Harts of Arizona Series

by Yahrah St. John

  “That godforsaken country is not your home. Nasir is.”

  “Nasir has never been my home.”

  Amar heard his father’s long audible sigh. Why must they have this same argument? Wasn’t it just a bit repetitious?

  “I don’t want to argue with you, son.”

  “And I don’t want to argue with you. I’ll call you after the race is over.”

  “Agreed.”

  Before Amar could press the End button to terminate the call, he heard a dial tone. His father had hung up on him. Again!

  “Everything okay here?” Rylee asked from behind him as she swung her arms around his shoulders.

  When had she awakened? He hadn’t even heard her footsteps. He turned around in the chair and swung her into his lap.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said, holding her. “I was hoping to rejoin you in the bed before you woke up so we could pick up where we left off.”

  “Hmm …” Rylee trailed light kisses up his neck. “We don’t have much time to get to the racetrack.”

  “Then we’ll have to make it a quickie.” Amar rose to his feet, and, with her still in his arms, carried her back to the bedroom.

  They eventually separated to shower, but even that had dragged on for an additional thirty minutes because he hadn’t been able to resist making love to her again when she’d been all soapy and wet. He’d backed her up against the tile of the shower stall, lifted her off her feet and surged inside her moist heat. Their tongues had mated just as their lower bodies had, and he waited for Rylee to come before he’d finally allowed himself his own release.

  Amar and Rylee may have never made it out of the cabin save for Sharif’s quick thinking and having clothes delivered to the cottage. Once dressed, they’d hightailed it to Churchill Downs. Amar knew he should have been there earlier instead of making sweet love to Rylee at the cabin he’d procured for the weekend, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her side. Rylee was a special lady that he could envision himself spending more time with, but duty called first.

  When they arrived to Churchill Downs, they went directly to the Paddock, where the trainers and jockeys were already prepping for the Derby’s events.

  Sharif was already there waiting for him at Dreamer’s stall. Amar went to talk to him, but Rylee didn’t stand idly by his side. Instead, she went to work and did a quick evaluation of Dreamer’s condition after the morning workouts.

  “So nice of you to join us,” she heard Hank say.

  Amar liked that she wasn’t one of those ladies who lunched or sat in the stands with the pretty dresses and big hats. Today she’d worn exactly what she’d worn every other time he’d seen her in Pembroke Stables — worn boots and jeans — but this time she’d added a crisp white shirt. Rylee wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty or deal with tough guys like Hank.

  “I take it everything was to your satisfaction last evening,” Sharif whispered to Amar.

  Amar glanced sideways at him. “Everything was great! You did a fine job of setting the mood.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’d like you to arrange something similar for tonight,” Amar said and turned to whisper instructions in Sharif’s ear. He didn’t know how much time he would have with Rylee or when she would have to get back to her family’s ranch, so he had to make every moment count.

  “I will take care of it.”

  “Good. Let’s go about seeing Desert Storm.” Amar left Rylee to her own devices while he went to check on his father’s investment.

  Rylee glanced up long enough to see Amar walk away with Sharif. Last night, after she’d boldly stood up and undressed in front of Amar, she’d enjoyed the best lovemaking of her entire life. Amar had been romantic and gentle when he needed to be and aggressive when she wanted more. They’d made love several times.

  Rylee blushed as she remembered when Amar had flipped her on her stomach and taken her from behind. He’d tugged on her hair as he’d brought her to another mind-blowing climax. She hadn’t known those existed before. She’d heard how some women never enjoyed them, and she’d thought she’d be one of them until last night. Until Amar.

  He’d brought out something in her that she couldn’t explain. She’d behaved out of character from the moment she’d met him. Agreeing to a casual affair for the weekend was definitely not her M.O., but she’d wanted to experience the pleasure of being with Amar, and she had — on the floor, on the sofa when she’d sat in his lap and rode him wildly and this morning in the shower. She looked forward to riding him again tonight.

  “Hello.” The trainer waved his hand in front of her face. “Earth to Rylee, or are you so captured by the prince that you can’t think straight.”

  “You know, Hank,” she said, rising to her feet, “I’ve had

  enough of your comments. Knock it off.”

  “Why should I?” Hank replied. “You’re a traitor. You turned on Jeremy and stayed with Bishop. Where’s your loyalty?”

  “My loyalty,” she said, standing up straight, “is to this beautiful animal and ensuring she’s in the best health. Jeremy gambled away his horse, so don’t blame me for his shortcomings. I signed on to take care of Dreamer, same as you.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” he said under his breath as he walked away.

  Rylee glared at him. She turned and looked at the stable hand and the jockey, who were all standing nearby staring at her. Did they all think her disloyal for not leaving with Jeremy? Loyalty was one of the things she prided herself on most, and she didn’t like the folks thinking less of her, but what could she do? She would just have to tough it out as she’d always done in this predominantly male field.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked, causing both men to turn away.

  Chapter 7

  Once Rylee completed her routine check of Dreamer, she went in search of Amar, who she’d learned was looking over Desert Storm. She found him and Sharif in the Infield by the fences, where horses were brought to be shown off to spectators. The sky was blue and clear, with not a rain cloud in sight. It would be a great day for the races.

