But that didn’t stop him from issuing a curt command to the groom, who bowed his head in response.
Lara had been watching the little interchange and looked up at him in surprise as he approached. ‘Wasn’t that Marabanese you were speaking to the groom?’
‘It was.’
‘Who taught you?’
The golden eyes glittered. ‘Khalim has been instructing me in the basics of the language.’
He sat down beside her, took the glass from her and drank deeply, putting the empty glass down and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
‘You’re acting more and more like a sheikh every day!’ she teased.
‘Yeah.’ He stared moodily into the middle distance.
‘And sounding like one, too!’ She wished she knew what was going on in that head of his. She’d thought they were supposed to have abandoned hostilities and declared an unspoken truce of sorts. Were they or were they not able to exist in relative harmony? In theory, yes, of course they were—except that there was this terrible hunger bubbling away inside her. An overwhelming longing to feel his lips on hers once more.
Maybe it was one-sided. Maybe he just didn’t feel it any more and the way she had deceived him had killed his desire for her stone-dead. They were sharing a bedroo
m, but that was the one place she barely saw him. He crept into the bedroom in the early hours, completely ignoring her and the large, empty space in the bed beside her, and was gone when she woke in the morning.
She watched while the groom led the horse away. ‘Exotically beautiful, isn’t he?’ she remarked.
‘Mmm,’ he said, non-committally.
‘They’re a unique breed, you know.’
‘Are they?’
Lara drew a breath. ‘Yep. Arguably the oldest surviving cultured equine breed.’
‘You don’t say?’
Well, she had to say something, or else she was going to come out with something like, Don’t you find me attractive any more, Darian?
‘They’re known for their speed, stamina and intelligence,’ she continued, the words coming out in a flurry.
He turned his head to look at her, drowning in the blue of her eyes, then looked away again. ‘A little like me, then?’
Her heart pounded. ‘A little, I guess.’
There was a split-second pause, and when he spoke his voice was lazy. ‘What else about them, Lara?’
‘They’re hot-bloods, definitely not warm-bloods.’
He didn’t say anything.
‘And unusually sensitive to the way they are treated,’ she rushed on. ‘They’re responsive to gentle training, and can be stubborn or resentful if treated rudely.’ She paused and held her breath as he turned to her again, only this time he didn’t look away. ‘A little like me, in fact.’
He saw the pulse at her temple begin a frantic little beat, and suddenly all his defences left him. He brushed a line over the fine skin there and felt its throbbing beneath his fingertip. ‘Is that so?’ he murmured.
‘Y-yes.’ She held her breath as his fingertip traced its way down her cheek, lingering on the line of her jaw, then down to the hollow of her neck. She could feel the flutter of her heart and the honey-rush of sweet desire, but she didn’t dare move. It was like being in the middle of a spell—one wrong word or gesture and it would be broken, and she would be back to frustrated longing once again.
‘What else?’ he murmured, only now his fingertip was teasing the tip of her breast.
Lara swallowed. ‘Their eyes are…’
‘Are what, Lara?’ He felt the nipple bud and harden and he sucked in a breath.