Джеки Браун – The Sheikh's Untamed Bride: Lost to the Desert Warrior / Sheikh in the City / Her Ardent Sheikh (страница 21)

‘I cared for Yasmin. We’ve never been apart. She’s the only person in the world I’ve ever been close to until—’ She stopped, feeling her face burn. Feeling his eyes on her.

‘Until me.’

‘I know we’re not close in that sense,’ she said quickly. ‘I know what our relationship is.’

‘Do you?’ His voice was soft and his eyes didn’t shift from her face. Slowly his hand dropped. ‘Then you’re making more progress than I, because I truly have no clue what our relationship is.’

The air was thickened with a tension she’d never felt before.

Something changed when she was with this man. Something she couldn’t put a name too, and didn’t understand.

She wanted desperately to reach out to him, to touch him as he’d touched her, but she wasn’t sure he’d want that and didn’t have the confidence to risk being rejected.

‘You should go to Zahra.’

‘You will come too. It would please her if you were to join us.’

‘I really don’t—’

‘And it would please me, too. Get dressed and meet us outside. Zahra’s favourite treat is to have breakfast by the oasis, so we will do that and then fly the helicopter to Bohara—my home.’

‘You have a home?’ It was something else she hadn’t known about him. ‘All the rumours are that you live in the desert and move around for your own safety.’

‘I do live in the desert, and I do move around—because how else is a man expected to know his people if not by living among them? But I also have a place that is mine. A stud farm just inside the border with Zubran. On paper it is owned by the Sultan of that country, who just happens to be a friend of mine.’ When Layla stared at him he flashed her a smile. ‘I don’t spend all my nights in a tent. After the last few days I think you deserve a taste of luxury.’

* * *

‘Just practise everything I taught you. I will keep you on a leading rein so there is no way she can run away with you.’

‘That’s comforting to know.’ Layla sat rigid on the calm, placid mare and Raz hid a smile, oddly touched by her determination to ride even though she clearly found the whole experience uncomfortable and unnatural. So far she had fallen three times, but each time she’d insisted on getting back on the horse.

‘If you want to give up, just tell me.’

‘I don’t want to give up. I won’t give up.’ Her jaw was set, her wrists inflexible as she gripped the reins.

‘Relax,’ Raz said mildly. ‘If you relax you will not fall.’

‘We both know I am going to fall whatever I do.’

But still she got back up again. He wondered if that was a skill she’d developed during her loveless childhood. But it hadn’t been completely loveless, had it? She’d had her sister. The sister who was now missing.

He made a mental note to try again to contact Salem, even though he knew such persistence would irritate his brother. ‘Relax your wrists and lower your hands slightly.’

She did as he instructed. ‘At least it isn’t as far to fall as it is from your stallion.’

‘I promise I will not let you fall again. Don’t grip the reins so tightly—you’re pulling on her mouth.’

‘I am?’ Dismayed, she immediately loosened the reins and rubbed the mare’s neck by way of apology.

He watched, intrigued by her and wondering how such gentleness could come from so much evil.

In all the rumours that had oozed from the corrupt walls of the Citadel there had been little about the princesses and most hadn’t thought to question the detail of their existence.

‘You’re doing well.’

‘We both know I’m not doing well, but I will learn. Just as long as I don’t hurt an innocent horse in the process.’ She balanced herself carefully and then risked a glance at him. It was the first time she’d taken her eyes off the horse’s ears. ‘Thank you for being so patient.’

‘You are very easy to teach because you listen. Sit up straight. Sit down in the saddle. That’s good.’

Her jaw was rigid and he could see her concentrating, going through his instructions one by one. The mare walked forward without fuss, as accommodating as he’d known she would be.

‘She’s very pretty. Is she pure Arabian?’

‘Yes. She is brave, spirited and intelligent, like all of her breed. And very strong. She could carry you for days in the desert and not tire. It’s the reason we choose this breed for endurance racing.’ It occurred to him that she shared many of those qualities. ‘The Arab horse is surefooted and agile in difficult terrain and bred for stamina. It can withstand the daytime heat of the desert and the cold at night.’

‘You bred her?’

‘My father bred her. He gave her to me as a foal but I am too heavy for her now. She taught Zahra to ride.’

‘You mean you taught her.’

‘The horse did most of the teaching.’

‘Did your wife ride?’

She asked the question quietly and he realised how sensitive the situation must be for her.

‘She didn’t ride, but she was an artist and she loved to paint the horses. She spent hours studying equine anatomy and her attention to detail was astonishing. Her mother was an artist, too, and she always hoped that Zahra would be equally artistic. But Zahra only ever wanted to ride the horse, not immortalise its image on paper.’

‘The greatest gift a parent can give is to allow a child to be who they want to be.’

Her wistful tone caught his attention.

‘You have told me about your father, but nothing about your mother.’

‘My mother died just after I was born.’

‘So your sister—?’

‘Yasmin is my half sister. Her mother was a model who caught my father’s attention for a short time. She left when Yasmin was five and we haven’t seen her since.’

It was a brief delivery of the facts, devoid of emotion, but he could imagine how much emotion was simmering below the composure that seemed to be part of her. She’d learned to hold it all in, he thought. Learned to feel without expressing the feeling.

‘But you said you cared for your sister. How is that possible?’

She sat without moving, her gaze focused on the horse’s ears. ‘It’s possible.’

‘You were seven and she was five.’

‘We learned what we had to learn.’

The mare, perhaps sensing the sudden tension of her rider, threw up her head and he saw Layla’s fingers whiten on the reins.

‘She is the most reliable horse in my stables, but if you feel unsafe you can always grab a piece of her mane.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair to make her suffer just because I’m nervous.’ But her fingers closed gently and carefully around a hunk of the mare’s mane.

Watching her, Raz felt himself harden. His gaze focused on those slim fingers. Heat shot through him as he remembered how those fingers felt against his skin.

He lifted his gaze from her fingers to her face, studying the curve of her cheek and the sweep of her inky lashes, and she must have felt his scrutiny because she turned her head and her eyes met his.

Raz felt that look all the way through him.

‘Can she gallop yet?’ Zahra cantered up, disturbing the moment, glued to the back of her horse as if she’d been born in the saddle, Isis and Horus running by her side. ‘I want you to learn fast, Layla, so we can ride together. Isis and Horus can come with us too. They love it when we gallop.’

Layla had switched her attention from the horse to the dogs and Raz frowned.

‘The dogs make you nervous?’

‘I’m worried they might upset the horse.’

Her response made perfect sense, but he sensed something more and wondered if she’d been bitten as a child. That would certainly explain the fear he saw in her eyes whenever his dogs were nearby.

‘Did you keep Saluki as pets when you were young?’

‘No.’ Her lips were bloodless, her slim fingers clenched in the horse’s mane. ‘Not as pets.’

‘Layla...’ He rode closer to her, his knee brushing against hers. ‘If the dogs are a problem you must tell me.’