Bound to Her Desert Captor

by Michelle Conder

  ‘No I have no new information on our missing siblings,’ Jag said grimly. ‘This is a business obligation. The President of Spain is thinking about investing in our agricultural infrastructure. He wishes to see how he might utilise it in his own country and I have organised a short trip to the interior of Santara. As his wife is accompanying us, it would seem strange if you stayed behind. Particularly since she tells me that you have bonded over the past few days.’

  ‘Yes, she’s lovely.’

  His head cocked to the side, his eyes curious. ‘She also tells me that you speak fluent Spanish. Why didn’t you tell me that you speak another language?’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’

  Annoyance briefly pulled his brow together. ‘I’m asking you now. How is it that you live on the East coast of America but have come to speak Spanish? It’s not as if the language is prevalent there.’

  ‘My mother was a Russian immigrant. She could speak five languages and spoke them often at home. I picked up my love of languages from her.’

  ‘Does that mean you speak Russian too?’

  Regan nodded. ‘And French and German. Though my German is really basic. I wouldn’t want to put it to the test.’

  His eyes gleamed as he looked at her. ‘A woman of hidden talents.’

  Regan glanced at a pair of butterflies as they flitted over a row of flowers hedging the expansive lawn area, the admiration in Jaeger’s eyes making her chest tight. The strain of hiding her physical reaction to him over the last few days was wearing her down.

  ‘We will be gone most of the day. I suggest you wear something light and loose. The interior of my country gets very hot.’

  Regan watched him stride away from her, immediately feeling a sense of deflation. She supposed it was to be expected since she felt as if she’d been on a roller-coaster ride since she’d arrived in Santara. It was as if she was living someone else’s life. It didn’t help that her feelings for the King were all over the place. One minute she didn’t want to see him ever again, and the next she wanted to plaster herself all over him.

  Back in her room she scanned the elaborate wardrobe Jag had provided for her, choosing camel-coloured trousers and a long-sleeved white linen shirt. Remembering the spider from the other night, and knowing they would be outdoors, she ignored the more delicate open-toed sandals and shook out a pair of her own white running shoes. Tying her hair into a low ponytail, she waited for Jag to return. When he did he looked ruggedly masculine in low-riding jeans, boots and a lightweight shirt similar to hers.

  ‘Do you mind if I bring my camera?’

  ‘Of course not. As long as you don’t post any photos of me on social media.’

  ‘No fear of that.’ Regan grimaced self-consciously. ‘I’ve learned the consequences of that particular lesson.’

  His gaze turned thoughtful as he stopped beside her. ‘Has it been so bad, habiba? Being here with me?’

  Regan blinked. He could ask that after ignoring her for the last two days?

  Fortunately she was saved from having to find an answer to his question when one of his bodyguards informed him that their helicopter was ready for boarding.

  Never having taken a helicopter ride before, Regan was thrilled. Once they had left Aran her eyes were riveted to the vast expanse of sand dunes that stretched in peaks and valleys in an endless sea of gold and brown. In the distance she could see rocky mountain ranges with hints of green, and tiny villages dotted here and there. Jag sat opposite her and she felt his curious eyes on her. She listened as the two other occupants chatted about the sights but didn’t join in, enjoying the sound of Jag’s voice coming through the headset now and then as he pointed out some of the more interesting aspects of the countryside. At one point she nearly jumped out of her skin when he tapped her on the knee and said her name at the same time. Her eyes flew to his, her heart pounding even at that small contact, to find him pointing out of the window on her other side. ‘Camel train,’ he said and Regan couldn’t contain a smile as she spotted the line of over twenty camels meandering across the top of a distant dune. He grinned back at her and for a moment the connection between them was so strong it was as if they were the only two people in the world. Then Isadora, the First Lady, fired off some questions in rapid-fire Spanish and Jag answered.

