“It’s a yes, to a second chance,” she qualified, though her heart was already flying into the heavens. “It’s a yes.”
His laugh was jubilant. “Dio mio, cara,” he muttered. “You mean it?”
She nodded, her eyes wet with tears. “What you did,” she searched for the words. “I don’t condone it, but I understand it.”
“I fell in love with you,cara. Even when I thought I was using you, I loved you. I will always love you. I hope you understand the depth of my feeling.”
And she nodded, because she did. He loved her, as she loved him. Proof of that was littering their past and it was everywhere she looked then. The house was a physical testament to the emotions that filled his heart.
Dark deeds had brought them together, but love and hope would see that they stayed that way, happily and forever … just as they deserved.
THE END
Following is an excerpt from the best-sellingAT THE SHEIKH’S COMMAND.
AT THE SHEIKH’S COMMAND
Clare Connelly
All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.
All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.
The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.
First published 2015
(c) Clare Connelly
Photo Credit:dollarphotoclub.com/
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PROLOGUE
His hands were what she noticed first.
And not simply because he may well have held her life in them.
No. They were, quite simply, the most beautiful hands she’d ever seen. Tanned with long fingers, short nails, they somehow seemed to convey confidence and power despite the fact they were not adorned with jewellery or especially well cared for.
Steph had failed to mention his hands.
Nor had she mentioned the fact that her brother, Sheikh Radiz Zamin, supreme ruler of Fasiya, was absolutely, mind-bendingly, paradigm-inducingly gorgeous.
Miranda pressed her back against the cold clay wall of her jail cell. This was not the time to go ga-ga over Steph’s older brother. It didn’t matter that he was almost Minotauran in size and scale – from the broad shoulders that were set square, to the sheer imposing height of the man. Surely he stood almost seven feet tall. Even dressed as he was, in stately white and gold robes, she imagined his physique to be firm and hard, muscled and strong. His skin was golden brown like toffee, and his hair was the colour of night. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, like two slashes in his symmetrical face. His eyes were rimmed in curling black lashes, and they were a shade of green, flecked with copper and gold.
His expression was unmistakable, for he was fiercely furious.
