The Sheikh's Secret Baby: Nothing stays hidden forever ... Read online

  Carrie’s stomach was in knots, and yet there was so much that made sense about that moment. She lifted a hand to his chest, and she could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm. She made a soft moan, and then stood on tiptoes, so that she could press her lips to his.

  The powerful electricity was instant and overpowering. Her whole body trembled as the kiss – her first – made her bones weak and her blood boil. As if all the night birds and roses wrapped around them, and a spell seemed to fall. Carrie pressed her whole body to his; he was hard and strong; her heart was racing wildly.

  His hand pressed into her back, the pressure of his fingers was light but demanding. Carrie was flooded with feelings – new feelings that made her mind reel. She felt as though the earth was tipping on its axis, sending time and space spinning in whole new directions. Some ancient feminine instinct moved through her, and she pressed her hips against him, moving them slightly, to lock their bodies into intimate proximity. She could feel the unfamiliar form of his manhood and it made her body ache with need.

  It was over too quickly.

  Gael stepped away from her, his face white, his hands shaking. “Carrie,” he muttered, his tone rich with condemnation. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  She frowned, uncertainty making her stomach ache. “I…”

  “You are seventeen! Still a child.”

  Pain seared her soul. “But you… I thought you… I mean…”

  “Yes?” He demanded, crossing his arms across his chest and looking at her as though she’d gone totally crazy.

  “I thought you wanted…”

  “Wanted you?” He made a noise that she took for frustrated amusement. “You are a child. Do you honestly think I would be so depraved as to want you?”

  Her cheeks flamed with mortification.

  “Look at you. You’re a schoolgirl. A kid. What the hell are you thinking, to go around kissing men like me?” His accent was thicker when he was angry. And he was furious, she realised.

  She shook her head, her mind not yet recovered from the sensual pleasure of their contact. “I don’t normally,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “God, you and your mother are two of a kind,” he snapped, putting his hands on his hips and staring down at her.

  “What do you mean?” She whispered, shaking from shock and embarrassment.

  Gael had said too much. Alexandra’s overt interest was not Carrie’s fault. His sigh was loaded with tension. “It does not matter. Honestly, Carrie, do you have any idea what kind of trouble you could get into?”

  “T-trouble?”

  “Yes, T-t-trouble,” he responded with totally unnecessary cruelty. “Do you realise that you were just kissing me as though you wanted me to make love to you? To lay you down right here in the rose garden and fuck you senseless?”

  “Don’t,” she groaned, spinning away from him, her face torn by the cruelty in his words.

  “Don’t what? Tell you how reckless that was? What if I hadn’t stopped? Would you really want me – twenty nine, a man you hardly know, a man who has no interest in a relationship or in you – to be your first lover?”

  Her stomach dipped like she was on a roller coaster, both at his imagery and cruelty.

  “Would you want me to sleep with you here, knowing that I’d get up and walk away tomorrow, and never think of you again? Dios Mio, Carrie, what the hell were you thinking?”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t,” she whispered, the agony of pain and rejection unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “I just … you were looking at me … and I thought …”

  “You were singing,” he snapped moodily. “I was interested to hear your voice. It was certainly not an invitation to share my bed. Believe me, Carrie, that’s the last thing I want.”

  “No,” she nodded jerkily, and in that moment, she hated everything about her stupid self. Her body, her hair, her trusting nature. How could he want her? How could she have misread the situation so spectacularly? “I’m ugly, and fat, and inexperienced, and young. I totally get it. I don’t know what came over me.” Tears of hot mortification were streaming down her cheeks, and her words were stammering from her in a high-pitched wail.

  She spun away from him and began to run towards the house. Even as she ran, she thought he might follow, but he didn’t. He left her alone, nursing her awful embarrassment.

  Carrie couldn’t sleep that night. Tortured fragments of physical memories haunted her; her body seemed to be lurching through a field of desire – the memory of his frame pressed to hers was indelibly scored in her brain.

  Very early the next morning, when those same Robins were back in the garden, chirruping in their way to herald the start of a new day, Carrie moved forlornly to the window and stared out at the gardens.

  Her eyes landed on the very spot it had happened, amongst her favourite roses. She made a groan of embarrassment and then shifted her glance, to a movement on the driveway.

  Gael, dressed in black running gear, looking strong and virile. But he was not alone. Alexandra was with him, her long blonde hair loose down her back, her white cotton night gown almost transparent in the morning light. Her nakedness underneath was obvious.

  Carrie watched just long enough to have her worst suspicions confirmed – to see her mother’s body cling to Gael’s, her lips seeking his … and for Gael not to push her away.

  Her stomach rolled, and she walked away from the window.

  In that moment, the innocent girl Carrie was died. She would never be the same again.

  SEDUCING THE SPANIARD is available in the Amazon store. Happy reading!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood.

  From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.)

  Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing.

  Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to www.clareconnelly.co.uk to sign up to her newsletter, or join her official facebook page.