  As they neared their destination Regan was amazed to see miles and miles of brilliant green fields. Jag explained how the ground was watered by both underground springs and the water that ran off the mountains. An engineering team had devised a revolutionary method for storing the water so that it didn’t evaporate in the harsh sun that was a year-round issue for the desert nation.

  Landing, they had lunch and took a tour of the various garden centres before the President asked if they could also stop at Jag’s nearby thoroughbred stables. Climbing into a cavalcade of SUVs, they were once more whisked through an ever-changing landscape towards the stables.

  Not being a horsewoman, Isadora was taken into the main house to rest from the harsh rays of the sun, while Regan headed to the stables, declining an invitation to join the men in the fertility clinic. She wandered from box to box, petting the muzzles of the horses she met and taking photos.

  ‘Oh, you’re a beauty,’ she crooned as she came upon a giant white stallion, snapping off another photo. She grinned as the horse angled his head. ‘And a real poser.’ She laughed. The stallion snorted at her from the rear of the box, his black eyes studying her intently.

  ‘You must be at least sixteen hands high,’ she praised him. ‘Come on. Come say hello.’ The stallion stamped his foot a couple of times and then dropped his head, moving towards her and nuzzling her palm, inhaling her smell. ‘I wish I had a carrot to give you,’ she murmured, leaning in and breathing his horsey scent deep into her lungs.

  ‘Actually he prefers sugar.’

  At the sound of Jag’s voice the horse whinnied and lifted his head. Man and horse eyed each other like long-time friends.

  ‘I see you’ve become mesmerised by Miss James’s soft touch,’ he said, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a sugar cube. Instantly the horse nuzzled his palm, devouring the treat.

  ‘He likes that,’ Regan said, laughing when the stallion bumped her shoulder, urging her hand back up to his nose. ‘You’re a demanding thing,’ she murmured, happily acquiescing and caressing beneath his mane where the hair grew as silky as duck down.

  ‘Like his owner,’ Jag said, his eyes following the movement of her fingers as she combed them through the horse’s mane.

  She wanted to ask him why he was suddenly paying her attention again, but the gleam in his bright blue eyes made the words die in her throat. Instead she asked, ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Bariq. It means lightning.’

  The horse whinnied and Regan laughed. ‘And I’m sure it suits you,’ she assured him.

  ‘He doesn’t usually take to strangers so readily. You must know horses.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her throat thickened. Horse riding had been one of those things they had all done as a family when her parents had been alive. An activity that had stopped when her parents had become sick. She leaned into the stallion’s neck and breathed him in. ‘I love horses.’

  ‘Why does that make you sad?’ Jag asked softly.

  Embarrassed at having given herself away, Regan shifted uncomfortably. ‘It was my parents’ favourite pastime. They used to take Chad and me riding as often as possible.’

  He frowned, his finger lightly tapping the bridge of her nose. ‘You have one or two new freckles.’

  Regan rubbed at the place he had touched. ‘Deft subject change, Your Majesty,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Unfortunately the freckles come with the hair colour.’

  ‘Not unfortunately. Your colouring is as warm as your personality.’ His voice had roughened and sent sparks careening through Regan’s body. ‘And I don’t
like to see you sad.’

  Not knowing what to say to that, Regan focused on the stallion. Why didn’t he like to see her sad? She was only a means to an end for him, wasn’t she?

  ‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty.’ A man in a groom’s uniform strode down the blue stone aisle towards them. ‘Would you like me to saddle Bariq for you to ride?’

  Jag hesitated, his eyes on her. ‘Care to take a ride with me, Regan?’

  Regan immediately shook her head. ‘I don’t think so... I haven’t ridden in a long time,’ she admitted huskily.

  ‘I guessed that, habiba,’ he said, his eyes soft. ‘But there is nothing to worry about. I’ll be with you the whole time.’

  ‘What about the President and his wife?’

  ‘He is joining his wife for iced tea, after which they will be returning to the airport, where their plane is waiting to return them to Spain. I said goodbye on your behalf.’

