by Kristi Gold
Her smile appeared self-conscious and somewhat forced. "We appreciate your support. Where are you originally from?"
"A small country called Amythra, near Oman."
"What brought you to Georgia, if you don't mind me asking?"
He did, yet he would offer her some courtesy. "I have no ties to my country as I am not in line to inherit the kingdom. I have found Savannah to be a prime location for horse breeding. Does that sufficiently answer your question?"
"Yes, but now I need something else from you."
Raf had no doubt she needed several things from him, considering her earlier state. "You are requiring a horse?"
"That's right. And I need it soon."
And he needed more information. "How long have you been riding, Ms. Danforth?"
Her gaze drifted away as her hands tightened together in her lap. "Actually, it's been quite a while since I've ridden."
He did not like the sound of that. "Exactly how long?"
She hesitated a few moments. "About twenty years."
"And your age now?"
"Twenty-five, almost twenty-six."
The woman was apparently devoid of common sense. "Then you were no more than a child when you last rode?"
She met his gaze head-on. "Yes, but it's not too late for me to learn."
"I refuse to sell or lease any of my stock to a novice rider." For reasons he dared not reveal to her. Reasons that served to unearth emotional pain he'd worked hard to bury.
She moved to the edge of her seat and sent him a pleading look. "Sheikh Shakir, I'm desperate. I'm an investment banker and I have three weeks to obtain a horse and learn to ride in order to impress a prospective client who believes I'm an expert rider."
"I admire your commitment to your work, but was it necessary to go to such extremes as to lie to these clients?"
Her eyes narrowed, full of feminine fire. "And was it necessary for you to lie about your identity when we met in the barn?"
Unfortunately, she had him on that. "I suppose we both have our reasons for concealing the truth. That will not change my mind about leasing you a horse, since you do not have the proper training."
"If I take some lessons, then you'll reconsider?"
"Perhaps, if you can prove to me you have the appropriate skills."
She paused a moment before saying, "Is there a possibility that you could teach me?"
He most definitely could teach her many things. "Three weeks would not be enough time for you to master proper riding."
Frustration returned to her face. "Don't you have an old nag who's been around the block a time or two?"
"I do not possess any nags. I have only superior stock."
"Then you're saying that you don't have one broken-in, gentle, older horse that I could learn on?"
He did have one in particular, a gelding that was up in years and too tired to have much spirit. "It is possible."
She looked somewhat hopeful and much too sensual for Raf to ignore. "Then you'll consider giving me lessons?"
"Would that involve only the horse?"
She hinted at a smile, yet it did not quite develop. "What makes you think I would need lessons in anything else?"
"Forgive me if I am wrong in my assumptions."
"You are forgiven for that and the fact you initially lied to me. If you'll consider my request."
A born negotiator, Raf decided. But so was he. "You said you are an investment banker?"
"Yes. Right now I'm with a regional I-bank. But I plan to work my way up and eventually go to New York to play with the big boys."
He wondered how willing she would be to play at passion. For the past two years he'd purposefully avoided women with questionable intentions, yet he did not wish to avoid this one. "We could possibly work out an exchange in services, since you, too, have something that I want."
She crossed one shapely leg over the other and smoothed a hand over her skirt. "Exactly what do you have in mind?"
He had many things on his mind, most having nothing to do with business. He wondered how her skin would feel against his palms. How she would taste. How her body would feel surrounding his. "I would like your professional opinion on some possible investment strategies."
"I could do that. So does this mean we've reached an agreement?"
Raf thought a moment, and although he recognized he could be entering into a dangerous pact, he was willing to risk it since he understood all too well that good business led to desperate measures. Granted, he had to admit that he found Ms. Danforth very appealing. Yet her apparent strong will concerned him greatly, at least when it came to riding lessons. He would simply have to outline the rules. If she refused to follow them, then he would rescind his offer.
Raf came to his feet and extended his hand, which she took without hesitation. "I would be willing to teach you how to ride."
Her smile deepened, highlighting the delicate features of her face. Her hand was smooth against his callused palm and he could imagine how it would feel against his bare flesh.
"Great," she said, and after a hearty handshake, rose to stand face-to-face with him, almost too close for Raf to concentrate.
"I do have several conditions," he added. "You must abide by my rules in terms of how you handle the horse. Safety is of the utmost importance. If you disobey me, then I will call off the arrangement."
"I'll be cooperative."
He had some doubts about that. "I would also like to know your given name. I feel that we should be informal if we are to work together."
"It's Imogene."
He frowned. "That does not suit you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My intent was not to insult you. I simply do not believe the name serves you well."
She lifted her chin in defiance. "I was named after my mother's favorite great-aunt who happened to be quite a businesswoman in her day, before she joined the convent."
Raf could not quell his smile. "Your namesake was a nun?"
"Yes, she was. A very good one, too."
"But you chose not to follow her path."
"Do I look like I have?"
"Most definitely not." She did look as if she would like to flog him, apparent from the antagonism in her eyes. That admittedly excited Raf, although he decided he should temper his comments.
