Welcome to Urban Girl Reader’s stop for The Sheik Retold. If you haven’t checked out Lynn’s Review for this one, you should. Here is the direct link to her “The Sheik Retold” review. Also, Victoria has been generous to let us giveaway a copy of either A WILD NIGHT’S BRIDE or A BREACH OF PROMISE to one of our readers. Enter using the PunchTab widget at the end of this post.
Pride and passion vie for supremacy in this steamy retelling of E.M. Hull’s romance classic.
A haughty young heiress for whom the world is a playground…
A savage son of the Sahara who knows no law but his own…
When pride and passion vie for supremacy…
Blistering desert days are nothing compared to sizzling Sahara nights…
“There will be inquiries.” I choked out. “I am not such a nonentity that nothing will be done when I am missed. You will pay for what you have done.”
“Pay?” His amused look sent a cold feeling of dread through me. “I have already paid… in gold that matches your hair, my gazelle. Besides,” he continued, “the French Government has no jurisdiction over me. There is no authority here above my own.”
My trepidation was growing every passing minute. “Why have you done this? Why brought me here?”
“Why?” He repeated with a slow and heated appraisal that made me acutely, almost painfully, conscious of my sex. “Bon Dieu! Are you not woman enough to know?”
He chuckled lowly, a smug and self-satisfied sound. “Say it now, ma chère,” he softly demanded. “Tell me you want this above all things. Tell me you want me.”
I did. Desperately, but it was only the fleeting lust of the flesh that I craved—not him. Never him. “You have forced this upon me,” I hissed in a rage of frustration. “This means nothing—proves nothing.”
“As you will….I can be a patient man— when I choose to be.”
His weight shifted away from me, and then it was gone from the bed. He removed the blindfold and then gave a single tug on the silk cord binding me to the bed. My arms instantly released from above my head, and then just as suddenly, he freed my legs.
I instantly scrambled to my knees, dragging the silken coverings up around me as if their thin shelter were a protection. “Are you finished with me now?” I asked breathlessly.
“Finished?” His expression was mixed mockery and mirth. “Par bleu! I have hardly even begun, but for now, I shall leave you in peace.” He strode to the curtained doorway only to turn back to me with a sardonic bow. “Bonne nuit et doux rêves, ma chérie.”
He had left me alone. Alone in a state of dazed bewilderment and intense sexual frustration—for I knew damned well what I was feeling— and it made me want to screech and claw and rail.
The man was a mystery, an unfathomable enigma. My mind could not reconcile his barbaric ways with the evidence of his education and refinement. I had noticed a dozen incongruities in him—his cultured speech, the well-worn books in the tent, the elegant and fastidious order of his appointments. His cruel words and contradictory tender touch crowded my recollection until my head reeled, yet I was too tired to puzzle it out, too spent in mind and body.
I did not know what would come on the morrow but gave in to my exhaustion and sank into a cocoon of covers. In the course of a single day, my entire being had irrevocably changed. At long last, and with the greatest possible resistance, I was learning obedience and humility—at the hands of this incomprehensible savage.