CHALLENGED BY THE SHEIKH Page 8

  Pushing away from the wall, Raf strode through the door and down the aisle.

  "Are you certain you wish to do this?" Ali asked from behind him.

  Raf did not bother to face his long-time friend. He could not bear to see the pity in the man's expression. "It is long past time I do this."

  "Why today?"

  Raf had asked himself that same thing this morning when he'd made the decision. Perhaps he needed a solid reminder of why he needed to treat Genie with great care. "Today is as good as any. Did you put her through the groundwork as I requested?"

  "Yes. She still has some difficulty with her right lead. Otherwise, she has appeared to have mastered the rest."

  "Good. I will take it from here."

  When Raf approached the arena where the chestnut mare was tied, he immediately noticed she had grown in the past two years, now well above sixteen hands. She had been his special project, half Arabian, half Hanoverian, bred for height and strength in order to bring interest in Olympic-level dressage to his stables in Amythra. She had been his hope, and in part, responsible for his slide into despair. But he could not blame the mare; he was to blame.

  Raf spoke to her softly as he untied the reins and led her outside the arena. When he mounted the saddle, she stood submissively, very different from the last time he had attempted to ride her two years before, thanks to Ali's mastery. He started down the path leading to the river, content to allow the mare to walk at an easy gait. After a time, he cued her into a trot. She seemed satisfied with that for a while but he could sense she wanted to run. So did Raf.

  With little effort, he cued her into a canter then into a gallop, faster and faster, her flaxen mane flowing in the wind. Even when he reached the point where the path narrowed and open fields gave way to heavy foliage, he let her run. He ducked to miss the thick overhang, leaning low at her neck. He wanted to close his eyes to banish the images—a dangerous prospect in light of the terrain. Yet he acknowledged that no matter how far or how fast he ran, the memories would still come, keen as a knife's blade. They always had.

  At the water's edge, Raf pulled the mare to a stop and dismounted, winded and weary when he should have been exhilarated over the ride. He dropped the reins and let the mare graze on what little grass had managed to grow beneath the thick cypress overhang. He leaned back against the trunk of one gnarled tree, only mildly aware of the sounds of wildlife echoing from the swampy terrain, and tried to recapture his respiration, his sense of calm. It was no use.

  With the mare nearby, he could only recall the events, turning them over in his mind, questioning once more what he could have done differently to change the outcome of that horrific April day two years before.

  He should never have married Daliya. He had been thirty-four at the time; she had been only twenty and too young to assume the role of wife to a prince. Yet Raf had let duty dictate his life partner. Duty to produce an heir. Duty to adhere to the terms of marrying a woman he'd been ordained to wed as it had been for generations. As it had been for his own mother and father.

  He had also rushed Daliya into his bed. Granted, she had gone willingly, as she'd been expected to do, but he'd witnessed no passion in her eyes, no desire for him—only defiance. No matter what he had done to accommodate her, she had not responded favorably to his efforts. Nor had she responded to his touch, or at least she had not wanted to. She seemed to resent him when he'd brought her pleasure and he'd made certain he had before he had seen to his own. During the few times they had made love, his body had been sated, but his soul had been empty.

  Two weeks following their wedding, he had given her the mare in an attempt to make her somewhat happy. He'd also given her instructions not to ride the green-broke horse until he had worked with them both longer. Daliya had gone against his wishes and made a grave error by setting off across the palace grounds at a gallop. She had also attempted to jump a low wall and in doing so, fell to her death while Raf had helplessly looked on.

  If only he had tried harder to stop her. If only he had been able to make her happy. Instead, he had refused to listen to her arguments, she had run away and in doing so, met her demise.

  The memories came back as if the accident had happened only moments before. He had hurried to Daliya's side to hold her and only then had he realized he could have been more patient with her. He could have grown to love her even if she had never been able to love him. He should have given her the freedom she had craved, her request that fateful morning. That had been his shame. That had been the only time—the last time—that he had cried in his adulthood. And that had been the moment he'd vowed never to marry again.

