Breaking the Sheikh's Rules

Something almost tangibly primal moved between them, and Iseult would have to have been made of ice not to notice i

t. The skin all over her body tingled, and she felt in great danger even as a treacherous lick of excitement kicked through her. She told herself fiercely that it had to be just her rampant imaginings—had to be.

The Muezzin’s last chant was fading away on the morning air. And Nadim just said, ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?’

Iseult’s hand still gripped her robe, and with a strangled reply of something inarticulate she forced her legs to move and fled. Nadim hadn’t even touched her, but as she half stumbled back down the stairs and to her room she felt as though she’d been branded in some way…and, worse, as if she’d given him some tacit signal of acquiescence.

‘I think you should take Iseult with you to the horse festival this weekend.’

Nadim looked at Pierre and bit back the urge to flatly refuse the suggestion, trying to block out the image of how she’d looked that morning, when she’d appeared like an apparition in front of him on the terrace.

‘Why do you think that?’

The older Frenchman looked at Nadim. ‘I’ve never seen anything like her talent, Nadim. She’s truly extraordinary—light years ahead of some of the guys I’ve had working with me for years. I will admit that her technique is a little rudimentary and rough around the edges, but that’s only from being largely self-taught. She told me her grandfather was her biggest influence, and I remember him well. He too had the same gift that put him above and beyond other trainers. Unfortunately he died when she was young, so she missed out on a lot of his teaching. But she has an expert eye—I think she could be very valuable to you if you see any pure-breeds in the mix up there.’

Pierre was referring to the annual Bedouin horse fair—the biggest gathering of native Arabian horses in Merkazad and Al-Omar each year. It was held high on a plateau in the northern mountains that bordered the two countries, and comprised buying and selling horses, and races and other social events.

It was also a chance for him to get out to the further reaches of his country and see his people.

Nadim made a non-committal response and welcomed the interruption of one of Pierre’s staff asking a question. He was still reeling from his encounter with Iseult that morning. And still reeling from the fact that she’d managed to somehow get him to reveal far more than he ever would have intended about his wife and his marriage. Not many knew the bald facts, and he had to concede now that, despite coming from a culture of arranged marriages, most of his people would have harboured the fantasy that he had loved his wife.

Iseult had caught him off guard. How had she known to come to the one place in the whole castle that was his private space? When he was much younger he used to go up there and look out onto the view, contemplating the terrifying fact of his fate and the prospect of one day taking responsibility for an entire country.

No one had ever disturbed him there. It had been the one place he could escape from his brother, parents, obligations…his wife and the love he couldn’t return, the awful guilt of that… But now something, someone, had superseded all of that.

He’d gone back to his room last night and hadn’t been able to sleep a wink, with frustration coursing through his body. Eventually he’d gone out there to try and clear his head, get some perspective…and then she’d appeared in front of him like a taunt, in that flimsy half-robe, long legs bare, hair in a tousled tangle down her back. The seductive shape of her body had been more than clear, her face fresh and clear of any make-up, and those eyes— He cursed as his body tightened with annoying predictability.

As he’d looked in her eyes that morning a sense of inevitability had washed through him. He either sent Iseult home and forgot about her, moved on with a new mistress, or else he slaked this desire and got her out of his system once and for all. And he already knew what his only choice was…

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE following day Iseult was sitting in the back seat of one of the Jeeps which was following Nadim out of Merkazad and up into the mountains. Two of his bodyguards sat in front, and a veritable retinue of vehicles snaked behind them, including a couple of empty horseboxes. Nadim was in the vehicle just ahead of them, and he’d barely glanced at Iseult before they’d set off from the main courtyard of the castle. He’d been dressed in traditional dress again—a long cream thobe, with a gold-trimmed robe over it.

She was still getting her head around the fact that Nadim had asked her to accompany him on this trip. Iseult had been in too much shock early that morning as in her half-sleep she’d let Lina chatter and manoeuvre her around and pack her a bag. And then before she’d had time to draw breath they’d been getting into the vehicles and were on their way. She had no idea why Nadim would want her to go along on such an expedition.

They were driving through the rockiest terrain Iseult had ever seen. Every now and then she caught a tantalising flash of abundant green and colour, and was reminded of when Nadim had told her that they’d just had a monsoon. It was hard to believe, driving through such an inherently arid land.

They drove ever upwards, and finally came to a halt. One of the bodyguards stepped out and opened Iseult’s door, and when she got out into the bright sunlight and searing heat she could see Nadim waiting just a few feet away. He was looking at her, but then looked away.

Instantly her body reacted with a disturbing rush of desire. She stiffened her shoulders and walked over to him, seeing that some of the vehicles had kept going and the rest of the convoy had stopped in a kind of lay-by.

Hesitant, she stood beside him and followed his gaze, gasping when she did so. The whole of Merkazad was laid out before them from this vantage point. She could see the city shimmer in the far distance, and way beyond that the craggy crests of more mountains. Amidst the aridity were huge pockets of oases, in green and colours so beautiful that Iseult wanted to rub her eyes. In the near distance a magnificent waterfall cascaded down a mountainside.

It was like a vision of that mythical place Shangri-La. She finally managed to tear her gaze away and looked up to the man beside her, who stood tall and proud. ‘It’s…spectacular. I had no idea.’

He looked down to the ground and gestured for her to look too. She saw a clump of the most beautiful flowers she’d ever seen. They were vibrant pink with four large pointy-tipped petals.

Nadim said, ‘That’s the desert rose—native to here. The land blooms with them for months after the rains, and then they fade away just before the rains come again next summer.’ He looked at her then. ‘This is one of the best vantage points to see Merkazad.’

Overcome with some nameless emotion, Iseult looked at the view again and said huskily, ‘Thank you for showing me this.’

She’d always thought of herself as a home bird, but she had to admit that she hadn’t felt homesick here at all. It was as if her heart had skipped a beat and gone on at a different rhythm, and she knew how easy it would be to be seduced by this land.

She felt a light yet burning touch on her bare elbow. She looked up to see Nadim’s dark eyes staring down into hers, and in that moment everyone and all the vehicles around them disappeared. She knew it wasn’t just the land she was in danger of being seduced by; it was this man. And she was quite sure he wasn’t trying to seduce her!

‘Come—you will travel the rest of the journey with me.’

And with just the slightest inclination of his head the man who had been sharing the back seat of his chauffeur-driven Jeep got out and took Iseult’s place where she had been. She was guided into the back of Nadim’s Jeep. She doubted very much that even if she had protested she would have been listened to.