The Sheikh's Last Mistress. Rachael ThomasЧитать онлайн книгу.
will, of course, have expenses to cover.’ She knew she would never see any form of payment from her stepmother or the business; creating her own expenses was the only way to enable her to return to England and start a new life with money of her own. ‘Double the original payment should be sufficient—and paid to me.’
‘Naturally.’ Was that a hint of sarcasm in his deep voice? His dark eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion and she thought she’d gone too far.
‘I would need to see the horse first.’ She kept her tone brisk, her gaze fixed on his handsome face, hardly able to believe he was accepting the conditions she was attaching to the agreement.
‘In that case, my private jet will be at your disposal to fly you to Kezoban as soon as you are ready.’ A smile of satisfaction touched his lips and those intensely dark eyes held hers, sending that spark rushing through her again, but she pushed the sensation aside, wanting only to ignore it.
‘Your private jet?’ Surely an aide to a Sheikh wouldn’t have his own private jet? He must have meant the Sheikh’s jet, but such details were insignificant now. Her much longed for escape from the ties of her father’s rule were on the horizon and excitement fizzed inside her so much that she couldn’t help but smile up at this strikingly handsome stranger who’d somehow turned her world upside down.
* * *
Zafir was on the verge of confessing that he was the Sheikh, that he’d allowed her to continue with her assumption that he was merely an aide sent to ascertain her ability, but, despite the brightness of her smile, the suspicion in her voice as she’d questioned his last words held him back. He couldn’t risk her turning down his offer, not when his most precious horse still lived the nightmare of the night his sister had died. Everything in his life had spiralled out of control after that night and it was beyond time to put it right.
The marriage he’d known for years he’d have to make was looming, but Tabinah’s death last year had put even more pressure on him to do his duty. And he would, once Majeed was healed. Only then could he put the nightmare of his sister’s unhappiness at the marriage he’d arranged for her aside and fulfil his duty to make his own arranged marriage.
‘My apology—the Sheikh’s private jet.’ His words were sharp but, lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice. ‘Do we have a deal, Miss Richards?’
He pushed down the guilt and shame of the night his sister had fled the palace. He would do anything to turn back the clock to the day he’d all but ordered Tabinah to do her duty and marry the man he’d selected for her. He hadn’t been a brother to his younger sister, hadn’t known how desperately unhappy she was. He’d just been the ruler of Kezoban, unaware she’d hated him, wanting only to shut him out of her life. The guilt that he’d made her so unhappy would always remain with him, even as he tried to piece his life together again, but soothing the tortured spirit of his stallion Majeed would help him finally put that night in the past.
He looked at Destiny, her soft brown eyes full of compassion, despite her bravado in standing up to him. Not only was he sure she possessed the gift to heal Majeed, he was certain she had the kindness in her heart the horse needed, unlike the others who had tried and failed.
‘Yes, we do. I can be ready to leave in two days.’
Zafir offered his hand, wanting to seal the deal and return to his homeland. The dark-haired woman who’d captured his attention in more ways than one took his hand and the warmth from hers spread through him. It was as if their spirits were joining, recognising one another on an as yet undiscovered level. She looked up at him and the same confusion which consumed him blazed in her eyes.
Did she feel the pull of attraction too? Did she feel the connection, as if they knew one another, knew that they were fated to cross paths?
He pushed the thought aside. He didn’t have the luxury of choosing his path through life, and this woman, whilst the kind of distraction he would have sought once, was not what he needed now—or ever again.
She intrigued him in a way no woman had ever done and, after the tragedy of the last twelve months, he liked the way she made him feel as her eyes met his. She was as spirited as a stallion and yet as nervous as a young filly foal. Today she’d been bold and fearless addressing him, but what would she be like once in Kezoban? Would she still have that feisty spark when she knew he was the Sheikh?
‘Very well. I will return and prepare for your arrival.’
‘And if I feel that I am unable to help the stallion?’ Her hesitation lingered in the air. ‘Can I leave?’
‘You will not be a prisoner, Miss Richards. You will be the Sheikh’s honoured guest and may leave whenever you wish.’
DESTINY LOOKED DOWN at the arid landscape below as the jet prepared for landing. The old town, seemingly carved from the desert, rose up around a rocky hill and next to a river; on the other side was a building of such splendour it could only be the Sheikh of Kezoban’s palace. Around it, newer and more prosperous-looking buildings nestled, as if for safety, and beyond that lay an expanse of desert. Everything intrigued her and she wished she’d had more time for researching the place before she’d left England.
As the sumptuous jet touched down her excitement grew. This was to be her home for the next two months and, if she was really honest with herself, she was somewhat naively looking forward to seeing the Sheikh’s aide again. It was only after he’d left the stables she’d realised she had been so intent on taking charge of her life she had no idea of his name. It had been his job, she’d reassured herself, to be controlling and demanding. Then there had been the moment he’d taken her hand, the memory of it still tugging at her unfulfilled romantic dreams.
There had been something about him, other than his undeniable good looks, and she’d been drawn to him with an attraction she’d never indulged in before. Despite the control he exuded, she’d briefly seen a different man as he’d spoken of the Sheikh’s stallion. Then the hard exterior had slipped back into place, shielding the real man from her scrutiny.
This thought still played out in her mind as she left the cool air-conditioned interior of the jet and stepped out into the desert of Kezoban. Instantly a wall of heat almost pressed her back into the jet but, as a black SUV pulled up alongside the steps of the jet, she descended, hoping to see at least one familiar face.
She was alarmed, not just at her disappointment but that the man who’d come to the stables wasn’t there. To hide it, she pulled the fine cream scarf she’d chosen to use as a headscarf a little tighter against her face and got into the SUV as the door was opened for her by a man in desert robes who seemed completely indifferent to her. If this was her welcome, what would the Sheikh be like when they finally met?
The drive from the airfield was short and she tried to glimpse the scenery as they passed from the dry desert land to the town. The streets were busy with people going about their daily lives and she longed to be among them—the anonymity, exploring the vibrant market. Soon the imposing walls of the palace loomed ahead of them and her stomach flipped over with nerves.
She was ushered from the SUV up cool marble steps and into the palace, where she was swept along by an entourage that made taking in anything more than a glimpse of the intricate and ornate design of the palace impossible. Her anxiety level rose as two large doors were swept open before them and all but two members of her escort left.
She just had time to glance around the high-ceilinged room, admire the blue and gold designs and the view into what must be the palace gardens before another set of doors opposite her opened.
The relief she felt at seeing the Sheikh’s aide almost made her sigh, but that relief quickly changed to confusion as those around him bowed their heads and stepped back, leaving them alone but for the two men standing like guards by the door she’d entered.
She looked at the handsome face, framed by the white