Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

‘What was that?’ he asked.

‘A probiotic for his throat. It’s amazing, but you can’t get it in the States and I had some left.’

‘Plying my staff with illegal medication?’ He raised an arch eyebrow, but the humour in his tone softened the chastisement.

‘Not illegal, just hard to get,’ she replied, fighting with her nerves at being in such a confined space with a man who had driven her almost out of her senses over the last month. But tonight had been different. The other times they had met, it had been during the day, surrounded by New Yorkers and his personal guard. But something had changed under the cover of darkness, and she felt him weave a very slow, but very intense, seduction over her. She felt the heat of his gaze lap against her body, despite the layers of clothing between them.

She almost breathed a sigh of relief as they left the confined space of the lift and passed through the front door to his apartment. And then the sigh got caught in her throat.

From the sitting room, which included an open-plan kitchen that had clearly never been used, she wandered—because she could wander—along the wall lined with bookshelves, packed full of books of various genres, some she’d read and some she’d never heard of. It was so different from the little room she shared with Francesca, which was more like a backpacker’s hostel than anything else. Danyl’s apartment most definitely beat bunk beds and a communal kitchen.

At the end of the bookshelf wall was the most incredible view of Central Park she’d ever seen. Large windows let in the kind of vista usually viewed from a TV screen. The Jackie O Reservoir winked out from the middle, and somewhere down there was the famous Loeb Boathouse. Mason’s fingers reached out to the cold glass as if she could touch the powerful grey clouds threatening to release little snow bombs on New York.

‘The view isn’t bad. But it’s not as good as the sight of the desert in Ter’harn.’ She couldn’t help but laugh at the pride in his voice. But then the atmosphere changed. And she turned to find him looking at her.

‘I wanted to ask about Scott, and didn’t really know how to, so...’ He let the sentence hang in the air between them.

‘Oh, that,’ she said on a breath. For a moment she’d thought he was going to talk about them, if there was even a ‘them’...she’d thought he was going to let her down gently. Explain how a prince couldn’t be involved with a commoner, let alone an Australian one.

Refocusing her thoughts, she felt her eyes narrow, squinting as if trying to see the way through to the right words. ‘I didn’t see him for a few days after the party. And, when I did, he was full of apologies. Said he was so drunk that he couldn’t really remember much apart from the nearly broken nose and the fact that he knew it was the least he deserved. Us jockeys sometimes can’t hold our alcohol because of the training.’ Her words were met with a raised eyebrow, but she ploughed on. ‘And he said to thank you for stopping him from doing something that he would have regretted.’

‘Are you scared of him?’

She gave the question consideration. ‘No. I’m not.’

‘Do you think he’ll try it again?’

‘No,’ she said confidently.

‘With someone else perhaps?’

She shook her head. ‘I spoke with Harry—our trainer. I just wanted to let him know to keep an eye out... He asked me if I wanted to make a formal complaint. And he really asked me. He’s not just a friend of Pops, he’s determined that female jockeys have a place in racing, and that nothing should interfere with that. Not even male egos,’ Mason said with a smile and a gentle dig.

‘Some male egos are warranted,’ he said with mock superiority.

‘It was a drunken pass that I wasn’t open to. That’s all. But I’m not naïve, and in case there is anything more to it then Harry knows now, as do the rest of the staff, and they’ll be watching.’

‘Good. Shall I order some dinner? What do you—?’ His phone rang, cutting him off mid-sentence. He glanced at the number. ‘I have to take this, sorry,’ and he disappeared into a room.

Mason shucked out of her coat, walked over to the small kitchen and opened the perfectly stocked fridge. She checked a few cupboards and with an ear out for Danyl decided that he might be some time. Her fingers itching for something to do, she started the kettle to boil and began putting together what she’d need. There was smoked salmon, capers and cream. Perfect for a simple pasta dish and for avoiding any thoughts of what would happen next.

She thought of the small gift she’d impulsively got for him that was presently burning a hole in her pocket, and wondered again whether she should give it to him or not. But the moment she’d seen it she knew—or had done at the time—that it was perfect. Only now...she was beginning to think that perhaps it was foolish. That perhaps it was too soon for gifts, or for feeling like she was falling headlong into something she wasn’t sure was even possible.

* * *

‘Okay, I’ve got it. Thanks... Yeah. Love you too,’ Danyl said, shutting off the call. Every time they spoke these days, reluctance and something defiant swirled in his chest. He had almost two terms left of his studies, and couldn’t help the feeling that time was running out. Time for him to be...just Danyl, not Sheikh Danyl Nejem Al Arain. Time with his friends...time with a beautiful, dark-haired Australian beauty, who made him laugh, and who was comfortable enough in her own skin to laugh at him. Because when he went back to Ter’harn he knew it would be for the last time. It would be as the future ruler, with no room for error or mistakes. His whole life had been, and would be, about how he would serve and please the people of his country. He’d always known that, and he’d always respected that. But even so, he couldn’t quite ignore the small, kicking and screaming v

oice that asked about pleasing himself.

‘I thought we could—’ He rounded the corner to find the breakfast bar laid with plates, cutlery, wine glasses and the most delicious-smelling pasta. ‘Where did that come from?’ he asked, genuinely intrigued.

‘The fridge,’ Mason responded with a laugh.

‘There’s food in the fridge?’ He opened it—probably for the first time in four years—and was surprised to see it fully stocked. ‘There’s food in here?’

‘It’s where the plebeians usually keep it, Your High-and-Mightiness.’

‘You cook?’