"As I was saying," he continued. "I appreciate the importance of one's heritage, but I still do not believe your name suits you." Unable to stop himself, he reached over and pushed away a tendril of blond hair from her cheek. "You have very magical eyes, therefore I will call you Genie."
Her anger gave way to shock. "What did you say?"
"Genie. That suits you much better." Her expression heralded a sadness and vulnerability Raf could not understand, or ignore. "Is there a reason why you do not wish to be called that?"
She shook her head. "No. It's fine. It's just that someone special used to call me Genie."
Raf suspected that someone was a man and that he was not completely gone from her memory. For a brief moment he considered ways to drive the former suitor from her mind. "If it would make you uncomfortable for me to call you—"
"No. Really. I like that name much better than Imogene. Besides, I'm going to need some heavy-duty magic in order to learn to ride in three weeks."
He would willingly show her all the magic a man and woman could share, should the situation arise. "Then we are agreed on that point, Genie."
Thankfully, her smile returned, this time more relaxed. "Is there anything else, since I need to get back to work?"
"We have not discussed the particulars of the lessons."
"You're right. I plan to come here around 5:00 p.m. every day and stay until around six before I head back to Savannah. Longer on the weekends if I'm not traveling during the week for my job."
"That will not do. If you are to learn in such a small amount of time, you will need to train at least twice a day."
"I can't do that with my work. Not to mention,
I live in Savannah. You're basically in the middle of nowhere."
The alternate plan that unfolded in Raf's mind could be considered imprudent, yet full of interesting possibilities. "Then I see no other recourse than to change your plans."
"Are you withdrawing the offer?"
"No. I am saying that for the next three weeks, you must live with me."
"But—"
"I will see you first thing in the morning. Be prepared to work."
Raf left the room before she could issue another protest. Before he did something rash such as kiss the stunned look off her face. Kiss her into silence. As much as he would like to do that, he thought it best to keep his mouth occupied by giving her instructions on the finer points of horsemanship—and ignore her finer female points.
That could prove difficult if she agreed to reside with him for the next three weeks. If his instincts continued to serve him well, he predicted she would.
* * *
Live with him? Ha!
"How ludicrous," Imogene muttered as she steered her sedan around the corner and headed down her street. She certainly had no good reason to reside with a man she barely knew. She couldn't imagine what she would have to gain by doing that. Oh, she could imagine gaining quite a bit in terms of a little activity between the sheets. But that shouldn't concern her, nor should it be the basis for her agreeing to something so preposterous as living with him. After all, this was business and nothing more.
Of course she was going to do it, move in with him tomorrow morning. What other choice did she have? If she couldn't get him to agree to the terms any other way, then she would just have to sacrifice a little of her time, even take vacation days if she had to, although she shouldn't have to. After all, Sid had insisted she do this. And Sid had better cooperate or else. Or else what? She was going to quit her job? Not an option. No man was going to force her out of her position during the height of her burgeoning career.
The minute Imogene pulled into the parking lot of the condo, she hopped out of the car, let herself in and immediately grabbed the phone to call her boss. She pounded out his private cell phone number and he answered with an irritable, "Carver here. State your business."
She dropped down on the chintz sofa, kicked off her heels and said, "Sid, it's Imogene."
"Where have you been all afternoon?" he barked.
Fortunately, Sid's bark was worse than his bite. Not that she would ever get close enough to him to let him bite her. "I've been looking into leasing a horse to impress the Granthams next month, as you requested."
"Any luck?" At least he sounded somewhat nicer.
"Actually, yes. But in order to pull this off, I have to take some riding lessons."
"Riding lessons? How hard could it be, Danforth? All you gotta do is sit on a saddle. The horse does all the work."
Sid's attitude did not surprise Imogene in the least. In their relationship, she was the pack mule, he rode her constantly and she did all the work while he basked in the glory. "Look, it's not that simple. I have to take some lessons in order to be convincing. The owner of the stable has agreed to lease me one of his Arabians and he also offered to teach me."
"Okay," Sid said. "So you take a few riding lessons after business hours. That's not a big deal, I guess."
Here goes. "I can't do it after work, Sid. Considering I only have three weeks to become a pro, and this particular place is an hour away, I'm going to be living at the stables."
"No way, Imogene. You can't take off just like that."
"I haven't had a vacation in the two years I've been there. But I should be paid since it's work related. If I do this well, then we'll have the Granthams' business and that will be a feather in your cap." Imogene would like to tell him what to do with that feather—shove it where the grass doesn't grow.
His rough sigh filtered through the line, and Imogene could picture him slouching on his couch, rubbing his belly and his bald head simultaneously, the only two things he could do at once since Sid Carver was anything but a multitasker. He was, however, the bank president's son-in-law.
"Okay," he finally said. "If this is the only way you can do this, then I'll let you have the time off. But if I can't take up your slack, then you have to cut it short and come back to work."
Not if he couldn't reach her. "Agreed."
"Where can I reach you?"
