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‘To observe the traditions of the nomadic tribespeople?’ she asked.
‘No.’ His lips tipped up on one side. ‘To stop your skin from being fried to a crisp.’
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Then left the room on unsteady legs, the tug of intimacy at his familiar caress and the protective comment crucifying her. But as she hurried back to the women’s quarters, determined to read up on all the information she had on Narabia’s nomadic tribes in preparation for the trip, so they could both re-establish the distance they had so comprehensively lost, it wasn’t caution and concern that dominated her thoughts, but the dangerous burst of longing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘YOUR EXCELLENCY, I’M SORRY, but I think there’s been a mistake.’
Zane glanced round from adjusting the stirrup on his saddle, to find Catherine standing behind him in the stable yard. He steeled himself against the familiar surge of arousal at his first sight of her since yesterday in his office. Even with the ankle-length black riding robe draped over her, he could still imagine the abundant curves beneath. Could still capture her scent in his memory—fresh and spicy and so seductive. Could still see the wonder in her eyes when she’d looked at him, touched him.
He’d invited her on this day trip to the Kholadi Oasis in Narabia’s desert lands on the spur of the moment yesterday. He’d persuaded himself at the time it was because they needed to re-establish a professional distance between them. But now he wasn’t so sure.
He still wanted her. Too much.
Making the impromptu invitation, and the motives behind it, indulgent at best—and dangerous at worst.
He faced her. ‘You can call me Zane, Catherine,’ he said, attempting to quell his annoyance at the formal address.
Even if they weren’t going to repeat the folly of two nights ago, he was still responsible for her, until they had established she was not carrying his child.
And whatever the outcome of that situation, he would always be her first. She’d made the decision to give him her virginity, without telling him, so she had no right to expect him to simply dismiss that as if it were of no consequence. He didn’t believe it was of no consequence to her and it certainly wasn’t to him.
She hadn’t fastened the veil sewn into the robe’s headdress over her face yet, giving him a clear view of the light flush on her cheeks.
‘I’m not sure calling you Zane is appropriate,’ she said. ‘Won’t it seem a bit disrespectful in public?’
‘I decide what’s disrespectful and what’s not,’ he said, letting his frustration show. ‘I’ve felt your body clench around me while you climax,’ he added, under his breath so only she could hear him. ‘I think we can safely say that calling me Zane is not going to be more inappropriate than that.’
She blinked and the blush fired over her face, illuminating that tempting trail of freckles across her nose. ‘Yes—yes, of course,’ she said, frustrating him even more, because now he felt like a bully.
‘You said there’s been a mistake? What mistake?’ he asked, trying to moderate his tone. What was wrong with him? Goading her wasn’t going to make this situation any easier to bear, or any less volatile. Quite the contrary.
‘The horse,’ she said and pointed towards the Arabian mare that he had arranged for her to ride after a lengthy discussion that morning with his stable manager, Omar.
‘What’s the problem with the horse? Zakar is small, I know, but she is one of our finest mares, very docile and amenable.’ He’d had it on good authority from Omar—after quizzing the man for twenty minutes. It was only a four-hour ride to the oasis, but he wanted to ensure Catherine would be safe and not overtaxed. He had already informed his men they would be taking a more circuitous route to avoid any terrain that might be too challenging for their guest.
‘It’s not the horse, exactly. She’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘It’s just...’ She hesitated and chewed her bottom lip. The urge to touch his tongue to the reddened skin and soothe the place where her teeth sank into it had his frustration levels increasing.
‘It’s just what?’ he snapped. And she stopped biting her lip. Thank God.
‘It’s just that I don’t know how to ride her,’ she said, the blush flaring again.
‘You don’t ride?’ he said, his frustration dissolving at the look of embarrassment on her face.
She shook her head.
‘But you sat on the horse very well when we rode back together from the marketplace.’ Her body had moulded to his as they’d galloped back to the palace. Far too well in fact, because having her in his arms, moving in unison with him, feeling her muscles tense and release, her breasts plump against his forearm, had been one of the most arousing experiences he’d ever had—until he’d got her naked in his bed.
‘You’re kidding,’ she said. ‘I was sure I must have felt to you like having to ride a horse while holding onto a sack of potatoes.’
Despite his frustration, and the vision now clouding his brain of her body cradled against his, he had the strangest urge to laugh at the look of total astonishment on her face.
‘I assure you,’ he said, his voice a barely audible rasp, ‘nothing could have felt less like a sack of potatoes.’ He cleared his throat, the urge to laugh comprehensively destroyed by the renewed urge to take her in his arms again and ride her, instead of letting her ride Zakar.
‘Are you telling me you’ve never ridden a horse before that? Ever?’ he asked, struggling to quell the desire threatening to run riot again.
‘No, never.’ She looked concerned, her teeth tugging on her lip again.