  As the wind picked up in intensity and storm clouds gathered overhead, Raf retrieved the mare and decided to go by foot back to the stables. She seemed satisfied to follow along quietly, unaware that she had been the catalyst for the resurrection of Raf's remorse, and his failed attempts to bring peace to his marriage. He had even renamed her Daliya so he would never forget his downfall. And he had come to America to begin a new life, severing all ties to his homeland now that his father was dead, and hoping to erase the memories, to no avail.

  Raf supposed in many ways he had chosen this day to bring the memories out as a reminder of what he could not allow to happen with Genie. He wanted her desperately yet he would not make love to her unless he was certain that was what she wanted, as well. He would continue to take his time and make sure she knew her own mind. Never again would he take a woman to his bed if she was not there by her own choice, if she did not want his attentions.

  He had ways to find out if Genie truly wanted him, and he would practice them tonight. Perhaps he would find the solace he craved in her arms, even if that solace was short-lived. Even if peace would always elude him.

  * * *

  From her bedroom window, Imogene watched Raf return to the house, his dark hair reflecting the last rays of the setting sun. The remnants of a tropical depression had passed them by without releasing more than a minimal shower. But the storm in Raf's expression was very apparent, even at this distance.

  As he drew closer, Imogene realized she had never seen such sadness in a man's eyes. She had seen that same sadness in her own eyes when she'd looked into the mirror only a few moments ago. In part she was sad that he hadn't joined her for dinner. In part because she'd just awakened abruptly from a dream involving her sister—sweet, trusting Tori, standing in a field, arms outstretched, her amber blond hair blowing away from her face to reveal eyes a near match in color to her long, straight locks. Since Tori's disappearance from the concert five years before, Imogene had dreamed of her often, always the same dream—running toward her on leaden feet, waving like mad and calling her name, only to have Tori dissolve before she could reach her.

  Imogene didn't understand why Tori had appeared in the middle of the pasture at SaHráa Stables instead of back home in their own backyard, the dream's usual setting. But she didn't have the energy to analyze the vision. Right now she only wanted to take a hot soak in the tub, take the thriller novel she'd brought with her onto the verandah and try to solve the mystery. She certainly couldn't begin to solve the mystery of the dream or of Raf Shakir. She seriously doubted he would ever divulge that much of himself to her. She was beginning to wonder if he would ever show up again, at least outside the confines of the riding pen.

  Imogene managed to get her bath, but before she could even pick up the book, her cell phone rang.

  "Why the hell did you hang up on me, Danforth?"

  Ah, dear Sid. He had such warmth. "I told you I was in the middle of a riding lesson, didn't I?"

  "Bad form, Danforth. It's chaos around here. I can't find the Littleton file."

  "Did you try looking under L?"

  "I'm not dumb, Danforth."

  That was highly debatable. "Did you check with the admin?"

  "No. What's her name?"

  Oh, brother. "Rachel. She's been there seven years. I think you should introduce yourself."
/>
  "I don't have time to make nicey-nice with a secretary. If you were here, I wouldn't be having those problems."

  If she were there, he might find himself on the wrong end of a letter opener. "Calm down, Sid."

  "I can't calm down. The market's nuts right now."

  "Sorry, Sid, but I don't have any control over that. How are you going to settle nervous investors if you sound like you're ready for a padded cell?"

  "That's your job, Danforth, so you better hurry up with this horse thing and get back here immediately."

  "I'm not ready yet." Not ready to make a good showing for the Granthams. Not ready to leave Raf.

  "I'll give you until the middle of next week."

  "Two full weeks, otherwise I'm wasting my time."

  "End of next week, and that's my final offer."

  "I'll see what I can do to accelerate my expertise." And hopefully accelerate Raf into making good on his promise. She didn't want to leave before she knew what it would be like to have him in her bed.

  "I'm going to bed soon, Sid. Is there anything else?"

  "Enjoy yourself."

  She definitely planned to do that, if she ever got Raf alone again. "Okay, Sid. Have a drink." Or two or three.

