Royal Weddings. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ to a man sitting amidst a selection of harnesses.

      ‘Your Highness.’ He rose and bowed, a bridle hanging from gnarled hands.

      ‘Please, don’t let me interrupt your work.’

      With another bow he sat and picked up his polishing cloth. Light from a window caught the ornate silver decorations on the bridle. ‘The little prince admires the harness,’ he said as Risay strained forward, hand outstretched.

      Samira smiled. Anything bright was sure to catch Risay’s eye. ‘We’re looking for the Sheikh. I believe he’s here somewhere.’

      ‘Just in the training ring.’ The stable hand gestured to the open space on the other side of the building.

      The thud of hooves on dirt drew her attention and she turned to look out of the wide doors. Movement caught her eye.

      ‘I’ll look after the young prince if you wish to talk with His Majesty,’ the stable hand offered. ‘We’re old friends.’

      Samira dragged her gaze away from the arena. Risay already half-sat on the man’s lap, obviously at home, plucking at an intricately wrought harness.

      ‘Thank you.’ She nodded and moved towards the open doors.

      In a sunlit arena a man and horse faced each other—the horse skittish, its gait high as it pranced, eyes rolling. Her heart jumped as Tariq, unperturbed, approached it. His lips moved and the horse’s ears flicked.

      Samira’s skin drew tight as she caught the delicious, low cadence of Tariq’s voice. That same voice had mesmerised her just yesterday.

       Desire is a part of life.

       Neither of us is in danger of falling in love.

      The voice of temptation.

      She’d told herself she was immune to such temptation. Yet her body betrayed her. Even here, now, when Tariq wasn’t aware of her presence.

      Fire trawled her veins, stirred the feminine pulse point between her legs, scorched her breasts. She just had to look at Tariq’s powerful frame, hear his rich coffee voice, and she went weak at the knees.

      Despair gripped her. Maybe her critics were right. Perhaps she was tainted for ever since she’d once given in to a man’s blandishments. Perhaps desire had become an intrinsic weakness, no matter how hard she battled for a cool head.

      Her eyes ate him up. He wore a collarless shirt that stuck to broad, muscled shoulders in the heat and pale trousers tucked into boots. Tall, confident and erect as a soldier, he was magnetic. His total lack of fear as the stallion sidestepped wickedly close made her gasp.

      Heart in mouth, Samira moved nearer, watching the horse try to intimidate. A rider herself, she understood the stallion’s magnificence and the danger. One strike of his powerful hoof could seriously wound.

      Yet, as she watched, something changed. That sharply nodding head lowered. Wide nostrils flared as it scented the man who stood, murmuring, keeping eye contact with the big beast.

      Seconds strung out to minutes and, apart from quick checks to see Risay was happy, Samira’s gaze remained glued on the figure of her husband as he, by some magic, quieted the untamed horse. He didn’t even lift his hand, just communed with it in a way she didn’t understand.

      Finally the horse stepped forward, its gait almost delicate, and blew gustily on his face.

      A chuckle sounded in the still air, causing a ripple of sensation deep in Samira’s belly. She pressed her hand to the spot, trying to prevent that warm, melting sensation from spreading.

      Tariq lifted his hand and the stallion snuffled it. When Tariq turned and moved away, to Samira’s amazement, the horse followed like a pet. It nudged his shoulder blade and he laughed, the sound carefree rather than triumphant.

      Samira couldn’t drag her eyes away. Something inside squeezed tight and hard at the power and pleasure radiating from him. It made her want to reach out and—

      ‘Samira.’ He’d seen her. Sensation jolted her as their eyes met.

      In swift strides Tariq crossed the arena to stand before her, only a fence separating them.

      Despite the breathless clutch of attraction, Samira found herself smiling. ‘You have a shadow.’

      He turned his head just as the stallion lipped at his shoulder. Tariq murmured something she couldn’t hear to the big animal, then, swift as quicksilver, he was through the fence to stand before her, his eyes keen beneath lazy lids.

      Samira breathed him in hungrily, clean sweat and warm spice. Moisture sheened his forehead and the burnished skin of his collarbone. Her eyelids flickered as the pulse between her legs quickened.

      ‘How did you do that?’ she asked, needing words to fill the expectant silence.

      ‘Do what?’ His eyes were on her mouth and her nipples pebbled in anticipation. She shuffled back a step.

      ‘That.’ She nodded to the stallion. ‘The way you break in a horse.’

      ‘Ah.’ He drew the sound out as he followed her a pace. Heat beaded Samira’s brow. He was too close. ‘That’s the secret.’ He bent his head and his words feathered warm breath across her face. ‘I don’t break them. I gentle them.’

      His eyes caressed her and she felt it like the graze of hard fingers along her throat and over her cheek.

      She blinked. ‘Gentle?’ Was he some sort of horse whisperer?

      ‘It’s a matter of trust,’ he murmured in that low voice with just a hint of gravel. It trawled through her insides, furrowing pleasure in its wake. ‘Once they know I’m not going to hurt them, they learn to trust.’

      The liquid heat in his eyes told her he was talking about more than horses.

      She stiffened. ‘You won’t hurt them while they abide by your rules, you mean. You want to be master.’ Just as he wanted to be hers. Disillusionment was still fresh in her memory. Of how he’d duped her into believing he was safe.

      No man had ever looked less safe.

      Or more appealing. That was the problem. Her heart hammered her ribcage as if yearning for her submission.

      ‘You think it’s about power?’ Slowly he shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. ‘You had the wrong teacher, Samira.’ Heat scorched her skin at his words. They both knew he was referring to her ex-lover. ‘It’s all about partnership, mutual understanding and enjoyment.’

      ‘Enjoyment?’ Instead of disbelief, the single word sounded...needy. She swallowed hard, unable to break away from the enchantment Tariq wove around her with his rich voice and those slumberous eyes that yet danced with anticipation.

      ‘Of course.’ He smiled and something hitched in her chest. ‘If we don’t both enjoy the partnership it won’t work.’

      Tariq’s words hung in the air like a promise. Partnership, enjoyment...was that what he СКАЧАТЬ