She lifted her gaze to his. ‘Because as well as making his much younger secretary pregnant and causing a scandal at work, my father had also been living beyond his means—and once it was discovered, everything started to tumble down. The banks needed to be paid and there was no money to pay them. It meant my mum was left with very little. In fact, with almost nothing. We had to start renting a tiny apartment.’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘And Mum had to go back out to work—but the only work she could get was cleaning. Overnight she went from being a middle-class wife to what she called a “skivvy” and she never got over it, really. She got ill soon after that. Perhaps the two things were related.’
Zuhal met the sombre expression clouding her green-gold eyes. It must have been tough, he acknowledged, as they resumed their step and the soaring blue cupolas of the palace swam into view. Maybe everyone’s childhood was tough, he concluded grimly as several servants spotted him and lowered their gazes in natural deference. Or maybe it was family life itself which created all the problems. He thought about his own parents. About the so-called ‘love’ which had corrupted the atmosphere with so much poison. His mouth twisted. Who needed it? Surely mutual tolerance and good sex were a better long-term bet than all the chaos wreaked by love?
He observed the glint of sunlight on Jazz’s pale hair and imagined her as a horse-mad young girl. He could picture her in a smart jacket, her hair in a net and a crop in her hand. A bright rosette pinned to her pony as she leaned forward to pat the forelock. It must have hurt to have lost all that, he realised with a sudden flash of insight, which wasn’t usually his thing. Because although he didn’t have quite the same affinity with horses as his brother did—had done—he corrected painfully, he still valued his daily ride above most things.
‘Would you like to ride out with me tomorrow morning?’ he said as she began to move away from him.
She turned back and he could see the uncertainty on her face. ‘I haven’t been on a horse for years,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if I can still do it.’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
&nb
sp; ‘I don’t know, Zuhal.’
‘Is that a yes?’ he prompted softly, and suddenly it mattered. It mattered a lot.
There was a pause and then she nodded, her blonde ponytail shimmering like the tail of a horse in the early-morning haze as her green eyes met his. ‘It’s a yes. And thank you. But there’s no way I’ll be able to keep up with you. Give me the most gentle horse in your stable and I’ll be happy just trotting around the yard.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ he vowed. ‘You can have my undivided teaching skills, if you like.’ He felt the flicker of a pulse at his temple and the more insistent one which was throbbing deep in his groin. ‘And don’t they say it all comes rushing back, the moment you’re back in the saddle?’
‘I guess they do,’ she said and the smile she gave him lingered long after he had watched her retreating into the palace.
He spent longer in the shower than usual—mainly because his newly ignited sexual hunger refused to be doused, even by the prolonged jets of icy water over his heated skin. He found himself bemused and intrigued by her determination to ignore what had happened last night. Unless her prudishness was all for show and she was planning to seduce him during their ten o’clock appointment in the Damask Room. Yes, that could work. That could work very well. He felt the flicker of a pulse at his temple and ordered Adham to ensure that he was not disturbed for the duration of the meeting, telling him it was possible it might run over.
But his anticipation was dampened the moment Jazz was shown into the room and he saw a new light of purpose glinting from her green-gold eyes. She was wearing a demure cream gown which covered her from head to ankle and his heart sank. Sinking down gracefully into one of the soft chairs, she pressed her knees together and he couldn’t help contrasting her demure image with the wildcat lover who had greedily met his urgent thrusts last night.
‘I’d like to discuss bringing the high chair into the dining room,’ she began, without any kind of fanfare.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I think it’s best if we make some attempt to live as a normal family, even if these surroundings are far from normal, and neither is our situation. But I think it would benefit Darius if he joined us at lunchtime. That’s all.’
Zuhal frowned. ‘Have you forgotten that we often have international delegations with officials present during lunch?’ he demanded.
‘No, I haven’t forgotten. But it will do them good to see the powerful King living as other men do. It would make you seem more…approachable.’
‘You think I’m unapproachable?’ he demanded.
She hesitated. ‘I think as King you’re still an unknown factor and interacting with your son will show people a softer side of you. Can you see any reason why we shouldn’t give it a trial run, Zuhal?’
He met the determination in her eyes and felt a smile begin to build. ‘I guess not,’ he said, as grudging admiration for her sheer tenacity washed over him.
Then followed a debate about the installation of a small sandpit—‘It’s not as if we’re short of the raw material, Zuhal!’—and before he knew it the half-hour was up. The meeting had not gone as he had hoped and yet, for some reason, he found himself whistling softly underneath his breath as he went off to his next appointment.
Next morning she joined him at the stables and he discovered that she was a good rider who possessed a natural affinity with the horse he had chosen especially for her. At first their routes were slow and unambitious—rarely venturing too far from the palace, until Zuhal was confident that Jazz herself was at ease. He watched her walk and canter and gallop with a growing feeling of satisfaction. He observed her increasing confidence as she and the horse became better acquainted before increasing the scope of their rides by taking her a little further into the desert.
And the stream of questions she’d implied she’d wanted the answers to had somehow failed to materialise. Maybe the sheer physicality of riding demanded all her attention, or maybe she was cleverer than he’d given her credit for by not pushing him into a corner. Her occasional queries were light—like butterflies dropping onto a blossom rather than rocks falling into a well. They seemed to encourage confidences rather than making him clam up, as had happened so often in the past whenever women had tried to delve beneath the surface. Once or twice, he found himself offering an opinion which hadn’t been asked for. Like the time he’d admitted missing the banter and friendly rivalry he’d shared with his brother. Or confessing that being a ruler was harder than he’d envisaged and perhaps he had judged Kamal too harshly—something which troubled him now. He didn’t tell her that for the first time ever he felt as if his life had true meaning. That he was no longer just the royal ‘spare’, and as ruler he found he had the power to make a difference.
But after an entire fortnight of uneventful rides, Zuhal had decided that enough was enough. He wanted her in his arms again and her body language was sending out a silent message that she wanted him just as much. This celibate existence had gone on long enough. He would put her in a position where she couldn’t distract herself with horses or babies and this time demand she marry him!
The ride they embarked on the following day was their most ambitious yet and for most of it he rode beside her, his headdress streaming in the wind as they tracked the golden sands in silence, the pounding of hooves and the snort of the horses the only sounds to be heard.
‘Look over there,’ he said after a while, slowing down to point into the distance. ‘See anything?’
Screwing up her eyes, Jasmine noticed a tiny dot on the horizon which was growing bigger as they rode towards it, until she saw the outline of a large tent with a conical roof. Nearby was an unexpected copse of trees and a group of smaller tents. In the shade of the trees they dismounted and Zuhal tethered the horses before two male servants appeared from one of the smaller tents, bringing bowls of water for the animals to drink.
‘Is this what you call an oasis?’