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Her wide eyes flew back to his face. ‘You remember that?’
Something moved at the backs of his eyes. ‘I remember everything.’
‘You have a photographic memory?’ she said, searching her own memory for any incriminating things she might have said.
He gave a low chuckle then stopped, lifting a supportive hand to his ribs. ‘You take things very literally. I just meant that you are memorable.’
She lifted her chin. ‘I’m assuming that’s not a compliment.’
‘It is a statement of fact. For a beautiful woman,’ he observed, ‘you seem to find taking a compliment graciously a struggle.’
The heat in his eyes was hard to escape, but then escaping when you didn’t really want to was never going to be simple. It took her to the count of ten to regain control of her chaotic, jagged respirations. This was far too close and personal for her taste...injured or not, this man had a raw sexual aura that she found massively disturbing, but she had fought the hypnotic tug of his eyes before so she knew it was achievable if she tried.
Her confidence wilted when she lifted her eyes and found his gaze now trained on her mouth. While the heat low down continued to unfurl its very disturbing tendrils she fought to maintain a passive expression...or, at least, a relatively passive expression.
* * *
Zain quite literally couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. He put down his lack of self-control to his weakened condition but in his head he saw that lush pinkness parting under the pressure he applied before he sank into...
The sabre-sharp stab of pain helped him distance himself from the sexual fantasies swirling in his head. Having her here was not about indulging his fantasies—it was far more prosaic.
His views on marriage had not changed but his position had. He was no longer the spare, he was the heir, and the forced desert marriage to this enticing redhead was all that stood between him and Kayla, who was waiting in the wings like a praying mantis in Prada.
He understood that continuity and the smooth transition of power was important, and he was fully prepared to accept the burden of duty that came with the role that he had been thrust into, a position the several people who he had awoken from the crash to find standing around his hospital bed had been eager to inform him of.
But, they added when several of the machines he was attached to had begun to beep loudly, he was not to concern himself with securing a bride. A wedding to his late brother’s widow, a union that would ensure stability and the line of succession, could be performed as soon as he could leave his hospital bed.
He had felt the darkness coming to claim him and there had been no time for subtlety as he’d croaked out, ‘I’m already married, Jones at the British Embassy will confirm.’
He had slept through the subsequent diplomatic storm his revelation had created, and by the time he’d been conscious again the marriage had been confirmed as genuine.
Abby had adopted a businesslike expression, though it was clear maintaining it was becoming difficult. ‘So, is there something you want me to sign?’
‘You’re in a hurry.’
‘The thing is, I think I’d prefer to get out of here before you kill yourself with all this unnecessary effort,’ she husked out as her glance moved from his bloodstained shirt sleeve to the beads of moisture he could feel along his upper lip...and the deep lines of strain he knew were bracketing his mouth.
Her concern spilled over into exasperation. ‘For heaven’s sake, I know you’re big and tough, but you’re in pain. It doesn’t make you a lesser man to admit it!’ She rolled her eyes.
Her outburst startled him into silence but that quickly gave way to a low, throaty laugh. ‘Fine, I’m not too proud to ask for help.’ He nodded towards the bed. ‘Will you lend me a shoulder?’
Abby’s eyes were wide as she moved seamlessly from lofty female superiority to something approaching panic.
He lifted an arm. ‘I’m swallowing my pride, and asking for your help.’
