by Sarah Morgan
* * *
‘Just practise everything I taught you. I will keep you on a leading rein so there is no way she can run away with you.’
‘That’s comforting to know.’ Layla sat rigid on the calm, placid mare and Raz hid a smile, oddly touched by her determination to ride even though she clearly found the whole experience uncomfortable and unnatural. So far she had fallen three times, but each time she’d insisted on getting back on the horse.
‘If you want to give up, just tell me.’
‘I don’t want to give up. I won’t give up.’ Her jaw was set, her wrists inflexible as she gripped the reins.
‘Relax,’ Raz said mildly. ‘If you relax you will not fall.’
‘We both know I am going to fall whatever I do.’
But still she got back up again. He wondered if that was a skill she’d developed during her loveless childhood. But it hadn’t been completely loveless, had it? She’d had her sister. The sister who was now missing.
He made a mental note to try again to contact Salem, even though he knew such persistence would irritate his brother. ‘Relax your wrists and lower your hands slightly.’
She did as he instructed. ‘At least it isn’t as far to fall as it is from your stallion.’
‘I promise I will not let you fall again. Don’t grip the reins so tightly—you’re pulling on her mouth.’
‘I am?’ Dismayed, she immediately loosened the reins and rubbed the mare’s neck by way of apology.
He watched, intrigued by her and wondering how such gentleness could come from so much evil.
In all the rumours that had oozed from the corrupt walls of the Citadel there had been little about the princesses and most hadn’t thought to question the detail of their existence.
‘You’re doing well.’
‘We both know I’m not doing well, but I will learn. Just as long as I don’t hurt an innocent horse in the process.’ She balanced herself carefully and then risked a glance at him. It was the first time she’d taken her eyes off the horse’s ears. ‘Thank you for being so patient.’
‘You are very easy to teach because you listen. Sit up straight. Sit down in the saddle. That’s good.’
Her jaw was rigid and he could see her concentrating, going through his instructions one by one. The mare walked forward without fuss, as accommodating as he’d known she would be.
‘She’s very pretty. Is she pure Arabian?’
‘Yes. She is brave, spirited and intelligent, like all of her breed. And very strong. She could carry you for days in the desert and not tire. It’s the reason we choose this breed for endurance racing.’ It occurred to him that she shared many of those qualities. ‘The Arab horse is surefooted and agile in difficult terrain and bred for stamina. It can withstand the daytime heat of the desert and the cold at night.’
‘You bred her?’
‘My father bred her. He gave her to me as a foal but I am too heavy for her now. She taught Zahra to ride.’
‘You mean you taught her.’
‘The horse did most of the teaching.’
‘Did your wife ride?’
She asked the question quietly and he realised how sensitive the situation must be for her.
‘She didn’t ride, but she was an artist and she loved to paint the horses. She spent hours studying equine anatomy and her attention to detail was astonishing. Her mother was an artist, too, and she always hoped that Zahra would be equally artistic. But Zahra only ever wanted to ride the horse, not immortalise its image on paper.’
‘The greatest gift a parent can give is to allow a child to be who they want to be.’
Her wistful tone caught his attention.
‘You have told me about your father, but nothing about your mother.’
‘My mother died just after I was born.’
‘So your sister—?’
‘Yasmin is my half sister. Her mother was a model who caught my father’s attention for a short time. She left when Yasmin was five and we haven’t seen her since.’
It was a brief delivery of the facts, devoid of emotion, but he could imagine how much emotion was simmering below the composure that seemed to be part of her. She’d learned to hold it all in, he thought. Learned to feel without expressing the feeling.
‘But you said you cared for your sister. How is that possible?’
She sat without moving, her gaze focused on the horse’s ears. ‘It’s possible.’
‘You were seven and she was five.’
‘We learned what we had to learn.’
The mare, perhaps sensing the sudden tension of her rider, threw up her head and he saw Layla’s fingers whiten on the reins.
‘She is the most reliable horse in my stables, but if you feel unsafe you can always grab a piece of her mane.’
‘It doesn’t seem fair to make her suffer just because I’m nervous.’ But her fingers closed gently and carefully around a hunk of the mare’s mane.
Watching her, Raz felt himself harden. His gaze focused on those slim fingers. Heat shot through him as he remembered how those fingers felt against his skin.
He lifted his gaze from her fingers to her face, studying the curve of her cheek and the sweep of her inky lashes, and she must have felt his scrutiny because she turned her head and her eyes met his.
Raz felt that look all the way through him.
‘Can she gallop yet?’ Zahra cantered up, disturbing the moment, glued to the back of her horse as if she’d been born in the saddle, Isis and Horus running by her side. ‘I want you to learn fast, Layla, so we can ride together. Isis and Horus can come with us too. They love it when we gallop.’
Layla had switched her attention from the horse to the dogs and Raz frowned.
‘The dogs make you nervous?’
‘I’m worried they might upset the horse.’
