The Inherited Bride by Maisey Yates Read Free Book Online

whom he wished, doing whatever he wished.
    “I have accepted the path I have to take, Adham,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. “I only wanted to take a small detour.”
    “And where would you like your detour to take you now, Princess?” His voice was hard. Condescending. A sharp contrast to the small moment of near camaraderie they’d just shared.
    Well, fine. She didn’t much care for him either.
    “I thought we could walk. See the sights.”
    He nodded in what she assumed was acquiescence. He had a way of making her feel as though he disapproved with nothing more than the slightest movement. Even though he’d agreed, the tension in his body told her he’d rather do anything else. Not the most accommodating man, her keeper.
    He turned and began to walk up the boulevard, not getting too far ahead of her, but not exactly waiting for her either. She knew that no matter what it seemed like his focus was still on her. She knew it because her skin felt too tight and her stomach was queasy with knots.
    She quickened her pace, taking two steps to his one, her much shorter legs making her work harder to gain the distance he was managing. She looked around at the tourists pouring from buses that lined the sidewalks. They were in groups. Pairs. Holding hands. Why did it suddenly seem as though it would be natural to be linked to Adham in that way? To hold his hand while they strolled through Paris together?
    She fell into step beside him and her hand brushed his. Her heart leapt to her throat at the contact. He didn’teven look at her. Didn’t give her any indication that he had noticed her touch, let alone been affected by it.
    Except she noticed him curling his hand tightly into a fist, the tendons shifting, the scars on his skin lightening as he squeezed tightly before relaxing it again. She rubbed the back of her own hand idly, her skin still hot from his touch. Maybe his skin was hot from the brush of her hand too?
    She looked at him again, at his hard, immobile face, so perfect it seemed to be etched in stone. The marks on his skin were evidence of time and living rather than a detraction to his masculine beauty. An addition to the form the artist had wrought, showing the character of the man, of all he had endured.
    No. It was impossible that she’d manage to have any effect on a man like him. He was quite incredibly out of her league, in more ways than she could count. She didn’t know how old he was, but she was certain he was quite a bit older than her own twenty-one. Add his experience and living to that, and it seemed they were from different worlds.
    That realization made an uncomfortable weight settle in her stomach. He probably didn’t take her any more seriously than if she were a child whining for an ice cream cone.
    She shook her head. It didn’t matter what Adham thought of her. He didn’t have to live her life.
She did.
She looked over the tops of the tour buses, past the neatly shorn trees that were carefully crafted into tall hedges, at the top of the Eiffel Tower, visible above all of it.
    They reached the end of the row of foliage and the full tower came into view. People were everywhere, snapping photographs of the intricate scaffolding and of each other.She wondered how she and her stoic companion must look to them.
    She noticed very quickly that women were all but giving themselves whiplash with extreme head-turns when Adham walked by. Pride warred with another more uncomfortable emotion. Pride because he was the best looking man even in this densely populated spot, and he was with
her.
But the other feeling, the one that made her stomach ache, was not welcome.
    “Would you take my picture?” she asked, fishing for the small digital camera she’d tucked into her purse before leaving her brother’s home and holding it out to him. She wanted memories. Reminders of the time when she’d been free to make her own choices.
    He raised his dark eyebrow at her, clearly less