CHALLENGED BY THE SHEIKH

by Kristi Gold

  "I guess horses have to learn to read your signals," she said. "Your body language."

  Her body was speaking to Raf on a very primitive level. "Precisely. They must learn the proper cues."

  She moved to his side. "One wrong signal and they might assume the wrong thing."

  "Yes."

  "Certain cues mean go, others mean stop."

  "I will show you."

  "Good. I wouldn't want to make any wrong moves or mistake something for what it wasn't at all."

  He looked from the path leading to the arena to her luminous smile. "You will know all the correct cues, I assure you."

  "But we still have to take our time?"

  He paused at the gate leading to the arena and faced her. "Yes. Slowly. Until I know you feel certain of your abilities. Until you feel confident."

  "Good. I'm looking forward to it." She swept one hand through her hair, golden highlights reflecting the June sun. "But just so you know, I have a lot of confidence in my abilities. And it doesn't take me very long to learn, if I want something badly enough."

  The challenge in her eyes acted on Raf like a potent poison, flowing through his veins and settling in his loins. "How badly do you want this?"

  "If I didn't want it badly, I wouldn't be here, now, would I?"

  How simple it would be to release the gelding and take this woman into his arms. Maurice would not wander far, but Raf feared he would go too far, too fast. They were in the open and several of his men were taking in the scene from the breeding stables in the immediate area. They would know simply by looking at his face that he wanted Genie. Fiercely, without hesitation. Yet his reasons for keeping his distance won out, for now.

  He opened the gate and told her, "Go inside." His tone was harsher than he'd intended, but he was driven by a desire as untamed as the wilds in the distance.

  After he tethered Maurice to the fencing, Raf gestured to Genie once more. "You may climb on now."

  "On the horse?"

  He considered several responses to that query. "What else would I be referring to?"

  Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "Of course the horse. What else?" She surveyed the saddle. "But I'm not sure I can get up there all by myself. Mind giving me a boost?"

  A request Raf had feared. Yet he did recognize that she would need some assistance, considering the tight fit of the breeches.

  "Lift your leg and place your foot into the irons," he told her when she faced the horse.

  She regarded him over one shoulder. "Irons?"

  "The stirrup."

  With some effort, she complied. "Okay. I'm ready."

  So was Raf. Ready to turn and leave the premises before he pulled her away from the horse and carried her to his bed. Instead, he molded her bottom with his palm, lingering there longer than necessary before he pushed her up onto the saddle.

  She looked down on him and said, "Now that wasn't so hard."

  Oh, but it was. Harder than she realized. "You must keep your shoulders and body straight, elbows at your sides." He fashioned her hands around the reins. "Maintain a light grip."

  She tipped up her chin and straightened. "Like this?"

  Although her position might be deemed adequate, Raf laid one palm on her lower back, the other on her abdomen above the waistband of the jodhpurs, imagining what it would be like to slip beneath the fabric. Instead, he only applied enough pressure to tighten her frame. "Like this."

  "Okay, what now?"

  "Keep your eyes focused ahead, hold on with your legs and knees, toes pointed out, heels close to his sides."

  "That's a lot to remember."

  "In time, it will come naturally for you."

  Yet when Raf took his place in the center of the pen, controlling Maurice with the line attached to his bridle, he noted that Genie looked very natural in the saddle, and very beautiful. She appeared to be concentrating, allowing Raf the opportunity to study her features. Her breasts were high, round, and he wondered over the color of her nipples. He suspected they were a pale shade of pink. Or perhaps the tones found in a coral sunset. Regardless, he knew exactly how they would feel to his hand, how they would taste in his mouth, against his tongue. With every imagining, he hardened more, again cursing his lack of control and good judgment.

  After only a few rounds, he halted Maurice and brought him into the center of the pen. "That is all for now."

  Her face showed her displeasure. "That's it?"

  "Yes. We will begin again after lunch. You may come down now."

