by Kristi Gold
"Oh, hell, why not," she said and stepped aside. "I can't keep playing Plantation police. I have too much to do trying to run this house. Come in and pull up a chair in the parlor. I'll see if I can find him."
Imogene followed her to said parlor and took a seat on the blue sateen settee, bags at her feet and hands joined primly in her lap. "I really appreciate this, ma'am."
"Call me Doris. Who are you?"
Imogene didn't bother to extend her hand considering Doris still didn't look at all trusting. "Imogene Danforth from Savannah."
Doris's brown eyes went as wide as a vault. "Danforth? Are you kin to that handsome Senator Abraham Danforth?"
Good old Uncle Abe. He'd opened plenty of doors for Imogene, including those that had led to her job. "He's my uncle, but he's not a senator yet."
Doris patted her hair and it didn't move an inch. "Oh, he will be, you mark my words. He'll get all the women's votes, mine included. As far as I'm concerned, he could campaign backward and that would be fine by me because I could get a real good look at his very fine fanny."
Maybe Imogene had something in common with Doris after all, at least in terms of an appreciation for manly buttocks. "Yes, my uncle is a very attractive man. But he's an even better leader, or will be." If he survived the nasty campaign.
Imogene half expected Doris to request Uncle Abe's autograph. Instead, she asked, "Can I get you some sweet tea, sugar? Maybe a few cookies?"
What a total attitude turnaround. Not that Imogene minded. This honeyed tone was much better than the previous vinegar in her voice. "No, thank you. I'm fine for now."
"Then I guess I'll just bring you a sweet sheikh." Doris guffawed all the way out the door, obviously quite impressed with her sense of humor.
Imogene tried to relax, but not as much as she had in the barn apartment the day before. Her face fired up when she thought about Raf Shakir coming in and catching her in the midst of one heck of a fantasy—about him. Surely he hadn't guessed. Even if he'd had his suspicions, he couldn't have known the details of her naughty thoughts.
"So you have decided to return."
Startled, Imogene glanced up to see him filling the doorway. The man was a total dichotomy in terms of his persona. One minute he appeared to be common, the next he could be a king. Right now he was dressed in his work attire—faded denim shirt and jeans. She couldn't decide which way she liked him best, sweating or sophisticated.
Imogene leaped to her feet and as lack of grace would have it, tripped over her suitcase and would have fallen on her face had he not rushed to right her, catching her in his substantial arms.
Of all the Hollywood cliché things to do. Imogene wouldn't be a bit surprised if he thought she'd planned the pratfall just so she could experience the mass of manliness pressed against her breasts.
"Sorry," she muttered. "I'm sure this probably has you doubting my abilities to handle a moving horse if I can't handle a motionless suitcase."
Oddly, he didn't let her go. "I cannot assess your abilities until I've had more time with you."
Imogene experienced a sudden lack of motivation to move away from him. But she had no choice in the matter when he framed her shoulders and steadied her, at the same time taking a step back.
He picked up her suitcases and said, "I will show you to your room."
She expected him to leave out the door and head toward the barn but instead, he made an immediate right out of the room and up the antebellum staircase. At the top landing, he took another right down a lengthy corridor sporting plush royal blue peacock-patterned carpet and myriad statues of gods and goddesses in various states of undress. This opulence indicated exactly who he was and what he owned, probably at least five fortunes.
The familiar decor was very similar to the accoutrements she'd grown up with—lots of antiques, charming, traditional, except when it came to the bedroom he indicated with a sweep of one large hand. "Your quarters for the duration."
Imogene stepped inside to further examine the room that housed chic contemporary fixtures, from the chrome king-size bed and plush white carpet to the mirrored wall framing a black marble fireplace. On the far side of the room, an open door showcased a step-down Roman soaking tub flanked by white marble columns. To the right of that entry, a small ivory chaise sat next to the French doors leading onto the black wrought-iron-encased verandah overlooking the grounds. "This is wonderful," she said as she faced Raf. "But I'm a little surprised by the furnishings."