  Unable to think of another reason to not take this moment to enjoy herself, Regan smiled shyly. ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I am.’

  Twenty minutes later, having changed into jodhpurs and a fitted tunic, Regan waited with barely leashed excitement to mount her horse, a lovely palomino mare called Alsukar. Or sugar.

  It had been more than a decade since she had ridden but she remembered it as if it were yesterday, bittersweet memories of shared family time filling her head.

  ‘Okay?’ Jaeger pulled up alongside her, his magnificent white stallion snorting and champing at the bit in his eagerness to gallop.

  Jaeger barely tightened his hands on the reins, his deep voice alone enough to bring his prancing horse under his control.

  ‘Yes, I feel like Bariq. I can’t wait to get going.’ A groom gave Regan a leg-up into the saddle. Regan took the reins and felt the energy of the horse beneath her.

  She couldn’t contain her smile. She was looking forward to testing her riding legs, and creating some new memories that were not entirely based on the loss of her parents. And then she wondered if Jaeger had suggested they ride for precisely that reason and told herself not to be fanciful. He had done this for no other reason than that his stallion needed a run, and she’d be a fool to entertain any other notion.

  Before moving out Jag brought his horse close to hers. Leaning over, he shook out a piece of cloth and proceeded to fashion it on top of her head into what he told her was a shemagh. ‘When we get outside you take this piece and tuck it into here so that it covers your mouth and nose.’

  His fingers grazed along her jaw as he fixed the headdress into place, sending a cascade of shivers across her skin. Sensing her reaction, Sugar shifted sideways and Jag grabbed hold of her bridle to steady her.

  ‘Thanks,’ Regan said, not quite meeting his eyes.

  He nodded and then proceeded to expertly fold his own royal blue shemagh that perfectly matched his eyes. He was a visual feast and she wondered what it would be like to be able to truly claim this man as her own.

  They rode across oceans of sand dunes, taking the horses through their paces, and giving them their head from time to time. Jag tempered his horse to stay by her side and she felt sorry for the big stallion, who just wanted to gallop.

  Finally they stopped to rest at a small watering hole on the outskirts of a village. Regan dismounted on jelly legs and immediately went to one of the guards who had trailed them to retrieve her camera from his pack. Completely enthralled by the humble beauty of the place, she snapped off a few photos of the contrasting colours and textures surrounding her.

  A few locals came out of the low-lying buildings, bowing low when they saw who had arrived to greet them.

  Jaeger was clearly a revered leader, greeting his people with kindness and respect.

  Born to lead, he had said, or words to that effect, and, seeing him in action, as she had done over the past four days, she knew it was true.

  A group of local men approached Jaeger and the two guards that had followed them dismounted and joined their King.

  Regan snapped a photo of the impressive trio, raising her brow when he looked at her.

  Is this okay? her look enquired.

  Fine, his slight nod replied.

  Feeling happy, she turned to find two young girls approaching her, carefully carrying a tray full of clay mugs. They curtseyed and offered one to her.

  Taking the cup of cool water gratefully, Regan smiled. ‘Shukran.’

  ‘Shukran, shukran,’ the young girls tittered, dancing away as if they couldn’t believe she had taken their offering.

  She watched as they approached Jaeger, bemused at how beautifully he handled their shy attention, taking a mug and bowing to them in return.

  Regan couldn’t prevent the smile on her face, hot colour stinging her cheekbones as he looked across at her. Could he read her thoughts? Did he know how much she was enjoying herself with him? Did he know how hard it was for her to remember that she was only here with him like this because Chad and Milena were missing? That he believed Chad had committed a crime in running off with his sister?

  Not wanting to dwell on any of that now, she turned back to the vast open space of the desert, the light breeze moving gently across the sand like a whisper. Enthralled by the deep quiet of the land, she raised her viewfinder again. When Jaeger came into view across the way she paused. He had unwound his blue shemagh and it framed his handsome face, giving his skin tone a golden-brown hue. Curious, she watched an old man approach, handing Jag an enormous bird of prey.