  "Mind helping me?"

  He did not dare. "I believe you can do it yourself."

  She leaned over and looked at the ground. "It's a long way down."

  "Bring your leg over the saddle and work your way off."

  "Show me."

  "You seem to be quite capable."

  "Maybe, but I could use some help the first time."

  Driven by a need to feel her against him, he tossed the line aside and pulled her from the saddle, sliding her slowly down his body, creating flashes of heat at each point they touched. He held her securely in his arms, her breasts against his chest, her thighs molding to his thighs, her pelvis contacting his building erection. If she had not known what she was doing to him before, she most certainly did now.

  "Now that's service," she said, her gaze locked into his eyes as firmly as her body fitted to his body.

  How easy it would be to take her mouth. How easy to learn how she would taste when his kissed her. He would only have to lower his head and know…

  A whistle coming from behind him caused Raf to drop his arms from around her and take a much-needed step back. "I will deliver Maurice to one of the workers to be rinsed off. You may go into the house now. Doris has prepared lunch."

  She frowned. "Can I help give him his bath?"

  Raf almost requested her assistance with his own bath. "Perhaps at a later time."

  "Okay. But this seemed like a very short lesson. I'm not sure I got my money's worth today."

  "You will be duly rewarded as long as you practice patience."

  "Another part of the Sheikh Shakir Slow-Moving Method?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll agree to that." She presented a bright smile. "For now."

  "You will not be sorry."

  She sent a direct look at his fly, indicating she had noticed his predicament. "I guess that remains to be seen."

  Genie turned on her booted heels and swayed toward the house, leaving Raf alone with a lethargic horse and a need greater than he'd predicted.

  He would make certain she would have no regrets. And he would do well to remember his own vow of patience. Still, he would have her if she came willingly to his bed, but only when the time was right.

  After all, he had waited two years for this opportunity. He could certainly wait a few more days.

  * * *

  Three

  « ^ »

  "Thanks for the lunch, Doris," Imogene called out as she pushed back from the table after eating alone. Of course, Doris had made an appearance into the small dining room a few times to check on Imogene, but that didn't exactly qualify as good company, especially when she'd let go a string of curses after letting the pot of chicken soup boil over. Having lunch with Raf might have been nicer, had he shown up for the meal. But since their lesson, she hadn't seen him at all. And she wasn't even sure when he wanted her to return for the next round of instructions.

  Doris came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel and immediately homed in on the half-eaten bowl of soup. "Didn't you like it, honey? Or was it too spicy?"

  Spicy wouldn't begin to describe the three-alarm concoction. "It was great but I didn't want to get too full before my afternoon lesson." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "I guess I should see if Sheikh Shakir is ready now."

  Doris grinned. "I'm sure he is." Her smile dropped into a frown. "But you're not. If you don't put something on that skin of yours, you're going to blister like a crawfish in b
oiling water."

  What a lovely visual, Imogene in the role of cooked shellfish. "I've already put on some sunscreen."

  "Are you sure you have on enough? I'd hate to have to get out the vinegar for you to bathe in. My boss doesn't appreciate that smell."

  With great effort, Imogene quelled a comeback about how she didn't really care about how she smelled to the sheikh, when in fact that was a lie. She'd cared enough to take a quick shower the minute she'd returned to the house. "I'll make sure I have on enough sunblock to prevent that from happening."

  As Imogene headed for the kitchen's back door, Doris called out, "Be sure you put some more on after you sweat it off, sugar. And after you have your lesson, too."

  The sound of Doris's raucous laughter followed Imogene all the way out the exit and down the path leading to the stables. Why did the housekeeper continue to misread her motives where Raf was concerned? It wasn't as if Imogene had "I want him" written all over her face. Or did she?

  From now on, she would be extra careful when it came to talking about Raf. In fact, she probably shouldn't talk about him at all in front of Doris, if she could stop Doris from talking about him herself. She'd probably find monkeys grazing in the pasture before that happened.

