The Sheikh's Last Mistress. Rachael Thomas
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First impressions counted for a lot in his culture and he was far from impressed, but had to remember this might be Majeed’s last chance.
Without another word, he made his way to the school, aware the woman was following. Quietly he entered, stood against the wooden interior wall and watched. For a while the young woman he now knew was Destiny Richards had no idea he was there and he couldn’t help his gaze sweeping over her, appreciating her tall and shapely figure and how the tight-fitting jodhpurs and T-shirt clung, in a way only a hot-blooded male could, just as he’d always done before duty had brought him to heel.
Her dark hair was pulled up high on her head into a ponytail, which swayed like a dancer to an unheard tune with each move she made. She was distracting and not at all what he’d expected, especially after having just met her mother.
The horse slowed to a walk, then stopped at her calm command. Destiny waited for the horse to walk to her and, as she touched its face, Zafir could hear the sound of soothing words, seeing the obvious connection of trust the horse had with her. Then she turned round, her eyes meeting his instantly.
Despite the distance something passed between them, jolting him with its intensity. She was beautiful and, for the first time since he’d inherited the title of Sheikh of Kezoban, he felt his interest stirring, awakening everything he’d turned his back on. He pushed that thought aside. Now was not the time to be distracted by a woman, not when Royal protocol dictated he had to select a bride. As the last remaining member of his family, providing his country with an heir was paramount.
‘Destiny, this man is here for the Sheikh. You know, the one we told you about.’ The older woman’s voice held a hint of warning, despite her smile, and the sudden tension in the air between mother and daughter was palpable, like storm clouds about to break over a hot city.
He crossed the sandy surface towards Destiny as her mother continued to talk. He was sure he saw a flash of defiance rush across Destiny’s beautiful face as she glanced briefly at her mother before looking at him once more. Her fine brows arched in disbelief and her lips set into a firm line of disapproval. He couldn’t help wondering what kissing away that disapproval would be like, confident it would be as intense as the attraction he felt for her.
‘I remember.’ Her voice was soft and gentle, but he didn’t miss the underlying note of determination. She stepped towards him, the horse moving with her, staying loyally at her side as she offered her hand in a Western handshake and smiled at him. ‘Destiny Richards. How can I help you?’
A smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He liked the feisty spirit she was working hard to conceal, reminding him of a young horse that would rather run free with the wind across the desert sands than be confined and controlled. He’d had to put such ideas to one side after his father had died six years ago, his days of being the wild playboy Sheikh his father despaired of abruptly curtailed. For the first time since that day he wished he was free; the attraction for this woman was so intense all he could do was imagine taking her in his arms and kissing away her defiance.
He took her hand and the jolt of something new and exciting sizzled through him. The deep brown of her eyes, which reminded him of polished mahogany, mirrored the attraction. ‘Forgive me for the intrusion. Your ability to work with horses that have been traumatised has come to the attention of the Sheikh of Kezoban. He has made an arrangement with the owners here for you to travel to Kezoban to work with his prized Arabian stallion, but he sent me to personally meet you before my return.’
The deceit slipped easily from him. He was preserving his sanity by omitting the truth, sure that her mother would make matters far worse for him and probably Destiny if she knew his true identity.
‘I see. And if I don’t wish to travel to Kezoban?’ That firm edge in her voice was more pronounced now.
‘Then we will have a problem. It is all arranged—subject to my confirmation that you are as gifted with horses as the Sheikh has been led to believe.’ Zafir pressed his lips firmly together as Destiny’s spirit shone through. Would she have spoken to him in such an honest and open way if she’d known he was the Sheikh, the man who’d made the deal for her presence in Kezoban?
‘I have to see the horse first before I commit or agree to anything.’ Was that a challenge he saw glittering in those dark eyes? He liked a challenge. He raised his brows in a silent answer.
‘Destiny! What are you doing?’ Her mother’s shock was obvious. So too was his. He’d almost forgotten she was there. For a few brief moments as he and Destiny had spoken, it had just been the two of them. Nothing else had existed. The exclusive contact between him and a woman was not a sensation he was accustomed to at all.
‘You may leave us.’ The command in his voice was brittle as he turned his attention to the older woman, but it worked. She bowed her head very slightly in deference to him and backed away. So Destiny hadn’t inherited her spirit from her mother.
‘If you will excuse me, I need to deal with this horse.’ Destiny didn’t wait for his consent, but walked away. He stood and watched her go, slightly unnerved by the fight for control he was experiencing, a totally new concept for him.
Determined to settle the agreement, Zafir followed at a distance as Destiny led the chestnut horse out of the school. Usually he was more than able to appreciate good horse stock, but right now his attention was riveted to the very alluring woman leading the horse. Her strong will and defiance stirred something deep inside him, something he had shut out of his life years ago.
Desire.
Why this woman? She was beautiful, but not in the glamorous way he’d liked his women before his days as Kezoban’s ruler. She had an earthy innocence about her and was far from compliant if the last minutes were anything to go by, but there was something which had connected to a forgotten and neglected part of him the second their eyes had met.
She walked the horse into a stable, shutting the door, making it clear he was to stay outside. He leant his arms on the top of the stable door, watching as she untacked the horse and brushed it down, her gently rhythmic movements appreciated by the animal as it pulled hay from the rack, munching noisily.
‘So, have I passed the test?’ She paused and looked at him over the back of the horse, directly into his eyes. Again he had the distinct impression a challenge was being laid down—and he never refused a challenge.
‘Yes. I have seen enough.’
‘But you have not passed my test.’ She angled her head slightly, her ponytail swinging gently. ‘I want to know exactly what is expected of me.’
Zafir could only admire her courage. Nobody challenged him. Ever. Would she have been so unguarded if she knew who he was? Briefly he was tempted to tell her, but he was enjoying this sparring so he decided to allow her to continue under the misapprehension of his identity that her mother had started. He had no wish to set her right just yet.
‘You will travel to Kezoban where you will work with Majeed, the Sheikh’s prized stallion.’
She looked at him, her brown eyes regarding him warily as she resumed brushing the horse. Zafir didn’t appreciate the look of mistrust in those deliciously dark eyes, but he had no option other than to wait patiently for her response—and waiting was something he was not used to.
‘What is the problem with the stallion?’ She glanced briefly at him as she finished with the horse and came to the stable door.
Zafir stood back to allow her out, shocked that already her question was dragging up the past. He knew that would have to happen if he ever stood a chance of soothing Majeed’s tortured spirit, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Neither had he envisaged being under her scrutiny.
‘The stallion was involved in a tragic accident which claimed the life of the Sheikh’s sister.’ He was strangely detached as he spoke of his sister, referring to that night as if it hadn’t really happened. Despite this temporary reprieve from guilt, he knew it didn’t lessen the blame he’d set firmly at his own feet. He was the one Tabinah had been running from, the one who had made her unhappy.