Angele slid around the partially opened door to Zahir’s office. He had disappeared from the wedding feast and she’d known she would find him here.
“Shirking your duty, Prince Zahir?” Her arms crossed over the sweetheart neckline of her short-short Juicy Couture original. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. What would your father say?”
The room was very much like Zahir, masculine, rich and imposing. And yet there was something in the artwork and the old world furnishings that reflected more, something special — an appreciation for beauty that she knew few were aware of.
But while Zahir didn’t pay her any particular attention, she had watched him closely and probably knew more about the real man than most. She still wondered at her ignorance of the secret revealed short months ago.
She’d decided it was willful blindness on her part, but that had not made her feel any better. Only mind-numbingly stupid.
She was a twenty-three year old virgin with no prospects and she knew she was to blame for that fact and no one else. She had clung to hopes and fairytales that never came true in the real world. Her parents’ marriage should have made her realize that.
Zahir looked up from some papers on his desk, his grey eyes widening a fraction at the sight of her. He quickly stood to his full, imposing six-feet, four-inches. He wore the traditional robes and head covering of a crown sheikh over a tailored Armani suit that did nothing but make him look mouth-wateringly attractive to her.
Not that he was even remotely aware of the effect he had on her. She would have to be on his radar as an actual woman for that to happen.
I have to choose only one? I can't choose only one.... good thing I already have the book. :-)