Drat. "I'll be at SaHráa Stables about fifty miles away. I'll keep my cell phone on." Unless she accidentally forgot to charge it, on purpose.
"Is that the place owned by that sheikh?"
"Yes, it is. He'll be instructing me."
Sid's cynical laugh grated on Imogene's nerves. "I just bet he'd like to instruct you—on several things. If you have to sleep with the guy, do it. Maybe we can get his business, too."
Of all the unscrupulous jackasses. "I'm not going to sleep with him for the sake of commerce, Sid." Now, for the sake of pure pleasure, she might actually consider that.
Business, Imogene. Strictly business.
"I'll see you in three weeks, Danforth. I'm counting on you. C & G's counting on you. You don't want to disappoint us."
"I won't."
When Sid hung up, Imogene hoped she could keep the promise, since she wasn't immune to disappointing people. Five years ago she had let down the one person who had meant the world to her—her baby sister, Victoria. If she had thought about someone else's needs, not only her own, then maybe Tori would be here now instead of taking her place in a police file among all the other missing persons who had disappeared without a trace.
No, she wouldn't disappoint Sid the way she had disappointed her family. Oh, her mom and dad and brothers had never accused her of being responsible for Tori's disappearance. In fact, they hadn't blamed her at all. But Imogene had blamed herself. She still did. Immersing herself in the high excitement of big business had served as a means to escape, and most of the time it had worked.
Yet today, when Raf Shakir had called her Genie—the label Victoria had given her because she couldn't say Imogene—the pain of her past, the horrible loss, had come rushing back on a riptide of emotion. And somehow the sheikh had seen through her tough-gal guise.
Imogene would have to remember not to be so emotionally exposed in his presence again. No matter how attractive she found him, no matter how much she would like to know him better, she could never let him see those sad, sad secrets that haunted her heart as surely as the ghosts haunted Crofthaven, her uncle Abraham's stately mansion.
Imogene Danforth would never let Sheikh Raf Shakir know about the sins of her past. She would be an exemplary student and prove to him that she could meet the challenge. She refused to disappoint another person again.
* * *
Two
« ^ »
The next morning, Imogene drove down the lengthy road lined with long-armed live oaks, white rail fencing and pristine paddocks for the second time in two days. She bypassed the path leading to the stables and turned into the circular drive in front of the traditional white plantation house with plantation shutters and plantation grace. The elaborate farm was truly an oasis in the midst of a no-man's-land, situated not far from a small river with an unpronounceable name and surrounded by swamps. Cotton Creek, the closest town—if you could call it that—was over twenty miles away.
After exiting her BMW with bags in tow, she rang the bell adjacent to the double walnut doors and waited an interminable amount of time for someone to answer her summons. That someone came in the form of a sixty-something lady.
She was Southern through and through, from her moderately big brown hair to her peony-painted lips. She wore a crisp pink blouse, a full gray below-the-knee skirt and a string of pearls that most likely had been passed down through generations of well-mannered ladies until they'd landed around her plump throat.
Imogene smiled, said, "Hello, I'm looking for Raf Shakir," then waited for the classic Georgia drawl and the word sugar.
"What the hell do you want with
him?"
So much for Southern charm. "He invited me here. I'm to be his guest for the next three weeks."
The woman let go a sarcastic laugh second only to Sid's in the annoyance department. "They always say that."
Imogene frowned. "They?"
"All the women who flock to this place like honeybees to hairspray, sugar."
Aha! Sugar was in her vocabulary, if not in her disposition. "I'm not one of them," Imogene quickly added. "I'm here on business."
"They all say that, too. Besides, it's Saturday. No one does business on a Saturday."
Obviously Miss Crotchety had no idea what went on in the corporate world. "I promise I'm only here to learn to ride a horse. Ask Sheikh Shakir. He'll verify that for you. In fact, he's expecting me."
She looked more than a tad suspicious. "He didn't tell me anything about you. Besides, he's not here."
Great. "Where is he?"
"Where do you think he is?"
Imogene felt as if she'd entered Fort Knox, not a horse farm. Maybe she needed a password. She thought of several snippy ones. "I have no idea where he is. Maybe in the stable?"
"Probably so, out playing in the manure. The man would rather be working like a field hand than acting like a prince."
"I hadn't even considered him being a prince," Imogene voiced aloud, much to her chagrin.
The woman looked as though Imogene had left her brain hanging among the Spanish moss draped on the ancient oaks. "His blood is bluer than blue, simple as that, and he doesn't take too kindly to women with their sights set on his checkbook."
Imogene raised her hand in oath. "I swear to you that I don't care about his wallet." Maybe his stock portfolio, but only from a business standpoint. She had a sizable trust fund, plus her salary, so she wasn't in need of a benefactor. She did have to admit he had other assets that interested her, something she didn't dare reveal to anyone, especially Miss No Manners.
"Then you must be interested in what else he keeps in his pants," the woman stated, followed by a devilish grin.
Imogene bit her tongue, literally. "Look … ma'am, if you could just track your boss down for me, we'll have this cleared up in no time."