  Amar smiled when he saw her approach. “Come here,” he said, motioning her over. “You have to meet this beautiful creature. Now this is a man’s horse. This is Desert Storm.”

  Rylee walked over to the jet-as-midnight thoroughbred and brushed his black mane with her hands. “He’s beautiful.”

  “Like someone else I know.” Amar seared her with an intensely sexual gaze. She read his mind and knew he was thinking lascivious thoughts.

  She was surprised that he could still have such lustful eyes after he’d tasted, touched and caressed every inch of her. Not to mention, her usual cowgirl outfit and infamous riding boots were not the least bit stylish or showed any skin. She was a far cry from the overdressed socialites standing around ogling him right now and wishing they were her.

  He was about to respond when a reporter came his way. “Mr. Bishop, how are you feeling about Desert Storm’s odds?”

  “He’s done well in the other stake races,” Amar said, “so I can only imagine he’ll do well today.”

  “Rumor is you’re the new owner of Dreamer, the underdog in this race. If you were a betting man, would you bet on Desert Storm or Dreamer?”

  Amar smiled, revealing straight white teeth, and it made Rylee warm as the memory of those teeth nipping and tugging at her nipples came roaring back. She felt them harden underneath her shirt in response. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Either way, you’re a winner,” the reporter said. “But that’s your M.O., right? You never lose.”

  She noticed Amar frown as the man walked away. “Are you okay?”

  Amar’s conciliatory smile returned. “Of course. I am just surprised how much my reputation precedes me as a ruthless businessman.”

  Rylee leaned backward on the fence to stu
dy him. “It’s what you’ve cultivated, yes?”

  “Ruthless? No. But do I have a singular focus when I want something? Yes. I think ruthless is how you Americans perceive someone who is determined to achieve a certain result. And I don’t like it. It has a negative connotation.”

  She stared back at him. Amar was an enigma. At moments, he was ruthless, though he didn’t want to appear that way, but by the same token, he could be immensely charming and romantic. She wondered what more lay underneath the smooth exterior he portrayed.

  “Let’s go upstairs to the box.” Amar took her hand and led her up the steps so they could head to the Finish Line Suites. “These are private for owners and serious equestrian lovers.”

  Sharif followed them quietly at their heels. It always surprised Rylee how he stood on the sidelines and knew when to speak or when to act.

  When they arrived, Rylee could see that the private box gave them a bird’s-eye view of the races and was an excellent vantage point. She walked over to the windows and peered out. “This is great, Amar.” She was sure this box was better than even the VIP seats Jeremy had procured.

  She noticed the platters of cold meats, cheeses, pâtés, crackers, fruits and beverages aligning the table in the box, along with a bucket of champagne chilling.

  “Hungry?” Amar asked when he noticed Rylee eyeing the table.

  “I did work up an appetite,” she said coyly, underneath flirty lashes, “and we had no time to eat before we came to Churchill Downs.”

  “By all means enjoy,” Amar said as he pulled out his buzzing phone.

  Amar watched Rylee indulge in a large plate of food as he looked down at the text from his father. Are you confident, we’ll win? You’d better be.

  Amar didn’t want the added stress of worrying about his father’s reaction to the races from across the ocean, but it was impossible not to. The man had a way of getting under his skin despite Amar’s best efforts to keep him at bay.

  As the races began and “My Old Kentucky Home” rang out in song across the stadium, Amar maintained his focus and folded his arms across his chest. A few times, he couldn’t help but smile as he watched Rylee animatedly get into the action of the Derby. The announcers had a way of reeling you into the excitement and feeling the buzz.

  Eventually, when it was time for Dreamer and Storm’s event, he pulled Rylee outside onto the balcony for a better view of the finish line.

  “This is exciting,” Rylee said, looking up at him.

  “You have no idea.”

  The horses came to the gates, and Amar’s stomach clenched. The gun sounded, and he held his breath. Desert Storm came out of the gate for the lead. He appeared to keep the top position and stayed on the far outside as they headed into the first turn. Then slowly but surely, Dreamer began to move into the clear. Next thing he knew, Dreamer was near the front of the pack. Then, to the announcer’s surprise, she surged forward.

  Dreamer was in the lead.

  “She’s in the lead. She’s in the lead!” Rylee shouted, squeezing Amar’s arm.

  Sharif turned to Amar, and he could see his friend’s mind spinning just as his was. They both knew he’d come there to ensure Desert Storm won the Derby, but now he was conflicted as he witnessed Dreamer continuing to pull away from the pack and head toward the finish line. Just as the clock ran out, Amar envisioned the rage that would be on his father’s face.

  “Dreamer won! Dreamer won!” Rylee jumped up and down excitedly and then hugged Amar. When he didn’t return her hug, she looked up at him. “Isn’t that great?”

  “Of course it is,” he said, plastering a smile on his face even though his head was reeling. “It’s fantastic. Who would have imagined.” He sure hadn’t. The only reason he’d bought the damn horse was because he’d wanted to teach Jeremy a lesson, but had he secretly wanted to teach his father one too?