He looked concerned. "Is it not to your liking? There are several other rooms. Most were restored to their original state when I bought this house."
"This is fine. I'm more into ultramodern than antiques. Frilly doesn't suit my tastes."
Yet oddly enough, Imogene felt small and fragile in the room despite her average height and build. Must be the high ceilings and all the glass, she decided. Or it could be the tall, dark man standing in the center of the room that made the place—and Imogene—feel blatantly feminine. Regardless, the suite was comfortable and more than suitable for the time she would reside in his house. Of course, it might be fun to try out the sheikh's bed.
"My suite is two doors down," he said, as if channeling her thoughts. "Should you need anything during the night while you are here, you may call me on the intercom."
"I'm not sure what I would need from you at night." Actually, she knew exactly what she might need from him a night, not that she would ever ask.
"Perhaps some company."
That would be very tempting, but unprofessional. "I live alone. I'm used to solitude."
"And I am certain there are nights when you cannot sleep."
Now how in the devil did he know that? "Most nights I sleep fine."
"But others you do not. I, too, have trouble sleeping at times."
"I guess business has a way of intruding, even at night."
"Perhaps, but not always business."
As he studied her with his intense gray eyes, Imogene got the odd feeling that he knew exactly what disturbed her dreams. Or maybe she only wanted to know someone who understood, and that was just plain silly. She barely knew the man, although she would like to remedy that, and soon.
He set her bags on the floor at the foot of the bed. "You may change now and we will have our first lesson before lunch."
"Change into what?"
"Something more suitable."
Imogene glanced down at her black slacks, white sneakers and turquoise tank top. "What's wrong with what I have on?"
"Did you not bring any riding clothes?"
"Actually, no, since I don't own any."
Looking somewhat put out, he walked to the intercom near the door and said, "Doris, please bring Ms. Danforth some appropriate English riding attire."
"Alrighty, boss," Doris called back in her cheerful voice.
With one push of a button, just like that, he had anything he desired. Imogene figured that held true when it came to women, as well. And she would definitely like to have him push a few of her buttons.
"When you are ready, meet me in the stables," Raf said, then exited the room before Imogene could even manage a goodbye.
Raf Shakir was more an enigma than ever. Yesterday he displayed a few smiles and an easy charm; today he was aloof. Just what she needed, another moody man in her life. But only for three weeks.
Maybe that was for the best. After all, he wasn't really Imogene's type, if she could even peg her type. So far she hadn't met that elusive man who could appreciate her head for business and a heart she reserved for her loving family.
Maybe someday.
A few moments later, Doris entered the room clutching a pair of beige jodhpurs and a pair of black field boots. "Here, sugar. Try these on. They look like they should fit you. If you don't like the color, I have more."
"The color's fine." Imogene took the breeches and held them up. "Where did these come from?"
Doris averted her eyes. "Some woman."
"I gathered that."
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"They didn't belong to Sheikh Shakir's wife, if that's what you're worried about."
Wife? "He's married?"
Doris's gaze snapped back to Imogene. "Not anymore. Didn't you find out anything about him before you agreed to move in here?"
"Only in terms of his horse business." And Imogene was already regretting that fact.
Doris shook her head. "I'm not at liberty to give you details about his past. And in case you get it in your head to ask any questions, the sheikh is a private man, so don't think you're going to get him to talk. Me, either."
Although Imogene was interested in finding out what exactly happened to Raf Shakir's wife, she thought it best not to ask too many questions if she wanted to earn the housekeeper's trust. Then maybe the facts would unfold naturally, without her coercion. "His personal life doesn't interest me."
Doris braced both hands on her generous hips. "Honey, if you're not interested in him on a personal level, then that would be a first. Most of the belles around here are dying to get to know him better."
