss Ivy’s insistence, saving the nest egg she had squirrelled away during her teaching contract with Amineh. She was even bringing in a few extra pounds with some adult tutoring. She hoped to take over a flat two blocks away when it came available in a few months.

None of this was ideal. In fact, it was the kind of repetition of history she hated to own up to, but she would manage. And her baby would not carry the burden of fault that had been hers most of her life.

As she reached the steps to the converted row house that held Miss Ivy’s flat, the self-satisfied lambent green town car at the curb caught her attention. Its tinted windows and details of chrome where out of place in this village. The driver’s side door opened, startling her into halting.

Zafir straightened and slammed the door with a firmness that made her flinch. As he came around the bonnet, seemingly unaware of the rain that pattered onto his uncovered head, she told herself to run, but could only stand there and stare.

No tunic or headdress, but he was as exotic and resplendent as always, even in a bespoke English suit of cast-iron-gray with a sharp white shirt and a silver tie. His beard was shaved to a narrow line that edged his set jaw and cut a goatee around the uncompromising firmness of his mouth.

His remarkable green eyes were as flat as frosted glass as they traveled to the billow of her overcoat. He flinched, but it wasn’t with surprise. More like, okay then.

The way he moved was smooth and unhurried, but his approach still felt like a blast of hurricane-force wind. He covered her hand on the umbrella and lifted it high enough so he could stand under it with her. Her hearing dulled and became more acute at the same time. Damp, earthy, male scents of aftershave and coffee, wool and warm, masculine skin, clouded into the little space and overwhelmed her senses.

She swallowed, falling into lust all over again.

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