  He hadn’t known a long shot would beat a prized well-bred Arabian thoroughbred like Desert Storm, who’d been sired for this very thing. His father would be furious to learn that his horse hadn’t won, and Amar was sure he and his friends had gambled on Desert Strom winning and had probably lost a fortune.

  “You sure don’t look happy. This is great news. Dreamer won.”

  “I am.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Rylee, you must realize that when there’s a winner, there’s also a loser, and my father spent northward of a million dollars on Storm. He will not be happy.”

  Rylee frowned as realization dawned on her. “Oh, I’m sorry, Amar. I guess I was so happy. I hadn’t thought about what this meant to your family, but no one could have predicted this. Dreamer was a long shot.” She looked back at the racetrack.

  “You and I know that, but my father will still be furious. Horses are about the one thing we have in common and now …” His voice trailed off.

  Rylee touched his arm. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Let’s go celebrate.” She tugged him toward the door, where press and excited patrons were already swarming outside the suite.

  Amar followed reluctantly behind her. When he got to the tracks, he did what was expected. He posed with the jockey and accepted the cup as the press snapped photos. As much as he appreciated Rylee’s optimism, he knew there would be hell to pay with the Sheikh.

  And he was right. It wasn’t long after they’d gone down to the tracks where the winning jockey sat on Dreamer and was bestowed with champagne and praise that Amar’s cell phone began to ring. He didn’t have to look at the display to know who it was.

  He stepped away from Rylee, who was caught up in the momentum, and took the call.

  “What the hell is going on over there, Amar?” his father yelled. “You assured me that I had nothing to worry about, and now I and some of my associates have lost thousands and, in some cases, millions.”

  “It’s not my fault.”

  “Like hell it isn’t. I told you to neutralize the threat. But what do you do? You go off and buy the damn horse. And now you’re sitting pretty, and I’m out of millions.”

  How could his father have known about the purchase from overseas? He should have known the man had spies. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I really had no idea Dreamer would win. I only bought her to teach the owner a lesson.”

  “Don’t you mean to show off and take his woman?”

  Damn him! Who is feeding him information? It couldn’t be Sharif, could it? Amar had always thought him a loyal and trustworthy friend. “Watch it, Father. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I know what I’m talking about,” his father said. “You let some twit that you’ve known all of five minutes” — he could hear the snap of his father’s fingers — “come in and sabotage my plan. I paid a pretty penny for that horse and have been training him for this moment. I don’t ask much of you, Amar. I just ask that you look over my horses in the States. I thought that was the one love we shared, but instead you took your eye off the prize because you wanted a piece of ass.”

  Fury boiled within Amar at his father’s harsh reprimand, and he lashed out. “Well, I’m sorry that again I’ve lived up to the image you have of me as a worthless son,” Amar hissed.

  “I’ve never said that, Amar!”

  “Bullshit!” Amar yelled into the phone. He saw several folks look at him because of his foul language, so he moved farther away from the crowd. “It’s what you and your people think of me. I’m the bastard son that you couldn’t be bothered with. Hell, you couldn’t even be bothered to come to my mother’s funeral after she’d died a slow death from lupus even after she spent a lifetime waiting on you to come back to her.”

  “I never asked her to wait.”

  “You didn’t have to. She loved you. And she died loving only you, but you were too selfish to see that. Instead, you would just stop in when it was convenient for you, take wh
at you wanted and then leave her alone again. And that’s how she died —

  alone.”

  “You’re hitting below the belt, Amar. You should stop while you’re ahead.”

  “Since you already think so highly of me, Abdul al’ Mahmud, King of Nasir, why don’t you forget I exist, because I’m done trying to live up to your expectations or trying to please you, because it’s a never-ending battle that I won’t win. Goodbye.”

  Amar ended the call and then threw the phone down on the concrete, smashing it into a hundred tiny pieces.

  From across the way out of the corner of her eye, Rylee had seen Amar getting more and more upset with whoever had been on the opposite end of that call. It had to have been his father, she thought, and she had rushed over when Amar smashed the phone.

  “Amar?”

  When he looked up at her, pain and anguish sprang from his eyes, and Rylee pulled him close. He gripped her so tightly, she could barely breathe.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, and eventually, he eased his death grip on her but didn’t let her go. “What’s wrong?” She hazarded a glance up at him. She had never seen this side to him before, and it made her a little uneasy. He was always so cool and polished.

  Amar was silent for several long beats, so Rylee wondered if he’d heard her. Eventually, he spoke. “Not anything you can help with. These wounds go deep.”

  She grasped each side of his face. “I understand.”

  “I’m not sure you can.”

  “I may not have experienced them myself, but I helped my brother Noah grieve over losing his first wife and unborn child in a car accident. So I know a little bit about loss and pain.”

  “That’s horrible,” Amar said, coming out of his fog. “How did he get through something like that?”

  “Time,” Rylee answered softly, “and lots and lots of love from my family and eventually Chynna, my sister-in-law.”