The Sheikh's Destiny (Harlequin Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page A

he’d think about it. Why she asked nothing more, demanded no answers in return for hers. ‘Drink it all.’
    He nodded, and took the cup from her. His fingers brushedhers, and she felt a tiny shiver run through her. ‘You don’t call me by my name.’
    She drew a breath to conquer the tiny tremors in her hands. What was wrong with her? ‘You’re a stranger, older than me, and risked a lot to help our village. I was taught respect.’
    â€˜I’m barely ten years your senior. I gave you my name,’ he said, and drained the cup. He held it back out to her with a face devoid of expression, but she sensed the challenge within. The dominant male used to winning with open weapons…and beneath lurked a hint of irritation. He didn’t like her calling him older. She hid the smile.
    â€˜You gave your name, but it’s my choice to use it or not.’ She took the cup back, neither seeking nor avoiding the touch. Just as she neither sought nor avoided his eyes. It was a trick her mother had taught her. Everything you give to a man he can refuse to return, Hana. So give as little as possible, even a glance, until you are certain what kind of man you face.
    It had been good advice—until she’d met Mukhtar.
    â€˜You don’t like my name, Sahar Thurayya?’
    She washed the cup and returned it to its hook on the wall. Since she had no bench or cupboard, all things were either stacked on a box or hung on walls. ‘I’m waiting to see if you live up to it.’ She didn’t comment on his poetic name for her, but a faint thrill ran through her every time she heard it. Just as she caught her breath when he smiled with his eyes, or laughed. And when he touched her… She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer. Four hours in this man’s company, three of them when he’d been unconscious, and she was already in danger.
    â€˜So I must live up to my name?’ Again she heard that rich chuckle in his voice. Without even turning around, she could see his face in her mind’s eye, beautiful even in its damaged state, alight with the mirth that made him look as he had fouryears ago, and she knew she was standing in emotional quicksand. ‘My brother always said I was misnamed.’
    Alim: wise, learned .
    She didn’t ask in what ways he was unwise. He’d risked his life over and over for the thrill of racing and winning…
    â€˜It seems we were both misnamed,’ he added, the laughter in his tone asking her to see the joke, as he had.
    Hana: happiness.
    I used to live up to my name, she thought wistfully. When I was engaged to Latif, about to become his wife, then I was a happy woman.
    Then Latif’s younger brother Mukhtar came into her life—and Latif showed her what her dreams of love and happiness were worth.
    â€˜I need to check on my other patients,’ she said quietly. Checking to be certain her veil fully covered her, she walked with an unhurried step towards the medical tent—it hurt to rush since she had twisted her knee climbing into his truck—feeling his gaze follow her for as long as she was in sight.
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    Alim watched the doorway with views to the medical hut long after he could no longer see her. He still watched while the setting sun flooded the open door, long after his eyes hurt with the brightness and his head began knocking with the pain that would soon upgrade as the foul stuff she’d given him wore off.
    She didn’t draw attention to herself in any way—quite the opposite, including the burq’a the colour of sand, obviously handmade. She moved as little as possible, said nothing of consequence. She certainly wasn’t trying to seem mysterious. Yet he sensed the emotion beneath each carefully chosen word; he saw the pain he’d caused her by saying her name didn’t suit her.
    She’d been a happy woman once—that much was obvious.Something had happened to