The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт Хьюит
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when she had worn some of her new clothes down to supper. But before she had bedded down for the night, she had washed out her old things—more out of habit than anything else. She had hung them out on a rail in the bathroom and put them on this morning. That way she felt more comfortable. More like herself.
With a spring in her step she greeted Nabat, who came whinnying up to greet her.
‘Hello, boy,’ she murmured. ‘You look happy!’ She mucked him out and then exercised him—and while he was eating his oats—went over to look at all the sheikh’s other horses. They were, as she might have expected, all utterly magnificent—but the finest of all was a huge black stallion at the far end of the yard. It was Kaliq’s horse! The one he had ridden into her father’s yard, the first time she’d seen him.
She could see that he was aristocratic and highly strung and at first he stared at her with suspicious eyes. But she approached him softly and calmly and after a few moments he started to nuzzle her in an impatient and friendly manner.
‘Hello, my lovely,’ she said softly as she ran her fingers appreciatively over his neck. ‘You are so beautiful. Nearly as beautiful as Nabat—though we shall never allow him to hear me say that!’
But a soft sound in the yard disturbed her and Eleni turned round to see the sheikh standing very still, just watching her, and she swallowed, her heart beginning to race in an erratic, unsteady beat. It was the face from her dreams—which had kept sleep so tantalisingly at bay all night. The face which had flitted in and out of her mind when she had lain naked in her bath. Which had made her body feel so restless.
She swallowed as she drank in his dark beauty. Those black eyes. That ebony hair. Her eyes flickered downwards. And a lean body dressed in clothes which were unmistakably western today.
Eleni was so taken aback that she simply stared at the vision he made. He was wearing a tight, tight pair of trousers, a white silk shirt and long, leather boots. Never in her life had she seen a man dressed so… so inappropriately. Why, you could almost see the hard definition of his thighs and their powerful, curving muscles.
Her heart was beating wildly now—so wildly that for a moment Eleni felt quite light-headed. She could feel the colour flaming in her cheeks as she went to curtsey to him, but he waved his hand impatiently.
‘You like my horse, lizard?’ he questioned silkily.
Horses were her passion—her reason for being here—so she must drive from her mind the terrible fascination of seeing the sheikh in these distracting garments. Concentrate on the question, she told herself fiercely. ‘He is magnificent, Highness.’
‘Yes. But temperamental, too. It is unusual for him to let a stranger so close. Very unusual.’ His black eyes were hooded, and watchful. ‘Think you can ride him?’ he suggested silkily.
Eleni wasn’t sure how to respond. Was this a challenge? A test to see whether she was intimidated by mounting such a mighty and valuable animal? But it seemed that he meant it, for he was interlocking his fingers together for her to use as a stirrup and nodding, she swung up on the horse’s bare back without another word.
For a few seconds, she sank against the animal’s powerful warm flesh, almost letting herself melt into it—to give both horse and rider confidence. Briefly, she saw the sheikh’s black eyes narrow in astonishment as she began to trot the stallion around the yard as if she had spent her life riding him. But that was something which seemed to happen to her around horses—something magical and inexplicable which went some way to making up for the fact that it was always humans who seemed to let you down.
Eleni put the horse through its paces as she took him round, knowing that she was showing off a little—but who could blame her when Kaliq’s critical gaze was searing over her like black fire? When had she last felt this good? This confident?
As Kaliq stood and watched her braided hair streaming behind her he felt the stir of recognition which was even fiercer then the sharp stir of desire. Because he recognised that he was witnessing something rare—the potent combination of talent, instinct and sheer bravado. And executed by a woman, too! His mouth flickered into a fleeting smile as she brought the horse to a halt beside him, bending down over the horse’s neck and smiling straight into his face.
‘Want me to jump him for you?’ she questioned, exhilaration momentarily making her forget just who she was speaking to.
‘Think you can?’ he challenged as the spark of genuine excitement in her green eyes made him respond with equal candour.
‘Oh, yes!’
The sound of a distant shout reluctantly brought Kaliq back into real time. Why, for a second then he had been so dazzled by her horsemanship that he had forgotten that she was nothing but a humble stable girl. Why, he had forgotten that she was a girl.
But now he noticed how the faint sheen of sweat clung to her skin, making her tunic stick to the curves of her body—undeniably emphasising her femininity. In fact, she was not a girl. Not at all. This green-eyed servant with the honeyed skin was pure woman.
Suddenly, he felt the insistent clamouring of sexual hunger. A sudden ache in response to the provocation in her confident assurance that she would be able to jump his powerful horse—a provocation made more sensual still by the fact that it was completely unintended.
Kaliq’s mouth dried. ‘Not now,’ he said huskily. ‘Dismount.’
Something dark which underpinned his aristocratic voice reminded Eleni exactly where she was. And that what she had just done surely amounted to a punishable offence… for she had been speaking to the Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi as if he were an equal!
It was as if the world had suddenly changed from safe to danger in the blinking of an eye. Aware of a strange and sudden tension hovering around them, Eleni slid to the ground. With trembling fingers she tied the stallion to a post and then stared up at the sheikh, dreading what he would think of her behaviour.
Kaliq stared at her, the pulsing of blood thick in his veins. ‘You have a gift,’ he said simply.
Eleni let out a low sigh of relief. So he wasn’t angry that she had spoken to him as if she had been speaking to a stable lad! ‘Thank you, Highness.’
A gift he must utilise, he thought, and then ran his eyes over her again—this time trying to ignore the soft swell of her hips and the lush pertness of her breasts. Despite the sheen of her newly washed hair—how could he take her anywhere when she still looked like the scruffy urchin he had found in her hovel of a desert home? ‘You have settled into your quarters?’ he questioned acidly.
‘Yes, Highness.’
‘And?’
‘They are indeed the most beautiful—’
He cut across her words with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘Please do not state the obvious,’ he snapped. ‘I have a whole palace of people who do that constantly—and it bores me. I ordered that new clothing was to be left there for you—yet today you appear before me dressed in this lowly apparel. Why is that? Do you reject my generosity?’
‘No, Highness.’
‘What, then?’
Inwardly, Eleni squirmed. ‘It was just…’
‘Just what?’
The ebony light from his black eyes was piercing. How could she tell him that the feel of fine silk brushing against her skin had made her feel peculiar—and not like herself at all. Just as he did. ‘Habit, I suppose,’ she answered instead.
‘Then break it,’ he ordered softly. ‘When you work for a prince, you will dress accordingly, is that understood?’
‘Yes, Highness.’
Idly, he ran the flat of his hand over his narrow hip. ‘Really, you should be wearing jodhpurs,’ he mused. ‘Like these.’
It was