  Without bothering with goodbye, Sid hung up and Imogene walked onto the verandah. She settled on the comfy chaise with the book, but all she could think of was Raf and how he'd held her that afternoon. How he had dispelled any doubts about where she wanted this thing between them to go. But considering his absence, it might not go anywhere.

  The sexual tug-of-war might be driving her crazy, but not enough for her to make the next move this time. If he wanted to see this through, he would simply have to come to her.

  When she heard the rap on the door an hour later, Imogene inclined her head to make certain she'd heard correctly. It came again, loud enough to drown out the pulse thrumming in her ears. She rushed to the door on the wings of anticipation, only to find Doris on the other side dressed in a hot-pink and lime-green floral housecoat, her hair tucked beneath a pink satin turban.

  "Hi, sugar. Just wondering if you need any clean sheets."

  She needed a lover, not linens. She needed Raf. "Nope. I'm fine."

  Doris looked somewhat satisfied but she didn't look at all as though she wanted to leave. In fact, she scanned the room as if searching for something, or someone. "Well, okay, if you don't need anything, I'll be going on to bed now."

  "Sweet dreams, Doris."

  "You, too, sugar. Hope you get plenty of sleep. And if you don't, I hope it's because you have something more important to occupy your time."

  Doris snickered as she strolled down the hallway, taking her sweet time.

  Expelling a groan, Imogene started back to the verandah only to be stopped again by a knock. Obviously Doris wanted to chat and Imogene frankly was not up to the company.

  She threw open the door but this time Doris wasn't darkening her threshold. Raf was, all six feet, four inches of top-grade male dressed in a pair of black pajama bottoms covered by a plain white T-shirt. His hair was damp, his lips outlined by a spattering of evening whiskers. He smelled like a summer shower, and he looked like admission to ecstasy.

  "May I come in?"

  Like he really had to ask. Imogene stepped aside and allowed him entry, took a deep breath then closed the door and faced him. "I was beginning to wonder if you planned to spend the night in the stable."

  "Not presently, but that could be necessary in the future. I have a mare who's expecting BáHar's first offspring. We had some trouble getting her in foal so she is the last to deliver."

  Imogene's business side kicked in despite Raf's very welcome arrival. "Is that her fault or BáHar's?"

  "She is an older mare, so it is not uncommon."

  "Good. I wouldn't want prospective investors in the syndication believing BáHar can't get the job done."

  "I assure you he can."

  Like horse, like owner, Imogene thought, then felt heat immediately blanket her face. "BáHar and the mare had no trouble getting together?"

  "We had no problem collecting from him."

  "Collecting?"

  "Semen. The procedure is done artificially."

  Imogene wasn't sure how that was accomplished, or if she even wanted to know. "That can't be too much fun for BáHar."

  "He hasn't seemed to mind the breeding dummy as long as we have a teasing mare present. You should watch the process some time."

  Dummy? Teasing mare? "No, thanks. That would make me feel like a voyeur."

  "It is all very clinical and controlled. BáHar would be none the wiser if you observed."

  Imogene would be extremely embarrassed. "I think I'll just take your word for it."

  "That is your option, but you might wish to learn the workings of the business in order for you to advise me on the syndication."

  "I can deal with the numbers and you can deal with the mating rituals."

  His eyes took on that nighttime intensity. "Perhaps we should discuss mating rituals further."

  Imogene didn't really want to talk about it, she just wanted to do it. And heavens, they almost had in the barn.

  Without an invitation, Raf moved to the bed and took a seat. Imogene joined him, keeping her distance until she knew why he had come. She hoped he was here for more of the same of what they'd shared last night. To finish what they'd begun that morning. Maybe if it finally happened, she could go about the business of learning to ride and get this all out of her system. And that was about as likely as Sid finding the file without blow-by-blow instructions.

  He scooted to the edge of the mattress and folded his hands together, elbows resting on his thighs. "First, I would like to apologize."

