Page 26 of The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

Nazir paused in the shade of one of the colonnade’s archways, watching her. She was in the same yoga pants and T-shirt she’d worn the night of their aborted dinner, her hair in that same loose ponytail down her back, the sun glossing the vivid chestnut skein. Her small, pointed face was alight with interest as the gardener indicated the branch he was pruning, running his fingers along it, and giving Ivy an in-depth spiel in Arabic about why this branch had to come off.

Nazir prowled closer, since Ivy hadn’t seemed to notice him yet, curious as to how this little scene was going to play out. He hadn’t thought she’d be particularly interested in gardening and yet she seemed fascinated by what the gardener was trying to tell her, even though it was clear she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

The sunburn on her face had faded, leaving her with a golden tan that made her light brown eyes seem more vivid, like new copper pennies, and the no-nonsense, stern expression that had been a fixture whenever he was around had faded. She seemed relaxed and interested and curious, her lovely mouth curving in a ready smile.

A pretty woman, all bright-eyed curiosity and focused interest.

Perhaps she will be like that in bed? In your arms? As you teach her everything there is to know about passion...

His groin tightened, the hot possessiveness that had flooded through him that day he’d met her sweeping through him once again. He wanted to snatch her up and take her away somewhere private, somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed, where he could feast on her at his leisure like a lion with its kill.

At that moment, the gardener noticed him and paled slightly, inclining his head and falling silent, causing Ivy to turn around to see what the problem was.

Her gaze met Nazir’s and widened.

‘Leave us,’ Nazir ordered the gardener, not taking his gaze from Ivy’s.

The gardener obediently vanished, leaving the courtyard empty but for Nazir and Ivy, the sound of the fountain cutting through the sudden, electric tension.

Ivy drew herself up, her whole posture stiffening, the delicate lines of her face tensing into severity once again. ‘I thought I told your guard not fifteen minutes ago that I didn’t want to see you.’

‘You did tell him.’ Nazir came closer, watching her response as he did so. ‘And he told me. I decided it was time you stopped sulking.’

Outrage crossed her face. ‘I amnotsulking.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He stopped not far from her, allowing her a bit of distance at the same time as he debated closing it. ‘You stormed out of our discussion without a word and since then have made no effort to communicate what offended you so much or why you’re so angry. You haven’t even wanted to discuss your current situation.’ He gave her a very level look. ‘You’re being stubborn, Miss Dean. To your detriment.’

She’d gone pink, that luscious mouth of hers in an unforgiving line, all the curiosity and interest he’d seen in her face as she’d talked to the gardener draining away. It made him regret interrupting her.

Alternatively, you could redirect that interest to you.

That was true, he could. In fact, that was exactly what he was going to do.

Ivy glanced away, clearly struggling against her anger. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

‘I realise that. However, your choices are becoming more limited by the second and you have no one to blame for that but yourself.’

Her gaze came back to his, glittering bright. ‘Choices? What choices? You told me that I had to marry you. Then you locked me in this damn fortress, removed me from my job, ensured that going back home was impossible, and then had the gall, not only to insult the life I’ve painstakingly built for myself, but destroy it as well.’ She strode suddenly up to him, tilting her head back to look straight into his eyes. ‘Tell me, Mr Al Rasul, where is my choice in that?’

She was very close. She must have been using some of the bath oils he’d had the bathroom stocked with, because one of them had been jasmine scented and he could smell the sweetness of it now, a heady perfume that rose with the warmth of her skin. Her gaze was brighter, alight not with curiosity this time but challenge, and no small amount of anger.

Oh, she might be stubborn, but she was also passionate. A little tinderbox ready to catch fire at the slightest spark. He’d like to set her alight. He’d like to watch her burn and then stretch out his hands to the flames and let himself catch fire too.

This is dangerous. You should keep your distance.

He should. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. The T-shirt she wore stretched tight over her full breasts and that little rounded stomach, giving him a perfect view of her luscious, curvy figure. A strand of chestnut hair had come out of her ponytail and lay over her shoulder like a skein of discarded silk. It curled around one breast, making his fingers itch to curl around the soft roundness too, to circle the faint outline of her nipple and make it harden under his touch. To watch her gaze fill with hot sparks, not of anger, but desire.

She was so stubborn and argumentative and prickly, and he wanted to match his will with hers, test her, push her, see how far he could go with her. It had been too long since he’d been with anyone who’d challenged him as determinedly as this woman did.

‘There’s always choice.’ His voice was deeper and rougher than it should have been. ‘Even if the choices you have are ones you don’t like.’

‘Again, what were my choices? Tell me, because I can’t see them.’

Oh, challenging him like this was the wrong thing to do, so very wrong. Especially when he enjoyed it so much. He was a warrior; he liked a fight. He was also a possessive man, a jealous man, too, and his passions ran deep. That was why he had to be so careful. But he couldn’t remember why he had to be so careful now, not with her. Not when she was his already.

‘Your choices?’ He took a step towards her. ‘You could, for example, have chosen not to come so close to me.’

She eyed him and sniffed, not alarmed, not yet. But she should be. She definitely should be. ‘Oh, really?’

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