"I gave up that whole 'belle' attitude years ago." Right after her required come-out, which she'd attended under duress. After that, she'd taken her bow and bowed out of the upwardly mobile scene, but soon discovered she couldn't escape that atmosphere in her line of work. She'd grown up with money. She made her own money from people with money. But as they said, riches couldn't buy that elusive happiness. They also couldn't find a missing young woman.
Imogene sat on the edge of the bed and toed out of her sneakers. "Tell me, Doris, have any of the 'belles' succeeded in knowing the sheikh better?" She regretted the question immediately when she saw the sly look Doris sent her.
"He's a man, sugar. And all the men I've known have to take care of things now and again, else they'll explode." Doris followed with her trademark cackle.
"Then you're saying he doesn't have a steady girlfriend?" Imogene cringed at the hint of hope in her tone.
This time Doris gave her a knowing look. "Land sakes, child, are you interested in the royal goods?"
How stupid to be so obvious to a wise old owl like Doris. "Actually, no. I'm just curious. I want to make sure that I'm not confronted by some jealous woman who doesn't appreciate me living here."
"That won't happen, sugar. He's been in a drought for a while."
Imogene almost laughed considering that's exactly how she'd termed her romantic life. "I'm only interested in learning to ride."
Doris winked. "Oh, the sheikh will be an expert teacher. And he'll eventually teach you how to ride a horse, too."
With that, the housekeeper left out the door on a flurry of more grating giggles and the scent of overpowering lavender perfume.
Imogene slipped her pants off and wriggled into the jodhpurs and boots. She stood in front of the mirrored wall, pleased to find that everything fit, yet somehow disconcerted by the fact she was wearing another woman's clothes. Probably one of his lover's clothes.
If that were true, then why would Raf Shakir hang on to them? Did he see them as a souvenir of a relationship that had been memorable before it had gone sour? Memories of a woman he still pined for? That wouldn't surprise Imogene in the least. Maybe he'd had a lover who had left him high and dry. Or had he been the one to do the leaving?
That seemed more logical to Imogene. The "handsome confident man who wanted no ties, no commitments" situation. Yes, Raf Shakir was probably the love 'em and leave 'em kind. The kind of man who should be avoided like a bad investment.
Of course, she couldn't entirely avoid him, considering she was putting her tutelage in his capable hands. And she needed to remember to keep everything else away from those hands. But, oh, how easy it would be to forget.
* * *
The minute his "apprentice" appeared in the stable, Raf wanted to put his hands all over her. The jodhpurs emphasized her long legs, the pleasing curve of her thighs and hips. He silently offered up his gratitude to the very deceitful Mary Christine Chatham for leaving the clothes in her haste and anger when he had not accepted her marriage proposal. She had been twice insulted when he had not accepted her offer of sex, either. Yet he doubted she had missed the garments as much as she had mourned the lost opportunity to snag a wealthy husband.
Raf had to admit the clothing looked better on Genie, and that could prove detrimental to his concentration. Perhaps he had subconsciously subjected himself to the sweetest kind of torture, knowing they would highlight the finer aspects of her body. Or perhaps he was testing his strength of will. However, he was destined to fail if he did not stop staring at her or imagining what it would be like to touch her beneath that clothing.
Gathering his resolve, Raf motioned for Genie to come forward. "I have someone I would like you to meet."
She took a few tentative steps. "The real stable boy?"
"No, but he is male and quite friendly."
She finally joined him at the stall and peered inside, her eyes wide. "My gosh, he dwarfs that saddle! Am I really supposed to ride something that big?"
The gelding would definitely not be considered above average height, at least to someone accustomed to horses. "I am assuming that your last experience involved a pony."
She looked chagrined. "It was a big pony."
He tried to hide a smile, without success, but he only allowed it for a moment. "He is trustworthy."
She folded her arms beneath her breasts. "I hope so."
Raf opened the stall door and the gelding continued to gorge on hay without acknowledging his visitors. "I have a lady who has come to see you, Maurice."
