Page 28 of The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

You want that.

Ivy took a breath, the thought winding around her and pulling tight. No. God, no. She didn’t want that. This man had not only imprisoned her, he was going to force her to be his wife. He’d made sure she couldn’t return to her joband,not only that, he’d insulted her. He’d told her that the life she’d built so carefully and painstakingly, the life she was very proud of, was a small one.

It’s just his opinion. Why do you care?

A good question and one she’d been asking herself for the past two days, too angry at him and the situation he’d put her in to want to even see him, let alone discuss it. Sulking, he’d said, and he was right, much as it pained her to admit it. She supposed she had been sulking. But she’d been angry and much of the last couple of days had been spent trying to get rid of it. Anger had never helped her when she’d been desperately wanting to be adopted by someone, and it certainly wasn’t going to help her now, when she’d been imprisoned by the world’s most annoying Sheikh.

The first day she’d spent pacing around in her set of rooms, fulminating about him, cursing him and his lineage, and feeling very smug when she’d told the guards who’d asked if she would receive him that, no, she most certainly wouldnotreceive him.

The second day, she’d got bored with pacing, and had started investigating the harem section of the fortress, searching for something to do. The staff didn’t speak English, but that hadn’t stopped her, and eventually, with lots of pointing and gesturing and miming various actions, she’d managed to get them to give her some cleaning equipment. Then they’d watched her with some amusement as she’d proceeded to give the entire place a thorough dust, sweep and polish. Of course that hadn’t taken her all day, only the morning, and afterwards some more guards had arrived, bringing with them a laptop so she could access the Internet, and a phone so she could call the home to let them know where she was.

She’d been angry about that too, determined to find fault with the gesture, mostly because she didn’t have any family to inform of her whereabouts and only a few work colleagues who would notice or care. And besides, she didn’t want him to be nice to her. She didn’t want to let go of her anger, since that would just let the fear in and when it came down to a choice between being angry or afraid, it was anger every time. Fear made a person so passive and Ivy didn’t want to be passive.

Dutifully, she’d called the home and spoken to her work colleagues, and, while they’d been grateful to hear from her, all they’d been able to talk about was the ridiculous sum of money that had appeared in the home’s bank account, a huge donation from an anonymous benefactor. That had made her angry too.

Eventually, sick of herself, she’d gone out into the courtyard to talk to the gardener, because the shrubs and trees were beautiful and she’d always loved plants, and she’d wanted to know how he managed to keep them looking so good in the middle of the desert.

Then the Sheikh had prowled out from under the colonnaded walk, coming towards her even though she’d told his guards she didn’t want to see him, and then he’d kissed her...

The air felt painful on her skin, the sun too bright, and she was hot yet cold at the same time. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She’d had no experience of sex, no experience of men, had told herself for years she didn’t want any experience either because relationships weren’t for her. She was too busy with the home, too busy with her life, too busy, full stop. She hadn’t met anyone she’d been attracted to, and, anyway, sex sounded like such a faff. Uncomfortable and awkward and just, no, thank you.

Yet the ache inside her now and the desperate hunger that went along with it belied all those excuses. Because that was what they were. Just excuses. Lies to make herself feel better about the emptiness of her life. An emptiness that Connie had once filled as her friend, and now Connie was gone...

He’s right. It’s a small life you’ve led.

Ivy turned abruptly away from his burning gaze, the sound of her heartbeat almost deafening. There were tears in her eyes and she wasn’t sure why, but one thing she did know was that she didn’t want to cry in front of him. That kiss had ripped her open and she couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing what was inside: her desperate loneliness and the intense neediness she tried so hard to conceal.

She brushed past him, heading blindly away, only for long fingers to wrap around her upper arm and jerk her back against his long, hard body.

‘Don’t you walk away from me,’ he growled, his breath warm near her ear. ‘I haven’t finished and neither have you.’

She trembled, horrified to find herself close to yet another emotional meltdown. ‘Please,’ she forced out. ‘Please, let me go.’

‘No,’ he said, and before she could move his arms came around her, iron bands holding her against his hot, hard body.

A shudder coursed down her spine, the heat of him surrounding her, seeping into her, warming all the cold, dark places inside her, making her want more, making her desperate for all the heat he had to give.

She didn’t want to give in. Didn’t want to cry in his arms, but stupid tears filled her eyes all the same. And that meant there was only one thing left for her to do in order to distract him.

Ivy took a shaking breath and turned in the circle of his arms, tilting her head back to look up into all that blazing turquoise blue. Then she put her hands on his hard chest, went up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.

He went very still, every muscle stiffening, and she waited for him to shove her away, because clearly she’d transgressed. And part of her was desperate for the distance, while another part hurt at the anticipated rejection, not wanting him to push her away.

Then he gave another, deep growl, the sound vibrating against her palms, and she was being kissed again, harder and with more demand, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, searching and tasting.

Oh, yes, this was what she wanted. This was what she’d been craving for so many years, a deep and secret craving that she had no words for. But she did now. She knew now.

All this time it had been him.

She didn’t want to reveal the depths of her desperation and yet she couldn’t stop pressing herself against him, arching into the heat and muscled power of his body, letting him kiss her and trying to kiss him in return. She didn’t know how, but she didn’t let that stop her, beyond self-consciousness now as she touched her tongue to his, tasting him as he tasted her.

He muttered something in Arabic that she didn’t understand, and she thought for one dreadful moment that he was going to push her away again, because he took his mouth from hers. But then his arms were around her and she was being lifted up into them, held tight against his chest as he turned and strode from the courtyard into the cool airiness of the salon.

He moved across the room and over to one of the low couches, putting her onto it, then without a word he followed her down and she found herself pinned beneath one immensely powerful, hot, muscled male body.

His hands were on the cushions on either side of her head, his intense gaze boring down into hers, the heat and weight of him that pressed on her exciting beyond words.

‘Well?’ His voice was all raw, masculine demand. ‘Do you want me, little fury?’

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