The breeches did well to expose his muscled legs, and his dark shoes had no buckles on them.
But as much as tried to fit into this world, he did not. He was like a wild tiger in a small cage. He belonged in a hot world of sand and sandalwood incense not in a ballroom filled with dandies and champagne.
He belonged in a world of sandstorms and harems, where the world smelled of incense and jasmine.
Kat shook her head. This was madness. This was what happened to women who had no clean grasp on reality. She wandered into a farthest part of the gardens, where the willow trees had been planted long ago. The birch and ash trees grew there as well.
Katharine was particularly fond of elm trees. The willow tree branches dipped low, almost to the ground, and she stepped inside one. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were shaking. She closed her eyes and remembered his goatee as his mouth touched hers. She remembered his hands on her, inside of her, and taking her that night after the party.
The air was cold, and her breath foamed out as she exhaled. The willow tree branches encircled her and protected her as she sighed. She must let it go. She must forget him. This can only drive me mad, she told herself for the thousandth time.
She touched the diamonds at her throat and tried to calm herself. Silly, she said to herself. She breathed out and turned to go back to the party.
But then, her quick intake of breath and the pounding of her heart inside her chest happened instantaneously. She shook her head and closed her eyes.
"You aren't real," she breathed out in disbelief, her breath foaming in the cold air.
"Oh, I'm real enough," he mocked her.
His clothes were European as she had seen in the ballroom and his hair was pulled back without a wig. But his golden body belied the fact that he was not European and never would be. He would never fit in and would never want to. He had come here for one reason.
"I don't understand. How are you here?" Katharine asked him, as her fantasy and nightmare collided together. She pressed a hand to her exposed chest as her heart raced.
"The horse, your Arabian, was my Arabian. I bred and sold him to your father," Mohammed explained.
"Did you know when you sold it to him that it was for me?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. His dark eyes met her blue ones.
Mohammed watched her intake of breath, which caused her breasts to swell over her neckline.
He had watched her that night, not able to take his eyes from her. He had many dealings with Europeans because of the Arabian horses he bred. The horses were renowned for their beautiful bone structure and stamina, but he had never accompanied the horses once they were sold. He had always dealt with the foreigners, accepted their money and had his men transport the horses. This time was different, however. This time everything was different.
Her father had written to Mohammed, inquiring upon the price of an Arabian stallion. Edward wrote in detail about his spirited daughter, explaining that the horse must be the same, intelligent and spirited. Mohammed had accompanied the horse to England to bring back what was his by Arab law.
He had watched her stand near the English dandies at the ball and smile into their faces. He had watched a young blonde dandy rest his hand on Katharine's waist and clenched his own fist in anger. She had used her body well to trap men into wanting what they couldn't have. Poor Majeed had found out the hard way. His own brother was enchanted by the little falcon! Majeed should have known better.
And now, after coming across the sea, he was here to claim her again. There would be no negotiations and no bargains; she would be his.
Unaware of his thoughts, Katharine shook her head, confused. Her diamond earrings glistened in the dark.
"Why are you here?"
Mohammed stepped toward her.
"You know exactly why I'm here. I'm here to take back what's mine," he told her.
He closed the small gap between them and jerked her into his arms.
"No," was all she managed to say before his mouth took hers. He was clean-shaven and well-groomed, which only made him more dangerous. She knew what was underneath the fancy clothes.
About the Author
Nicola spent her childhood in Los Angeles. As a young student in elementary school, she had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. Her fifth grade teacher encouraged her to keep her creative stories and to continue to write which she did. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.
While her writing during this period was business related as she wrote for a newspaper, marketing newsletters and press releases she remained dedicated to romance fiction.
“The Sheik and the Slave” began as chapters on a romance website and was voted top romance story. “The Sheik” fans are amazing and Nicola remains deeply indebted to them. They have encouraged her to continue writing and have been extremely supportive.
Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China and Central America. She speaks basic Spanish and has a love of all languages.
Nicola’s goal is to create rich characters with a strong male lead and a passionate female lead. She also strives to set her books in places not normally written about such as Arabia in “The Sheik and the Slave” and Ceylon in “The Tea Plantation.”
“We all want a happy ending but I like to create some friction and chase before my leads come together,” Nicola has said.
Her novels include The Sheik and the Slave, The Tea Plantation and The Sheik’s Son.
For more information about Nicola Italia and her books, visit
www.nicolaitalia.com
www.facebook.com/AuthorNicolaItalia
www.twitter.com/nicola_italia
www.Amazon.com
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