Genie released a terse laugh. "Maurice? You have a horse named Maurice?"
"Maurice is strictly his barn name, given to him by his previous owner who named him after her late husband. His official name is King Jassim sháaTir of miSir, if you prefer to call him that."
She shrugged. "Maurice it is."
When she failed to move forward, Raf took her by the hand and led her into the stall, relishing the feel of her slender fingers entwined with his. "You must get acquainted with him now." And perhaps Raf would become better acquainted with her soon. All of her.
Before he disregarded the reasons for their liaison, Raf released his grasp on her hand, took her by the shoulders and guided her forward.
When the gelding turned and sniffed, Genie stood as stiff as the metal structure surrounding them. "Hey, Maurice. How's it going?"
The horse lowered his head and plucked a single straw from the floor before approaching her to nuzzle her palm, most likely searching for a treat. Genie continued to stand still, looking somewhat wary.
"Do not be afraid to touch him," Raf said. "He is gentle."
She finally raised one hand to scratch the gelding behind his ears, prompting Maurice to press his muzzle between her breasts. Raf envied the beast at that moment and felt the beginnings of sexual stirrings. He silently cursed his absence of control over his base urges, knowing this was only the beginning of his struggle.
"He's just a big baby," Genie said, her expression reflecting delight over the horse's attention.
"He prefers women to men. He always has, regardless that he can no longer breed."
Genie turned her gaze from Maurice to Raf. "That seems totally unfair. How's he supposed to have any fun?"
"He greatly enjoys taking occasional trips along the trails that lead to the water. That is the extent of his activities." Very much like Raf's existence of late, only he had chosen to keep his solitude when it came to his personal life. He had intentionally concentrated on tending his prize horses, building his business and reputation in America in order to block out the past. Some days that worked well. Others it did not. On rare occasions, he had escorted various women, but only to public functions for appearance's sake. No woman had completely captured his interest … until now.
In Genie's presence, he experienced an unfamiliar longing to know once more the rewards of keeping company with a woman for more than an evening. How strange tha
t she should uncover that desire within him after such a brief time. Perhaps it was only primal lust. Perhaps it was her strength of will. Perhaps it was simply the joy in her face, the childlike innocence, as she discovered an affinity with an animal.
She tipped her forehead against Maurice's forehead as a mother might do to a child. "Okay, big guy. You take care of me, I'll take care of you. If you promise me that, I'm sure I can talk your master out of something better to eat than those dry oats."
Raf withdrew a piece of candy from his pocket. "You may give him this."
Genie stared at his hand. "He likes peppermints?"
"Yes." He took her hand and opened it to place the treat in the well of her palm. "Be certain to hold your hand flat and allow him to take it from you. He is good-natured, but he does become eager when it comes to food."
Genie did as he'd asked, pleasing Raf to know that she did follow instructions. After Maurice consumed the candy, Raf hooked the longe line to the bridle. "Now we shall begin your first lesson."
She stepped out of the stall first and Raf followed, pulling a reluctant Maurice behind him as he admired the bow of Genie's hips, the narrow waist, the roundness of her bottom that would fit nicely in his palms.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
If he had his way, to his bed. "To the outdoor arena. We will start out slowly, then work our way up to more difficult tasks."
She turned to face him, walking backward as they continued to the exit. Although he could no longer view her bottom, he did have a good view of her breasts. "How slowly are we going to take it?"
As slowly as she desired. All night, until dawn. Until they were both replete. "We will start out slowly, with walking only. We will progress beyond that when I feel you are ready."
"That sounds kind of boring."
As suspected, she would not be easy to control. That would bode well for lovemaking, but not for lessons. "Perhaps it does seem unexciting, but it is necessary."
"I'm a quick study."
"There are many things you must know about horses, and much to learn about how to show them what you want." The same as it was between a man and a woman. The way it would be between him and Genie, if he decided to take that course.
