Bound to Her Desert Captor

The horse whinnied and Regan laughed. ‘And I’m sure it suits you,’ she assured him.

‘He doesn’t usually take to strangers so readily. You must know horses.’

‘Yes.’ Her throat thickened. Horse riding had been one of those things they had all done as a family when her parents had been alive. An activity that had stopped when her parents had become sick. She leaned into the stallion’s neck and breathed him in. ‘I love horses.’

‘Why does that make you sad?’ Jag asked softly.

Embarrassed at having given herself away, Regan shifted uncomfortably. ‘It was my parents’ favourite pastime. They used to take Chad and me riding as often as possible.’

He frowned, his finger lightly tapping the bridge of her nose. ‘You have one or two new freckles.’

Regan rubbed at the place he had touched. ‘Deft subject change, Your Majesty,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Unfortunately the freckles come with the hair colour.’

‘Not unfortunately. Your colouring is as warm as your personality.’ His voice had roughened and sent sparks careening through Regan’s body. ‘And I don’t

like to see you sad.’

Not knowing what to say to that, Regan focused on the stallion. Why didn’t he like to see her sad? She was only a means to an end for him, wasn’t she?

‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty.’ A man in a groom’s uniform strode down the blue stone aisle towards them. ‘Would you like me to saddle Bariq for you to ride?’

Jag hesitated, his eyes on her. ‘Care to take a ride with me, Regan?’

Regan immediately shook her head. ‘I don’t think so... I haven’t ridden in a long time,’ she admitted huskily.

‘I guessed that, habiba,’ he said, his eyes soft. ‘But there is nothing to worry about. I’ll be with you the whole time.’

‘What about the President and his wife?’

‘He is joining his wife for iced tea, after which they will be returning to the airport, where their plane is waiting to return them to Spain. I said goodbye on your behalf.’

Unable to think of another reason to not take this moment to enjoy herself, Regan smiled shyly. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘I am.’

Twenty minutes later, having changed into jodhpurs and a fitted tunic, Regan waited with barely leashed excitement to mount her horse, a lovely palomino mare called Alsukar. Or sugar.

It had been more than a decade since she had ridden but she remembered it as if it were yesterday, bittersweet memories of shared family time filling her head.

‘Okay?’ Jaeger pulled up alongside her, his magnificent white stallion snorting and champing at the bit in his eagerness to gallop.

Jaeger barely tightened his hands on the reins, his deep voice alone enough to bring his prancing horse under his control.

‘Yes, I feel like Bariq. I can’t wait to get going.’ A groom gave Regan a leg-up into the saddle. Regan took the reins and felt the energy of the horse beneath her.

She couldn’t contain her smile. She was looking forward to testing her riding legs, and creating some new memories that were not entirely based on the loss of her parents. And then she wondered if Jaeger had suggested they ride for precisely that reason and told herself not to be fanciful. He had done this for no other reason than that his stallion needed a run, and she’d be a fool to entertain any other notion.

Before moving out Jag brought his horse close to hers. Leaning over, he shook out a piece of cloth and proceeded to fashion it on top of her head into what he told her was a shemagh. ‘When we get outside you take this piece and tuck it into here so that it covers your mouth and nose.’

His fingers grazed along her jaw as he fixed the headdress into place, sending a cascade of shivers across her skin. Sensing her reaction, Sugar shifted sideways and Jag grabbed hold of her bridle to steady her.

‘Thanks,’ Regan said, not quite meeting his eyes.

He nodded and then proceeded to expertly fold his own royal blue shemagh that perfectly matched his eyes. He was a visual feast and she wondered what it would be like to be able to truly claim this man as her own.

They rode across oceans of sand dunes, taking the horses through their paces, and giving them their head from time to time. Jag tempered his horse to stay by her side and she felt sorry for the big stallion, who just wanted to gallop.

Finally they stopped to rest at a small watering hole on the outskirts of a village. Regan dismounted on jelly legs and immediately went to one of the guards who had trailed them to retrieve her camera from his pack. Completely enthralled by the humble beauty of the place, she snapped off a few photos of the contrasting colours and textures surrounding her.