Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

Entering the bedroom, she realised that she had no clothes. Danyl had torn the fabric of her dress in his passion. Guiltily she peeked into his wardrobe, finding a pair of jeans, a belt and a white shirt that might just about work.

Cinching the loose denim with the leather belt around her waist and tucking the shirt in at the back, she went in search of her shoes. For some inexplicable reason, she felt she needed them. A form of armour against the day. She found them near the chair and slipped her feet into them, catching the sight of her reflection in the windows. She looked oddly ‘on trend’, as Francesca would have once said.

She stiffened as she saw Danyl behind her in the shimmery image of the window.

‘We should return to Aram.’

She held back the words on the tip of her tongue. She’d been about to thank him. Thank him for making her confront the past, thank him for the magical time he’d given her, thank him for making her, even for just a few hours, feel as if she belonged to him again. But then the image of her standing there, the Princess of an empty castle, looking out to the wide-open sea, shattered all words and questions...shattered her heart.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

December, present day

HE’D MADE A MISTAKE. A monumental error in judgement. He’d thought that they’d talk and resolve whatever anchors were tying him to the past. He thought that sleeping with her would get her out of his system once and for all. He’d wanted to reset the past and to be able to move on with his life. But Danyl had been wrong. Instead, he had simply ignited an all-consuming need that fought in his breast, scratching and clawing to get out and hold Mason to him for ever.

He forced himself to concentrate on the small helicopter bucking and swaying in the wind from the sea, and not on Mason’s small, quiet frame in the seat beside him. She seemed too lost in her own thoughts to fear the effect the weather could have on the chopper and for that he was partly thankful. Only when he set it delicately down on the helipad back at the palace in Aram did he allow himself to expel the breath he’d been holding for the last twenty minutes. He bought himself a little time, double-checking all the equipment, waiting for the blades to slow and releasing himself from the safety harness.

He turned, having finally summoned the courage to say...something to her, but Mason ducked out of the helicopter and picked her way across the tarmac in last night’s fancy heels and his shirt and jeans. He shifted his shoulders, imagining the feel of his clothes against her skin as she felt them. Instead a waft of shower gel rose up as if to remind him that her scent was no longer on his body.

He watched the gentle sway of her legs, accentuated by the heels, as she made her way to the aide waiting for her. He couldn’t even imagine how she thought herself a rough Aussie outbacker. Even when they’d first met she’d had a natural grace, a little like the powerful horses she was able to command with a flex of her thighs. And there were more similarities than just their gait. She reminded him of a frightened thoroughbred. All tense muscles and wide eyes, waiting for danger, shaking off any attempts to touch or hold her. The hurt that she held to herself went deeper than the loss of their child, Danyl realised. And in that moment he knew that she’d never be his, never truly his, until they’d reached that deep, deep pain. And, although he hated the idea of opening that wound, he would. Because he needed to. Because she needed him to do it. Because, when it came down to it, Danyl loved her. He’d never stopped loving her. Not once in all these years.

She’d disappeared into the warren of buildings that formed the palace, and he had to stop himself from running flat out after her. His aide fell into step beside him as if realising the futility of trying to stop him.

‘Sir, there are just a few things—’

‘Not now.’

‘But, sir—’

‘I said, not now.’

Danyl saw Mason draw to a halt in the distance as if struck still by the jarring sight of the party still in full swing in the palace gardens. His mother had clearly organised an oddly English game of croquet while other guests were grouped around tables dotted with drinks and canapés. He picked out the figures of Dimitri and Antonio and their partners, just as his mother clearly picked out the sudden reappearance of Mason. He heard his mother’s soft, warm welcome and watched as she beckoned Mason into the fold of people gathered about her.

His quick mind making mental calculations of what needed to be done, he knew that, as much as he wanted to make his way over to his friends, there was a bigger issue he needed to tackle. And a high-pitched feminine laugh told him where he needed to go.

