Iseult grimaced. Well, not the very first time. She had explored what it was to be a desirable woman once before, but it had ended in such humiliation that she’d locked it away deep down inside, where she wouldn’t have to look at it again.
That was why she found it so easy to brush off the effusive flirtations of someone like Stevie Bourne, the over-friendly groom she’d seen on her first day. She had a well-developed wall of protection around her. But Nadim… Iseult quivered deep inside. With Nadim she had no protection…
Thinking of this made the painful memory of her final year of school and the graduation dance surge back. As it had approached Iseult had fully expected not to be asked, as she’d always been too busy and too shy to flirt with the boys in her school. Losing her mum at a vulnerable age had made her feel awkward and self-conscious.
The other girls had long given up on asking her along to their weekly shopping trips, or including her in endless conversations full of gossip—not that Iseult had really minded; she’d had bigger concerns. But still…some of the girls had seemed to take it personally, and had jeered that she thought she was better than them. Iseult had learnt to ignore them, which she knew had probably made things worse.
But, to her absolute shock, as the dance had approached that last school year, the most handsome boy in the school had asked her out. She’d been too flattered and surprised to think logically about how unlikely it was, and hadn’t been able to stop the flare of purely feminine excitement to think that perhaps life wasn’t all about grief, work and responsibility.
The boy, Luke Gallagher, had told her he’d meet her in their local town’s main square, under the clock, on the evening of the dance. Iseult’s father had dropped her off, clearly delighted that his daughter was doing something for herself for a change.
With no spare money even then to splash out on a proper dress, Iseult had felt achingly self-conscious in an old dress of her mother’s that she’d adjusted to fit her. She’d hoped that she’d achieved the ‘vintage’ look, but had an awful suspicion it just looked hideously out of date. When her little sister Nessa had told her she looked like a princess she hadn’t had the heart to change.
Iseult had waited for a long time, with people walking past her and staring, before she’d had to face up to the fact that she was being spectacularly stood up. It would have been glaringly obvious what she was waiting for, as practically everyone knew everyone’s business in the small town.
It had only been when it started to rain that she’d finally stood up from the seat and started to walk the long three miles home. At least in the rain she’d been able to give in to tears of embarrassment and rage, taking her high-heeled shoes off to walk barefoot when they became too painful.
Luke and some of the girls from school had passed her by in a flashy sports car then, blaring the horn, laughing and swigging from bottles of alcohol. But Iseult had just kept her head high and ignored them.
Even when Luke Gallagher had bumped into her a year later in the local supermarket, and made a blushing, stumbling apology—saying something about a stupid dare—it hadn’t done much to assuage the deep hurt or her lingering mortification.
Iseult’s focus came back into the room. Clearly Nadim had found her passably attractive for a brief moment, but it was crystal-clear that he’d regretted kissing her almost as soon as he had. The fact that he didn’t relish seducing an employee had been etched all over his face, and had made her feel cheap and grubby.
That treacherous yearning to be found desirable and feminine would just have to be pushed back down to where it belonged. She couldn’t bear to be hurt like that again, so no way was she going to let Nadim know how he effortlessly connected with such a secret part of her.
CHAPTER FIVE
NADIM sat back in his chair in the informal dining area of his private suite at the castle. He held a glass of whisky in his hand and swirled the dark amber liquid around, but his body tightened with predictable inevitability when the colour of the liquid reminded him of Iseult’s eyes, and the way she’d looked at him after he’d kissed her to within an inch of their lives.
Disgusted anew at his woeful lack of control, he swallowed back the liquid in one gulp, relishing the burn down his throat as if it could burn away the desire that still hummed through his body. Something caught his eye then, and familiar guilt gripped him like a vice when he saw the sweet face of his dead wife smiling out benignly from a photo on the table nearby.
The pervading lingering guilt he felt at having been responsible for not only her death but their unborn child’s had prevented him from putting away reminders like photos. It was like an open wound—guilt mixed in with ineffectual anger. And it served as a reminder never to let another woman get close enough to be hurt by him again.
In a reflex move Nadim surged to his feet and put the photo face-down. His hand was shaking. He’d never done that before. But then he’d never had to deal with such desire on his doorstep before…he’d always made sure to keep his affairs discreet and far away from Merkazad. Which was why this growing obsession with Iseult was so unwelcome. She was a world apart from the women he took as lovers now, and every instinct told him that she could be exactly the type to get hurt…
Nadim’s hand tightened around the glass as he recalled the sheer panic that had gripped him when he’d seen her in that enclosure with the wild yearling, as blasé as anything.
He’d seen red. He’d actually thought he might be ready to send Iseult home. Anything had to be better than having her torturous presence there, under his feet. But instead of telling her to pack her things he’d hauled her into his arms and kissed her, any resolve not to get involved dissolving in a wave of lust so strong he hadn’t been able to fight it.
Just then his chief aide Hisham came into the room and bowed. ‘Sir, the conference call you requested has been set up in your private office.’
Nadim turned. ‘Thank you.’ As he strode out behind Hisham it struck him as faintly ridiculous that he was allowing someone as unsophisticated as Iseult to get under his skin so easily.
Clearly he needed a new mistress, that was all. And when he went to B’harani in two weeks’ time for the Sultan’s birthday party he’d find someone eminently suitable there. Polished, mature, acquiescent, invulnerable…not someone who dressed like an eighteen-year-old boy, wore too-tight sports bras to hide her breasts, and yet had the temerity to talk back
to him and kiss him like no woman had ever kissed him before.
Two days later Iseult was still feeling skittish, jumping two feet in the air whenever anyone looked sideways at her. She’d seen Nadim from a distance earlier that day, for the first time in the traditional Merkazadi dress. In theory he should have looked ridiculous in the long flowing cream robes, with the distinctive turban on his head, but it had made an ache of gigantic proportions settle low in her belly. He’d looked even more exotic and regal, showing some guests around the stables. Iseult had had to use every ounce of her ability to stay focused on the job and listen to what Pierre was saying.
She was walking Devil’s Kiss back to his stables later that evening and that ache was still in her belly, even though she hadn’t seen Nadim in hours. She felt wrung out. A curious tension was in the air, and she was glad to find the stableyard empty, all the other horses having been returned to their stalls. After hosing Devil’s Kiss down with cool water, and making sure he was settled, she turned around to leave and nearly jumped out of her skin to see Stevie Bourne lounging against the stable door, watching her.
Iseult felt a little annoyed. Stevie had been becoming more and more persistent in the last few days. ‘Stevie, you scared me half to death.’
Stevie came in and closed the stable door behind him.
Immediately Iseult felt threatened. ‘I was just leaving. What are you doing here?’
He came closer, his blue eyes glinting. Iseult knew that plenty of the other girls fancied him, but he held no appeal for her. She tried to step around him now. ‘Stevie, look, I’m tired and I need to get some dinner—’