  The bird made a noise in greeting and clung to Jag’s gloved hand. As wild and untamed as its master, its proud profile perfectly mirroring Jag’s.

  Regan felt her breath catch. He really was the most magnificent creature, and before she could stop herself she depressed the shutter and snapped a round of photos.

  A small crowd had gathered around him and he released the bird into full flight, watching as it soared into the air on ginormous wings. Jaeger gave a short, sharp whistle and the magnificent bird swooped and dived above them, putting on a magical display. Regan couldn’t take her eyes off either man or bird as they worked together in perfect harmony, the bird circling high and waiting for Jaeger’s commands before plummeting to earth like a bullet from a gun, completely trusting that the King would provide a safe landing for it. Which he did, without even flinching as those huge talons wrapped around his thick leather glove.

  As if sensing the lens on him, Jaeger turned in her direction and stared at her, his features proud, his blue eyes piercing as if he were gazing directly into her soul. Regan depressed her finger on the shutter again, her lens capturing the moment before she lowered the camera. She swallowed as he continued to look at her, completely captivated by the heat and masculine energy that emanated from his riveting gaze. It was as if she had become the prey and he were the falcon, with her firmly trapped in his sights.

  The memory of his fingers threading through her hair, cupping her face as he kissed her, thrusting his tongue into the moist heat of her mouth, made her breath catch in her throat. It was so easy to imagine him coming to her now, bending to her and kissing the breath from her body, tasting her with his tongue, and gripping her waist in his powerful hands, telling her everything he wanted to do to her. Then doing those things...

  One of his men spoke in his ear, breaking the spell between them, and Regan realised it was time for them to ride back. The sun had already started to sink towards the horizon, the heat of the day also starting to ebb away.

  Handing the falcon back to the old man, Jag made his way over to her. ‘You look flushed, habiba,’ he said softly. ‘I should have given you a wide-brimmed hat as well.’

  Regan felt flushed but she knew it had more to do with the scorching hot images of the two of them together than the sun. Safer, though, to have him believe that her heightened state was to do with mother nature than for him to realis
e that she couldn’t look at him lately without wanting him.

  ‘How did you find the ride?’ he asked, adjusting the front of her shemagh.

  ‘Wonderful.’ She shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. ‘It was truly wonderful.’

  ‘No sad memories?’

  ‘At the start but... I didn’t realise how much I miss being around horses until now so...thank you.’

  ‘It was my pleasure.’

  ‘That bird—’

  ‘Arrow?’

  ‘Fitting name,’ she said. ‘He’s magnificent.’

  ‘She’s magnificent. I found her as a chick at the base of a cliff when I was out riding years ago. She had fallen from her nest and wasn’t ready to fly. The mother could do nothing for her and there was no way I could scale the side of the cliff to return her to her nest so I took her home with me. We’ve been firm friends ever since but I hardly get time to take her out any more. She wanted to hunt today but I didn’t think you would want to see that.’

  ‘What does she hunt?’

  ‘Mice, hares, smaller birds.’

  ‘Spiders?’

  Jag laughed. ‘Don’t sound so hopeful, habiba.’

  At the memory of the giant eight-legged monster in her wardrobe, Regan scoured the ground around them. ‘You’re safe. From creepy crawlies.’

  His amused eyes grinned into hers and Regan felt the intimacy of the moment even though they hadn’t even touched. For a split second she wondered if he was about to bend down and kiss her. And she wanted him to.

  ‘We need to leave. It is getting late.’

  ‘Of course. I can see the sun already dipping down towards the horizon and it gets cold in the desert at night. Or so I’ve heard.’

  She was babbling, she knew it, and, by the way his lips tilted up at one side, he knew it too. ‘It does. The desert is very unforgiving. It is not a place you want to get caught in during the day or the night.’

  ‘Okay, well...’