* * *

In Danyl’s jeans and shirt, Mason felt horribly self-conscious, fearing that perhaps Danyl’s mother would somehow just know that she was wearing her son’s clothes, that she would have somehow divined what had passed between her son and the Australian jockey. But if she had Elizabeth showed no signs of it. Instead the older woman pressed a glass of ice-cool lemonade into one of Mason’s hands and a small quiche into the other, with a look that told her not to argue.

It was then that Mason realised she’d not eaten for quite some time, and without tasting a bit of it she swallowed down both the drink and the food. After satiating her body’s needs, she turned to take in the gathering and her eyes were drawn to Danyl, as they always were. He was standing with the young Princess. They looked good together. The small, pretty blonde and the swarthy, tall, dark and handsome man. Oh, Mason knew that the girl wasn’t right for Danyl, and that he certainly wasn’t in love with the Princess and in all likelihood never would be. But somewhere out there was the perfect bride for him. The one who would already know the diplomatic requirements of being a royal bride.

She watched their interaction with curiosity. Although their conversation seemed light, Mason could read the tension in Danyl’s shoulders, and for a moment the soft, young features of the Princess slipped, and she saw an older, more compassionate woman replace the impression of a silly young girl. She nodded once, and placed her hand on Danyl’s arm as if to convey understanding, and then in a second the mask was donned once more and she all but skipped off back to the other party guests. Confusion marked Mason’s brow, one that jolted from shock when Danyl’s unerring gaze found hers. And she saw the aide who had been waiting for them on the helipad approach Danyl, refusing to be cast aside this time.

Mason was finally free of the weight of Danyl’s gaze. As she’d hoped, the aide had distracted him, taking his focus from her. She nearly let loose the ironic laugh. She’d always known that duty would distract him, but she never thought she’d be thankful for it.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the large sand-coloured, ornately decorated walls, the rays still desperately peeking out through the beautiful patterns in the stonework, falling onto the smooth-as-marble pool that lay like a sheet of amethyst in the hues of the setting sun. They had been away less than a day, less than seventeen hours even, but it had felt like years.

Whatever had passed between them, whatever they had done, Mason felt...differently at the palace now. She looked about, not seeing what could have been, or what had never been, but simply what was. A stunning piece of architecture and history, but it was so much more than that. It housed and protected the royal family. The country’s rulers. And whilst many things had changed over the last few hours, that—for Danyl—had not. This palace, just like Danyl, was something to be proud of. He was a leader, a man to be proud of. She could see him ascending the throne, ruling his country with fairness, honesty, strength and compassion. She’d seen all those things in him now and even back then, ten years ago.

Many times she’d wondered what it would have been like, what would have happened, if she’d not pushed Danyl away. And always that imagined fu

ture had ended the same way. No matter what Danyl had said and thought, their love wouldn’t have survived then. Not with the grief, the salacious news reports and media interest at the time. His reputation would have been tarnished by hers, the weight of duty and responsibility would have buckled their fragile young bonds. And in a way the last ten years had allowed them to grow up as people, as individuals, and Mason knew instinctively that it was right. That they had both needed that time and those years to do what they had done, to allow those years to shape them into the people they had become.

But who they would go on to be? That was a different question. Danyl’s future was clear, but what of hers? The dossier that Danyl had presented her with, the proof that it was Scott who had caused not just Rebel’s accident, but more... Guilt flared in her chest. The truth would enable her to race again, not just for the Winners’ Circle, but for other trainers too, especially after the Hanley Cup.

As she turned away from the guests, away from the gathering in the gardens, she wandered the pathways around the palace buildings, and wasn’t that surprised when she came upon the stables. Whether she’d known where they were, or just sensed it, it didn’t matter. She always had, and would always, find her way to them...her constant. Her safety. There were some incredibly fine horses here, she realised, glancing sideways at the spacious stalls with names that decried some of the most expensive and exalted lineages she’d ever seen in one place. But she only had thought of one.

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth as Veranchetti’s head bobbed through the opening of the stall door. Her hands reached up to his neck and she leant her forehead to his.