Her response made perfect sense, but he sensed something more and wondered if she’d been bitten as a child. That would certainly explain the fear he saw in her eyes whenever his dogs were nearby.
‘Did you keep Saluki as pets when you were young?’
‘No.’ Her lips were bloodless, her slim fingers clenched in the horse’s mane. ‘Not as pets.’
‘Layla...’ He rode closer to her, his knee brushing against hers. ‘If the dogs are a problem you must tell me.’
‘The dogs aren’t a problem. Zahra adores them and they adore her. They also guard her, which can only be a good thing.’
Her response was neutral and composed but he glimpsed something in her eyes—a shadow of something so dark and bleak he wasn’t sure he even wanted to explore it further. He wondered again what her life must have been like. What it would have taken to drive someone like her to cross the desert to seek out a stranger.
The more he knew her, the more he realised that such impulsive behaviour was completely out of character. She was a woman who thought everything through, who relied on evidence to make decisions, and yet she’d chosen to risk everything to find him. She’d known nothing about him, and yet she’d preferred to commit herself to the unknown than spend another day in her old life. So what did that say about her life?
‘When can we gallop?’ It was Zahra who asked the question, circling her pony like a polo player as she waited impatiently for her father.
‘Later,’ Raz told her. ‘I don’t want to leave Layla.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I think I might have had enough for one day and so has this poor horse.’
Apparently relieved to have an excuse to finish, she rode the mare to a halt the way he’d taught her.
‘You two gallop and I’ll go back. See you at the stables. But I think I’ll walk and lead her, if that’s all right.’
Before she could dismount, Raz reached out and covered h
er hand with his.
‘You are doing well.’
Her mouth twitched at the corners. ‘We both know I’m doing terribly,’ she said dryly, ‘but thank you for saying that.’
‘It’s always harder to learn as an adult than as a child because your awareness of danger is more sharply focused.’ And he suspected her awareness of danger was even more sharply focused than most. He watched her face, searching for clues, but her expression didn’t change and he released her hand. ‘Go and relax. Abdul will show you my library.’
‘You have a library?’ Her face brightened but Zahra shuddered.
‘Who wants books when they can have horses?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LAYLA SAT CURLED up on a low ottoman covered in rich red silk, a stack of books awaiting her attention and a chilled fruit juice on the table in front of her. Of all the rooms in Raz’s beautiful home—the home she hadn’t known existed—the library was predictably her favourite. Not just because of the walls lined with books, but because of the views. The doors opened over a courtyard with a central fountain that sent cooling water flowing over a majestic statue of a horse. And now, with the sun setting over the distant dunes, the courtyard was floodlit with a warm golden light.
It was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.
On their arrival Raz had been called away, so it had been Zahra who had shown her round, predictably lingering in the stables and introducing Layla to every horse in the yard. The stables were beautiful, arranged around shady courtyards, and everywhere the sound of running water from fountains that offered a cool contrast to the parched desert.
After all the rumours about his Bedouin lifestyle she’d been surprised to discover that Raz owned a place like this, but what had really surprised her was the almost military efficiency with which it was run.
Here, horses were bred and trained in what was clearly a highly successful business. Smiling staff ran the place with smooth efficiency, allowing their elusive boss to come and go as security and his responsibilities demanded.
Used to the oppressive atmosphere of her rooms at the Citadel of Tazkhan, Layla felt a sense of peace and freedom she’d never experienced before. It wasn’t just the ability to wander freely, but the absence of her father, Hassan, and all the others who had made her life so stressful.
She’d stood up, intending to explore the books on the higher shelves, when one of the dogs came bounding into the room, ears pricked.
Layla stood without moving and seconds later a woman rushed into the room and ushered the dog out, closing the door firmly behind the retreating animal.
‘I apologise, Your Highness. I was feeding them and Horus went exploring. Please forgive me.’
Relieved that the overenthusiastic Horus was now on the other side of a closed door, Layla relaxed slightly. ‘It’s fine.’
‘No, it isn’t. His Highness left orders that the dogs weren’t to be allowed near you. He was very strict about it. All the staff were informed.’
Layla stared at her. ‘They were?’ He’d done that for her?
‘Yes, and I’m so sorry for what just happened.’
‘Don’t be.’ She sank back down onto the sofa. She’d never given him an explanation for her fear of dogs, but he’d seen it and responded. She hadn’t asked him to act, but he’d cared enough to instruct his staff to keep the dogs away from her. Realising that the girl was looking at her anxiously, Layla managed a smile. ‘Don’t worry. It’s me, not the dogs. I’m sure the dogs are trustworthy.’
‘Horus and Isis have had the run of this place since they were puppies, so it isn’t always easy to keep them contained.’
‘Keep who contained?’
Raz strode into the room at that moment wearing an exquisitely cut dark suit that suggested he’d come straight from meetings. His sudden appearance shattered her calm and sent her spinning straight back into that state of nervous tension that never seemed to leave her when he was around.
