He smiled again. ‘My very sentiments.’
She stared at him a moment before the gleam in his black eyes told her exactly what he meant. ‘You mean…that you agree with me?’
He sighed, almost wishing that she had chosen contrary to his own instincts. ‘Yes, Rose. I am entirely in accordance with your wishes.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now let me take you back to the palace for lunch, and afterwards…’
His words tailed off in a silken caress and Rose’s heart began to pound uncomfortably in her chest.
‘Afterwards?’ she asked, relieved that her voice didn’t sound too eager.
‘Afterwards I shall take you riding.’
‘I don’t ride.’
There was something sensual and uncompromising in his answer.
‘But I do,’ he said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE stables were almost like palaces themselves—huge and cavernous and completely spick and span. Rose knew little of horses, but she knew enough to realise that these bright-eyed animals were well cared for. And that the black stallion whose ear Khalim was tickling—surprisingly gently—was like no other horse she had ever seen, with its fine, narrow body, long legs and slender neck.
‘What an unusual creature,’ she breathed.
He paused mid-stroke, and Rose found herself wondering what it would be like to have those long, sensuous fingers stroking her with such a light caress.
He had changed from his silk robes into close-fitting jodhpurs and a gauzey white shirt, and had borrowed a similar outfit from one of his sisters for Rose. She thought that now he looked like some tousled buccaneer—wild and carefree. Contrasts again, she thought as she watched him.
‘This is an Akhal-Teke,’ he purred. ‘One of the oldest breeds in the world—bred and raced for almost three thousand years. These horses are prized for their desert hardiness—with their remarkable endurance and resistance to heat.’
A sense of history and longevity wrapped dreamy arms around her, and her voice was dreamy as she asked, ‘And is this your horse?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ His voice deepened with pleasure. ‘This is Purr-Mahl. The name means literally, “Full Moon”—’
‘And he was born by the light of it, I presume?’
‘You presume correctly, Rose.’ He smiled. ‘I sat and watched the birth, saw the contrast between the silvery-pale gleam of the moon and the night-dark colour of the foal, and I named him there and then. Come, let me sit you upon him.’
‘But I don’t ride, I told—’
Her protest was already lost on the warm, sultry breeze as he swung her up into his arms, and she wished that he could carry on holding her like that for ever, but he carefully placed her in the saddle instead.
‘Press your thighs hard against his body,’ he urged and felt a renewed awakening of need. ‘Let him know you are there.’
She did as he instructed while he took the reins and led the horse out into the yard where a bodyguard stood, his face inscrutable in the glaring heat of the sun.
Khalim led her round and round the yard for a while and then he murmured something in his own language to the bodyguard, who gave a small bow in response.
Picking up a small leather bag, which he slung over his shoulder, he led her out through the gates to where the stark, shimmering vista of the desert awaited them, with the vast mountains dominating the skyline.
‘What did you say to the bodyguard?’ she asked him curiously.
‘Just that you did not ride, and that I wanted to show you the view from the gate. He is new,’ he added casually.
He led the horse a little way into the silvery-white sa
nd, and then suddenly, without warning, he sprang up behind her, and pulled her close into his body at the same time as he seized the reins to urge the horse forward with a murmured word of command and a light slap to the shank.
And they were off!