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His Stolen Desert Bride

Written by Carol Marinelli

Chapter Four

'Yasmin!' Alasdair was struggling to calm her. ‘Your father is never going to know.’

‘What if I was seen coming in here…’

‘There’s no one around,’ he calmly stated.

‘But what if I am seen coming out?’

‘Is that a master key?’ Alasdair asked, and she nodded.

He came over to where she stood and when she didn’t hand it to him he plied open her fingers and removed it.

Oh, there was a very good reason she had declined his handshake; his touch was almost more than she could withstand.

Of course it didn’t help that he was as good as naked. Yes, he was now wearing a towel but she had seen what was beneath.

‘If he finds out you will have to marry me by sundown.’

Alasdair smiled at her little joke as he unlocked the adjoining door to her suite.

‘There,’ he said. ‘You can leave unnoticed.’

‘You have access to my suite?’ Yasmin’s voice was aghast.

‘No,’ Alasdair said. ‘You have the key.’ He saw her confusion. ‘The adjoining suites can be used for families and things…’

‘I see.’

She really didn’t but she walked to the door he held open. Her face was burning as she passed him and Yasmin did her best to look straight ahead.

‘What were you doing up?’ he asked, curious as to where she had been.

‘I was trying to find the implement the waiter had,’ Yasmin said and turned towards his very broad chest.

‘Implement?’ Alasdair frowned.

‘To open champagne,’ she explained. ‘I stole a bottle when I was dining with Alim. I wanted to watch a movie from my bed while drinking champagne.’ She lifted her eyes to his. ‘It’s my ambition.’

‘That sounds like an excellent ambition to have,’ Alasdair said. ‘And the implement you’re referring to is a corkscrew, however you don’t need one to open champagne.’


It was as if he had taken all her disordered and jumbled thoughts and arranged them into something neat.

‘Would you like me to show you?’ he offered.

Now she looked away from his eyes and back to his naked chest and then glanced down a little, and he saw her nervous swallow.

‘I could go and slip into something a little more uncomfortable,’ he offered.


It would take forever and a day to explain, Alasdair thought as he pulled on black jeans, yet he smiled at what he had just said.

She had the opposite effect on him.

Yasmin made his thoughts less ordered, his demeanour lighter. Times that by ten, Alasdair thought as he walked into her suite, for she had already worked out what he had meant.

‘Are you less comfortable now?’ Yasmin asked.

‘I am,’ he agreed and they shared a smile, one that almost blistered the skin on her cheeks.

‘We’re having none of that,’ Alasdair scolded.

‘None of what?’


‘I don’t know how.’

‘Believe me, you do.’

He was extremely patient.

Yasmin liked that he didn’t simply open the bottle; instead he taught her how.

‘The easy way is to hold the cork and turn the bottle.’

She couldn’t quite get it and so there was a little awkward dance as they did their best to avoid too much physical contact as he positioned her hands. Finally though there was a pop and a fizz and a delighted exclamation from Yasmin.

He even taught her how to pour it.

‘Cheers,’ Alasdair said as they chinked glasses. He had decided to have one sip and then get the hell out! ‘Now you’ll know what to do when you’re stuck in a hotel with a bottle of champagne.’

‘I doubt I shall ever be in a hotel again with champagne.’

How sad.

He was actually about to say just that but then, Alasdair realized, it had been a terribly long time since he had done the same.

Yes, there had been hotels, and plenty of them, but the fun that was present tonight had long been absent.

‘Right, time for bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll put on a movie for you before I leave.’

He had visions of her knocking on the adjoining door in the small hours otherwise.

Resistance was already hell.

Made more so when the movie he found was a romantic one and soft music filled the room and sensual kisses the screen.

‘I wish I had been bridesmaid.’

Alasdair said nothing—he thought it safer, because he wished that she had been bridesmaid too.

‘And,’ Yasmin pushed on, ‘if I had been bridesmaid I believe we would have danced.’


‘And I would very much have liked that.’

‘So would I.’

There was the slight pull of conflict as Alasdair took her glass and placed it with his on the table, but he ignored it.

One dance.

Yet he had not factored in the feel of her in his arms and the fit of her body to his, and it was nothing like the duty dance he had partaken in earlier.

This was all pleasure.

And Yasmin had never been held by another, at least not like this. Male were the arms around her and they held her as no one ever had.

Even when the music had ended still they swayed and spoke.

She told him her dreams of one day being a teacher.

‘I doubt my father would ever agree.’

Alasdair could happily spend the night learning about Yasmin but she wanted to know more about the man she would dream of for the rest of her nights—except he was sparse with answers to the questions she asked.

‘What is the castle like?’

‘Run-down,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t really go there very often. It’s pretty remote.’

‘Like its laird,’ Yasmin said, for she felt there was something that he wasn’t telling her.

He let out a low laugh and released her. Yasmin went and lay on the bed and he handed her her glass of champagne.

‘Ambition fulfilled,’ he said. ‘I should go.’

‘Not yet,’ Yasmin said and then it was she who struggled. ‘I should not be asking you to stay.’

‘And I should not be considering it. You, Yasmin, are completely out of bounds.’

On so many levels.

‘So are you.’

Already she had gone way too far.

If her father knew she was alone in her room with a man there would be hell to pay.

But he would never know.

And she was caring less and less what he thought.

‘One kiss,’ she said. ‘One tiny kiss before you leave.’

The mouth that had entranced her now lowered and she felt its warm weight and the brush of his flesh over hers, and then he pulled away.

‘There,’ he told her, but it was like having sugar on your lips and being told not to lick for he ached for more.

‘Thank you,’ Yasmin said, as that moment with his lips on hers was the most sublime she had ever known. ‘I shall remember my first kiss forever.’

As he stared down into pools of grey, Alasdair hurt on Yasmin’s behalf that that was enough for her—she had seen Rome only through windows, she had seen a wedding from afar and she thought that was all a kiss entailed.

‘That wasn’t a kiss.’

He kissed her eyes and she thought she might cry at the pleasure, and then he kissed her cheek and then moved to the shell of her ear.

Her whole body felt like it was being awoken and floating for only his hand on her waist kept her weight on the bed as she ached to move closer to him.

Then his mouth found hers again and it was not the fleeting kiss of before. Now his mouth was firmly on hers and the taste of his tongue shot a volt of pleasure through Yasmin.

His weight came over her and her hand moved to his hair, pressing him down just to be kissed deeper.

This was a kiss.

They lay together and Yasmin found the bliss in kissing back and the pleasure it gave not just to herself but to him. His kisses were rough, and that shaven jaw was not quite so smooth after midnight.

Oh, he taught her well. Yasmin could hear his moans of pleasure as their bodies urged one other on. His arm scooped under her and his weight bore more pressure, not just from above but from within, for her hips arched and melded into him.

Alasdair held her tight and seemed accepting of the mounting panic Yasmin felt.

Encouraging of it even.

His kiss was deep and probing and the pressure of his groin did nothing to calm the rising heat.

‘Please,’ she sobbed as she tore her mouth from his and fought to calm the storm within.

‘Let go,’ he said when surely she should be holding herself together.

Instead she came apart in his arms, writhing and fighting then succumbing to the absolute pleasure his mouth delivered.

She lay breathless, hearing the thud of his heart in his chest, and she lifted her head to seek clarification and to ask what that most delicious sensation was…

But Alasdair simply kissed her again.

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About the author

I was born in England to Scottish parents, and then emigrated to Austr...

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Carol Marinelli

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