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

could make him start wanting things he didn’t deserve.
    â€˜Thanks,’ he said briefly, keeping his words and thoughts in prosaic English. Arabic had too many musical cadences, too much poetry for him to hear her speak it, see her lovely form and not be moved to his soul. But she couldn’t possibly feel the same after seeing him. He revolted himself, and for more reasons than the physical.
    â€˜I’m fine if you need to see to your other patients. I’ll sleep now.’ He turned from her.
    â€˜You should eat first. You don’t want to wake up hungry at midnight.’
    Irritated beyond measure by her good sense, by her care for what he’d most wanted to hide, he rolled over and snapped, ‘If I want food I’ll ask for it, Hana .’ He used cold, deliberate English, to remind her of the danger if she kept distancing herself from him.
    In return she made a mocking bow, a liquid movement like the night gathering around her. ‘Of course, my lord. I’ll bring your food at midnight after caring for you and my patients all day, if such is your wish.’ She wasn’t smiling, but there was a lurking imp in her eyes…and she still hadn’t said his name.
    She’d left the hut before he recovered from the surprise that she was making fun of him. Putting him in his place with a few words… He watched her walk away, her body shimmering beneath her shifting burq’a like a fluid dance. ‘Hana!’ he yelled before he could hold it back.
    She turned only her head, but he felt the smile she held inside. ‘Yes, my lord?’
    Though the term could be a continuation of her teasing, itmade him frown. What did she know about him? ‘I’m sorry,’ he growled. ‘I’ll eat whenever you think is best.’
    She inclined her head. ‘Concussion makes the best of us irritable.’ Then she was gone.
    It was forgiveness, he supposed, or understanding. He didn’t particularly like either—or himself at this moment. He’d lost his inborn arrogance the day Fadi died, or so he’d thought.
    Never had he acted with such arrogance with the lowest pit worker, and he’d never lost it over a woman’s disinterest before. Yet within two hours of meeting Hana he’d become a cliché—a guy in lust with his nurse, cheated because she wasn’t entertaining him with flirtation, or distracting him from his pain and lack of control over his body by touching him.
    Cheated because she’d touched his body as a nurse, not a woman…by seeing him as a patient—a scarred, angry patient she needed to heal—and not a man.
    Growling again, he rolled over and punched the thin pillow, folding it to make it thicker. But rest was impossible while he knew she’d be back.
    Â 
    It was deep in the night when he came awake with a smothered exclamation—smothered because a hand covered his mouth. ‘Not a word,’ an urgent voice whispered. The bed dipped and sagged as a soft, rounded backside snuggled into the cradle of his hips. Strange back-and-forth motions made the rusted bed squeak.
    The hut was a gentle combination of silvery light and shadow. The tender lavender she wore ignited his senses; the feel of her against his body instantly aroused him. Did she taste as sweet and silky as she smelled and felt on his skin? And her hair was loose, reaching her waist in thick waves, falling over his bare arm in butterfly kisses. Like a paradox,the hand reaching backward, covering his mouth, held him silent in ruthless suppression.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ It came out as muffled grunts.
    â€˜Sweeping my body indents from the ground,’ she replied in a fierce whisper. ‘I told you to be quiet. Now they’ll know we’re awake, and will want to know why. Take off your shirt.’ She stood, and as he stripped off his shirt her burq’a fluttered to the ground, leaving her only in cami-knickers