Lost to the Desert Warrior

‘What did you say to her?’

He closed the door firmly. ‘When I give an order I expect it to be obeyed, and I gave express instructions that the dogs were not to be allowed in the library or into whichever space you choose to occupy.’

‘It’s fine, really.’

His eyes held hers. ‘But it isn’t fine, is it? We both know it isn’t fine even though you don’t talk about it.’

Layla tried to steady her breathing but she knew it was a hopeless quest.

The moment it was just the two of them the atmosphere shifted.

She knew what sexual attraction was now. She knew it and she felt it right through her, from the tips of her fingers to the depths of her soul. It was the quickening of her heart when he walked into a room, the power of a shared look full of intimate promise. But most of all it was the constant longing to touch—the need to put her hands on his hard body and feel his hands on her. The craving was so intense it was almost visceral, and it surprised her because she wouldn’t have thought the physical could have so much power over her. The feelings thrilled her and scared her because they were unfamiliar and uncontrollable.

Ignoring his reference to the dogs, Layla struggled to respond as her old self. ‘Did you have a productive afternoon?’

‘Yes, but the downside was that I neglected you on your first day here.’

‘Zahra showed me round. We had fun together. And you don’t have to worry about me—I’m used to occupying myself.’

‘In the past, yes, but I don’t want your future to be like your past.’

She put down the book she was holding. ‘I love books. I’m always happy to read.’

‘Because it’s an escape? Do you feel the need to escape when you’re with me?’

‘No.’ Her mouth was dry. She had no way of telling him how much her feelings unsettled her because she could barely articulate it to herself. ‘I don’t only read to escape. I read because I love the rhythm and flow of words. A good writer can create images with prose in the way an artist does with a brush.’ And it was a good job she was a reader, not a writer, because she couldn’t have found the words to describe how being with him made her feel.

‘Then hopefully you can pass on some of your love of books to Zahra,’ he said dryly, removing his tie and undoing his top button. ‘To her, reading is an activity that takes her away from horses, which makes it something to be loathed and detested.’

‘So we need to start by finding her some horse fiction.’

‘Horse fiction?’ His brows rose. ‘Does such a thing exist?’

‘Of course.’ It was a relief to have something to focus on. She dragged her eyes from the addictive curve of his mouth and tried not to think how it felt when he kissed her. ‘There are talking horses in The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis, and I always loved Black Beauty because the story is told from the horse’s point of view. I’m sure I can think of more.’

His eyes gleamed dark, his gaze disturbingly compelling. ‘In that case you are now officially responsible for Zahra’s reading—or lack of it.’

‘It will be my pleasure. It’s just a question of finding something to engage her interest. She is enjoying the stories I’m telling her at bedtime.’

‘And on that topic...’ He strolled across the room to her and handed her a package. She unwrapped it cautiously, wondering how she hadn’t noticed that he was holding something in his hand.

‘Oh!’ As the packaging fell away she felt her breath catch. ‘It’s my copy of A Thousand and One Nights. I thought it was lost forever.’

‘It came with us when we travelled on that first night. I should have given it to you before now but I didn’t think of it.’ He was standing close to her. So close it would have taken nothing to reach out and touch him. ‘I’m sorry I’ve neglected you today.’

‘You didn’t neglect me. I understand the pressures on your time.’ What would happen if she touched him? She had no idea of the etiquette and no idea how to subdue the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I hope your meetings went well.’

‘Very well. What did you do this afternoon?’

‘I read. Explored a bit. Enjoyed the surroundings. I’ve never been this close to the border with Zubran before. It’s beautiful. You’ve known the Sultan and his wife for a long time?’

‘Mal and I have been friends since childhood. I often stayed in his house. His father and mine were close—’ He broke off but she read his mind easily.