  Imogene's hopes shattered. "Apologize for what?"

  "For the way I treated you earlier today."

  This was not at all what she wanted to hear. "It just happened, Raf. We got a little carried away."

  "I do not apologize for that, although I am sorry I lost control. I meant the anger I displayed. It was directed at you, but not about you."

  Imogene's curiosity climbed. "Then what was it about?"

  "That does not matter. I only want you to know it has nothing to do with you."

  "Are you sure? Maybe I'm not progressing fast enough in the riding department." She hated the insecurity in her voice.

  Raf gave her a reassuring smile. "As I've told you, you're doing well for the short time you've been here."

  "Thanks."

  He sent a long glance down her body. "Red suits you."

  Imogene cinched the sash tighter. "Are you referring to my skin or my nightgown?"

  "Your nightgown, although I have no complaints about your skin."

  She figured her face was a perfect match to the short satin negligee, both from the heat in his gaze and the fact she'd never been good at accepting compliments graciously. She wanted to say, "Why, this old thing?" but in reality, she'd worn it for him. Worn it because she'd hoped he would come back to her tonight. Here he was, and she had no idea what to say, what to do. Very odd, considering she'd always been able to think on her feet during business dealings. But again, this fantastic, forbidden attraction to him had nothing to do with business.

  "Thanks again." That sounded so lame, but she didn't have enough presence of mind to come up with something more original, especially when he continued to stare at her as if waiting for her to do something. Waiting for her to make some kind of move.

  Imogene knew what she wanted to do, but she couldn't muster enough courage to ask. Instead, "I guess you're probably ready for bed," came out of her runaway mouth. "I mean, I'm sure you're tired."

  "Are you tired?" he asked in that deep, persuasive tone that encouraged tingles to play up and down her spine.

  "Not really."

  "Is your sunburn bothering you?"

  She swept a hand through her hair, realizing she had barely run a comb through it since leaving her bath. "Actually, i
t's still a little tender."

  "Would you like me to assist you again? It's the least I can do considering my disregard for your feelings."

  "You didn't hurt my feelings exactly."

  "I would still like to make it up to you."

  "I wouldn't object to your attention."

  The tension between them was almost palpable and the silence stretched between them. Then he rose with masculine grace and took her hand to pull her from the bed. He left only long enough to retrieve the lotion and set the jar down on the small end table. Then he turned his beautiful eyes to Imogene and untied her sash slowly, sliding his hands beneath the fabric at her shoulders and working it off her arms. He again paused to take a visual excursion down her body, lingering at her breasts. Her nipples turned to tight knots under his perusal and her stomach fluttered along with her heart.

  She almost groaned when he headed away from her as if he'd reconsidered. She released a breath of relief when she realized he was only dimming the lights to a soft glow, setting the mood, she supposed, although she didn't need anything to put her in the mood. He'd done that when he'd shown up in her suite.

  The open verandah doors allowed a jasmine-scented draft to seep into the room and provided a breathtaking backdrop of stars. When he came back to her, he didn't ask her where she wanted to be, what she wanted him to do. He knew, just as he knew how to hold her prisoner with only a look.

  Raf brought her down to the floor facing the mirrored wall again, much the same as they had last night, his legs wrapped around her legs like a sensual cocoon. He dipped his hand into the open jar and nudged her forward to apply the lotion to her upper back where her hair didn't cover her exposed skin. His callused hands became velvet as he soothed his palms over her shoulders and down her arms, moving across her chest where the half moon shape of reddened skin ended at the top of her breasts. But this time, he didn't touch her beyond that. He did rest his palms on her shoulders and his lips against her ear. "Anything else you wish me to do, you will have to show me."

  She was grateful he hadn't said she had to tell him what she wanted because frankly, she wasn't sure she could speak. But she could show him, and she began by pulling her arms from the straps and lowering her gown. When he failed to move his palms from her shoulders, she reached up and brought his hands to her breasts. As he'd done the night before, he finessed them with his skilled fingertips until Imogene craved more than only his touch.