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She muttered something indistinct and fell silent.
Up ahead the entrance to the stable block came into view, and he felt an odd ripple of energy go through her. But those fingers still idly twirled in Mu’tazz’s mane. He tried not to stare. He wasnotenvious of his damn horse.
‘I suppose now you’ve apologised to me,’ she said, ‘it’s only fair that I should say I’m sorry, too. About how I’ve behaved in all this. I know you’re in a difficult position, and that you really are trying to protect Nate.’
She looked at him, her hazel eyes genuinely contrite, and to his surprise she reached up and kissed his cheek. It was nothing more than a simple peck, but it set his pulse racing.
When her lashes lowered, and her gaze dropped to his lips, he couldn’t prevent the hitch in his breathing. She touched her mouth to his. A brief buss of soft lips.
Like some breathless untried teenager he swallowed. She traced the movement of his throat with her fingertips and he shuddered as desire surged through him.
He pulled her close.
Too rough. She hissed in pain. The movement had wrenched her injured ankle.
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Shh, it’s all right.’
She laid her palm tenderly against his jaw, as if it was he who needed soothing. Then her hand went higher, pushing theshemaghbackwards so her fingers could tangle in his hair.
He groaned and, carefully this time, drew her nearer. The warm mounds of her breasts, the sharp peaks of her nipples pressed against his chest. The smell of her and the sea breeze mingled together, and he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
He gave himself up to the kiss...to her.
Slender fingers tightened around his skull, holding his face to hers, but nothing would have induced him to pull away. He never wanted to come up for air again. He didn’t care about breathing. He needed this more.
A sound intruded nearby. Whatever it was, he’d ignore it. This woman was all that mattered.
His hands spread possessively across her back.
Someone cleared his throat, and then again, louder.
On a growl of frustration, Khaled lifted his head. To discover they were in the centre of the stable courtyard, surrounded by goggling stable hands, and with them was Rais, inscrutable as ever.
In the absence of any other command, Mu’tazz, had simply plodded home.
‘The team on the boat called it in, sir. The doctor is waiting,’ his security chief said, walking up to take Lily. ‘If you will permit me, Miss Marchant?’
She unwound her arms from Khaled’s neck.
‘Oops. Looks like we wandered into an audience and you had no idea. Not nice, is it?’ she whispered, and then shifted to allow Rais to lift her down and carry her away.
His blood roaring, his heart racing, Khaled watched her go. Leaving him how? Aroused. Conflicted. Out-played.
She’d used that sweet, giving mouth and delectable body to distract him, to lure him back here and serve him up his own medicine. The little madam. She’d probably claim she’d been ‘improvising’.
Suddenly, and much to the astonishment of the grooms, he threw back his head and laughed. She constantly challenged his authority, tested his patience—but, by God, the woman made him feel awake.
Climbing that ivy. Breaking into his rooms. Standing up to him and fighting him every step of the way. She had some nerve. And some loyalty. Believing absolutely in her stepbrother and doing everything in her power to help him.
A woman like that would make a damn fine consort for any man.
Khaled slid from the saddle, gave Mu’tazz an affectionate, if absent-minded pat, and handed the reins to a stable lad. As he walked he considered the Qaydaris and their slippery negotiating. Would an alliance with them be more trouble than it was worth? Would he come to regret it? And did that change his options?
What if his marriage created no problems of that kind? What if, instead of Aisha, he took an English girl, with nothing to offer but an aristocratic lineage and the delight of her body?
Feeling energised, taking the stairs to his rooms three at a time, he began to wonder.