  Imogene walked into the stable where she'd found Raf earlier only to discover the place empty except for several horses occupying the stalls. Snorting, restless horses that she presumed to be stallions. She kept her distance as she made her way to Maurice's stall, finding it vacant, too.

  Deciding that Raf could already have Maurice ready for the next lesson, Imogene left the barn and walked the path to the arena to find she'd been right. Maurice was tied to the rail near the gate, but he wasn't saddled. He also wasn't alone.

  Raf Shakir rode along the inside perimeter of the pen on an exquisite stallion fitted with an unadorned western work saddle that had seen better days. The prince wore no flowing robes or golden crowns to indicate he'd been born into royalty, just a pair of scuffed boots and the same faded jeans—and no shirt. He could he any typical cowboy out for a day on the trail, but he wasn't, as far as Imogene was concerned. Breathtaking, yes. Typical, no.

  One beautiful man with raven hair blowing back in the breeze and one dutiful beast with an equally black coat and mane galloped in perfect synchronization. The horse's and rider's muscles bunched, their tendons flexed, both absorbed in the moment as if blocking out the world.

  Imogene climbed up three fence rungs at the north side of the arena to get a firsthand view of the remarkable scene playing out before her, content to watch the ultimate portrait of power as they rode away from her. She remained undetected until Raf rounded the pen and headed in her direction. When he reached her observation point, he pulled the stallion to a halt and pinned Imogene in place with extreme gray eyes that contrasted with the bright sunlight. His bare chest, glistening with sweat, rose and fell with labored breaths. The horse's coat and respiration also showed the signs of exertion. Obviously both studs had been through quite a workout.

  "You're a great rider," Imogene said despite the fact that his continued perusal and silence disconcerted her. And so did his state of undress, exactly as it had yesterday in the stable. She struggled to keep from staring at all the aspects that made him unequivocally male—the breadth of his chest, the strength of his shoulders, the flat plane of his abdomen and below that the prominent ridge that removed all doubt about his chromosomes. Like there would ever be any doubt. The man could be the model for a testosterone ad.

  Without taking his gaze from Imogene's face, Raf slipped his feet from the stirrups to let his long legs dangle, leaned forward and stroked the horse's neck. "This is Layl BáHar and, when translated into English means 'black sea.' I call him BáHar. No one is allowed to touch him but me."

  His possessive tone sent a little shiver up Imogene's stiff spine, not because of fear. Because she was hit with the fantasy of him declaring the same thing about her. How ridiculously archaic was that?

  "Beautiful," she said, referring to both the man and the horse.

  "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low with a noticeable edge.

  If not careful, Imogene could very well dissolve from the heat of the sun and his lethal gaze. "Ready for what?"

  "To ride."

  "The horse?"

  "For now."

  "I'm ready when you are."

  "I have been ready for a while now."

  So had Imogene, but not for her lesson. She was ready to forget why she was here. Forget business altogether. She couldn't do that. Too much was at stake. Too much to lose.

  Like a well-oiled manly machine, Raf dismounted with ease and left the reins loosely looped around the saddle horn, issuing a command to the horse that Imogene couldn't understand. The stallion obediently remained in place, not making any effort to move aside from the occasional swish of his tail.

  Imogene understood all too well Raf Shakir's magnetism. She, too, failed to move when he passed by her and left the arena to retrieve Maurice, even when a fly flitted about her face and nose, threatening to send her into another sneezing fit until she finally batted it away.

  Raf came back with Maurice and told her, "I will hold him while you mount."

  Imogene's mouth dropped open. "Where's the saddle?"

  "This afternoon, you will ride bareback."

  No way could she do that. "I won't have anything to hold on to if I lose my balance."

  "You will learn to balance better."

  "I really don't think this is a good idea."

  He rounded Maurice and stood by the horse's side. "I will ride along with you and make certain you do not fall."