It was the first time she’d seen him since they’d arrived at his home but that didn’t surprise her. She was fast coming to realise how hard he pushed himself and how seriously he took his responsibilities. Wherever he was, he rose before dawn, worked way past sunset, and still somehow managed to spend time with his daughter. Admittedly that time was usually spent galloping like two crazy people across the desert on horses that seemed half wild to her inexperienced eyes. His energy levels seemed limitless, his physical power, strength and stamina as much a part of him as those fierce black eyes that appeared to see under the surface she presented to the world.
And those eyes were on her now, stripping away her armour, seeing right through her. He saw her fear, knew how deeply that fear went, and the fact that he held that knowledge seemed as intimate as anything they’d shared in the darkness of the desert night. Somehow he’d accessed that most private part of her—her thoughts—and apart from her sister she wasn’t used to sharing her thoughts with anyone. She wasn’t used to revealing weakness. To do so made her feel as vulnerable as if she were standing naked in a crowd.
But he hadn’t taken advantage, had he? He’d used the information, but he’d used it to her benefit not his. He hadn’t mocked or ridiculed her response to the dogs. Instead he’d responded with gentleness and kindness. He hadn’t just understood the depth of her fear, he’d tried to help.
The girl responsible for keeping the dogs under control was profuse in her apologies. ‘I’m so sorry, Your Highness. Horus ran in here when my back was turned. I followed immediately,’ she said quickly, ‘and he didn’t get farther than the door.’
Raz spoke in a low voice. Layla couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but she saw the girl whiten and give a rapid shake of her head before backing away and leaving them alone.
‘What did you say to her?’
He closed the door firmly. ‘When I give an order I expect it to be obeyed, and I gave express instructions that the dogs were not to be allowed in the library or into whichever space you choose to occupy.’
‘It’s fine, really.’
His eyes held hers. ‘But it isn’t fine, is it? We both know it isn’t fine even though you don’t talk about it.’
Layla tried to steady her breathing but she knew it was a hopeless quest.
The moment it was just the two of them the atmosphere shifted.
She knew what sexual attraction was now. She knew it and she felt it right through her, from the tips of her fingers to the depths of her soul. It was the quickening of her heart when he walked into a room, the power of a shared look full of intimate promise. But most of all it was the constant longing to touch—the need to put her hands on his hard body and feel his hands on her. The craving was so intense it was almost visceral, and it surprised her because she wouldn’t have thought the physical could have so much power over her. The feelings thrilled her and scared her because they were unfamiliar and uncontrollable.
Ignoring his reference to the dogs, Layla struggled to respond as her old self. ‘Did you have a productive afternoon?’
‘Yes, but the downside was that I neglected you on your first day here.’
‘Zahra showed me round. We had fun together. And you don’t have to worry about me—I’m used to occupying myself.’
‘In the past, yes, but I don’t want your future to be like your past.’
She put down the book she was holding. ‘I love books. I’m always happy to read.’
‘Because it’s an escape? Do you feel the need to escape when you’re with me?’
‘No.’ Her mouth was dry. She had no way of telling him how much her feelings unsettled her because she could barely articulate it to herself. ‘I don’t only read to escape. I read because I love the rhythm and flow of words. A good writer can create images with prose in the way an artist does with a brush.’ And it was a go
od job she was a reader, not a writer, because she couldn’t have found the words to describe how being with him made her feel.
‘Then hopefully you can pass on some of your love of books to Zahra,’ he said dryly, removing his tie and undoing his top button. ‘To her, reading is an activity that takes her away from horses, which makes it something to be loathed and detested.’
‘So we need to start by finding her some horse fiction.’
‘Horse fiction?’ His brows rose. ‘Does such a thing exist?’
‘Of course.’ It was a relief to have something to focus on. She dragged her eyes from the addictive curve of his mouth and tried not to think how it felt when he kissed her. ‘There are talking horses in The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis, and I always loved Black Beauty because the story is told from the horse’s point of view. I’m sure I can think of more.’
His eyes gleamed dark, his gaze disturbingly compelling. ‘In that case you are now officially responsible for Zahra’s reading—or lack of it.’
‘It will be my pleasure. It’s just a question of finding something to engage her interest. She is enjoying the stories I’m telling her at bedtime.’
‘And on that topic...’ He strolled across the room to her and handed her a package. She unwrapped it cautiously, wondering how she hadn’t noticed that he was holding something in his hand.
‘Oh!’ As the packaging fell away she felt her breath catch. ‘It’s my copy of A Thousand and One Nights. I thought it was lost forever.’
‘It came with us when we travelled on that first night. I should have given it to you before now but I didn’t think of it.’ He was standing close to her. So close it would have taken nothing to reach out and touch him. ‘I’m sorry I’ve neglected you today.’
‘You didn’t neglect me. I understand the pressures on your time.’ What would happen if she touched him? She had no idea of the etiquette and no idea how to subdue the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I hope your meetings went well.’