  That sounded like a banner idea, but she didn't want him to think she was a total ninny. "I'm not sure that's necessary." She didn't sound at all confident.

  "Our agreement stated that you would abide by my instructions," he said, a trace of impatience in his tone.

  Imogene absently scratched Maurice's nose as she inclined her head to stare at the dictator. "I'm willing to follow instructions unless I think they might kill me."

  He gave her one heck of a fierce glare, almost frightening in its intensity. "I will not let any harm come to you if you do what I say, and you must do what I say. Is that understood?"

  Imogene saluted with her free hand and clicked her heels together. "Yes, sir. I apologize for being so impertinent, sir."

  Raf rubbed his hands on his solid, denim-covered thighs, drawing Imogene's immediate attention. She forced herself to watch him from the waist up while he brought BáHar to Maurice's side. Maurice snorted and tried to nip at the stallion as if incensed that another animal might be receiving more attention.

  Great. A horse fight. And poor Maurice, unlike BáHar, had been robbed of his male equipment, which could put him at a disadvantage. As good luck would have it, BáHar ignored Maurice's attempts at sniping and continued to stand as still as an equine statue.

  "Come here," Raf commanded, and it took Imogene a moment to recognize he was addressing her and not the horse. Before she could prepare, he moved behind her, very closely and said in a deep, drugging voice, "Hold the reins and I will help you up."

  As soon as she answered his request, he grabbed her bottom and hoisted her onto Maurice's somewhat concave back. Imogene felt totally helpless with no stirrups for her feet and only Maurice's bony back beneath her butt. She felt even more helpless when she looked down at Raf and found him staring at her breasts. Under his scrutiny, her nipples hardened against her sports bra. Not enough material existed to cover the evidence and she certainly couldn't blame it on the weather, considering it had to be over eighty degrees.

  Then sun beat down on her bare shoulders and she remembered she had not followed Doris's directive about applying more sunscreen. But a sunburn was the least of her concern. She was completely focused on Raf who had yet to move, his eyes now trained on her face.

  "First, you will make one round alone while I watch," he said.

  Imog
ene tried to keep her panic reined in while white-knuckling the reins. "Alone?"

  "I will be right here. Urge Maurice forward by pumping your legs," he said. "Slowly."

  Imogene did and after some effort, Maurice took three steps then stopped dead, throwing Imogene forward where she grabbed his neck as her nose crushed into his mane. Appropriately, she sneezed.

  After righting herself, she discovered Raf was right there, his hands coming around her waist when she listed to one side. "This is not going to work," she said. "I feel like I'm on a slippery slide, not a horse."

  He studied her for a long moment but Imogene saw only concern and contemplation in his expression, not anger or judgment. "I have a better idea," he told her then pulled her off of Maurice, easy as you please.

  Imogene had a better idea, too, when she came face-to-face with his bare chest. "What do you have in mind?" she muttered as she fought the urge to test the taste of his skin with the tip of her tongue.

  Without elaborating on the idea, he stepped away, yanked off BáHar's saddle, tossed it over the top rail of the fence as if it were a rag, then mounted the stallion with little effort. He signaled a man who was coming out of the nearby stable with a whistle. "Blaylock, return Maurice to his stall. We are finished with him for the day."

  The silver-haired man called out, "Yes, sir," then rushed into the pen and led Maurice out of the arena, all the while keeping his eyes lowered as if he were disturbing something very intimate. If only he were right, Imogene thought as she stared up at Raf, sitting proudly on BáHar's broad back, looking like some desert god.

  "Come closer," he told her in that voice that made her want to fall to her knees and worship his sheer sensuality.

  On noodle legs, Imogene complied, shocked into silence when he reached down and snatched her from the ground as if she weighed no more than a very small sack of cornmeal. He positioned her in front of him and snaked his arm around her midriff, pulling her close until her hack pressed against his front. She was all too aware of his thighs touching her thighs, his sandalwood scent and his overwhelming heat.