‘Sire, your horse.’
Thankful for the interruption, Regan turned blindly to the man who had brought their horses. Or, rather, Jag’s stallion.
‘What happened to my mare?’
‘She grew tired from the ride out. She will be stabled here for the night and one of the men will return for her tomorrow.’ Jaeger collected the reins from the man.
Placing a sure foot in the stirrup, he swung himself up onto the enormous horse, reaching his hand down to her, palm facing up. ‘You will ride with me.’
Ride with him? No way. She was trying to lower her awareness of him, not elevate it into the stratosphere. ‘That’s okay.’ She gave him a wan smile. ‘I can...’ She looked around, hoping to see some other mode of transport at her disposal.
‘I’m afraid the A train uptown has left for the day.’
Regan laughed. ‘Was that a New York joke, Your Majesty?’
‘A pretty lame one,’ he admitted unselfconsciously. ‘Come. Give me your hand.’
Regan stared up at him. Everything inside of her said that she should not do this. That she should insist that he find another way for her to make it back to the stables. Maybe with one of his trusted guards, but she knew she’d be wasting her breath and really...just the thought of riding with him atop that massive horse gave her goosebumps.
She moistened her lips and placed her hand in his. Right now, out here in the desert, where it was wild and free, she felt very unlike her usually cautious self.
Jaeger’s hand closed around hers and seconds later he had her seated on the horse behind him. He twisted around to face her, adjusting her shemagh once more so that it covered most of her face. Regan’s heart beat fast as she stared back at him, so close she could smell the combined scent of horse and man. It was quite the aphrodisiac. She couldn’t see his expression because his sunglasses were back in place, his own shemagh drawn across his face. He looked like the dangerous outlaw she had imagined him to be when they met and a thrill went through her. Back then her instincts had screamed at her to run. Now they were begging her to draw closer.
‘You’ll have to hang on tight, habiba. Bariq likes to have his head.’
Before she could respond Jag whirled the stallion on his hind legs and raced them out of the small village and across the sand, giving Regan no choice but to comply with his suggestion or fly off the back of the horse and land on her rear end.
Determined to remain steadfastly immune to his proximity, she lasted about five seconds before she became aware of the lean, hard layer of muscle at his abdomen as her fingers flattened across his middle. Remembering what those muscles looked like without his shirt led to thoughts of sex, and the harder she tried to banish the word from her mind the more it stuck until it was all she could think about.
Between that and the smooth, powerful motion of the horse, she was decidedly rubber-legged when they arrived back at the stables.
Jag dismounted, his blue eyes hot and stormy as he looked up at her with his arms outstretched. Regan automatically swung her leg over the saddle, holding herself still in the circle of his arms as she waited for her legs to be firm enough to hold her upright.
Not wanting to meet his eyes in case he read every single hot thought she had ever had about him, she focused on the front of his shirt, glad when one of his bodyguards strode over and handed him a phone.
Thankful for the reprieve, she stroked the sweaty sides of the stallion’s neck, telling him how big and strong he was.
‘Careful, habiba, you don’t want it to go to his head,’ Jag mused as he turned back to her. ‘This is supposed to be one of the fiercest horses in the land but he looks as if one word from you would send him to his knees.’
Regan smiled. ‘He looks fierce because I suspect people have always been scared of him, but all he needs is to hear how amazing he is.’
Jaeger quirked a brow. ‘Don’t we all?’
Regan paused. Was that what Jaeger needed? To hear how amazing he was?
‘That was Tarik. He has just informed me that the tribe of my ancestors has invited us to attend a congratulatory dinner tonight.’
Regan blinked at him. ‘Because the summit is over?’
‘No, because I have decided to take a bride.’
She stared at him blankly and he let out a rough laugh. ‘You, habiba.’
‘But we’re not really going to be married!’ she said, shock sending her voice high.
‘To them we are.’
Regan shook her head, frowning. ‘I’m not sure it’s wise for me to meet even more of your people.’ She shook her head, compelled to state the obvious. ‘I mean, I’m not your fiancée. I’m a pawn. We both are because I’m using you to ensure Chad doesn’t spend the rest of his life in some dungeon, and you’re using me to get Milena back.’
A muscle flickered in his jaw, the one that worked every time he got angry. ‘I don’t have a dungeon,’ he growled.
Before she had time to react he caught her face in his strong hands and raised her lips to his. Momentarily stunned, Regan stood there, her body flush against his. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, or an exploratory kiss. It wasn’t even a nice kiss. It was hot and demanding, skilfully divesting her of any willpower to resist. Not that she was trying to.
Instead her arms hooked around his neck and she rose up onto her toes, meeting the sensual onslaught of his attack with a hunger as deep as his own.
At her total acquiescence he groaned, shifting her so that she was pressed between him and the stable wall, her head tilted back so that she was his to command. And he did, softening the kiss, taking her lips one at a time before plundering her mouth with his tongue.
Her lips clung to his, a sob of pure need rising up inside of her. This was what she wanted, what she needed, what she had craved ever since he had kissed her and touched her that night in the garden suite. This thrilling throb of desire that she had only ever experienced in his arms. It was like a fever in her blood, a rush of sensation that couldn’t be denied.
And then it was over just as quickly as it had begun. Once more he pulled back and she was left panting and unsteady, her body aching and empty.
She heard him curse as he turned his back on her. Then he spun towards her, breathing hard.
A groom exited a nearby stall carrying a tack box and Regan wondered if that was why he’d stopped.
She glanced up to see Jag watching her and for once he didn’t seem completely immune to what had just happened between them.
‘I think that should clear up any misconceptions you have that I didn’t want a repeat of our kiss the other night.’
She blinked up at him, shocked at what he had just disclosed.
He looked shocked himself and shook his head. ‘Wise or not, we have to attend the dinner tonight. It would be an insult not to, since we are already in the region. We will spend the night at my oasis and return to the palace first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Your oasis?’
‘The place I come to when I want to unwind.’
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN WAS HE going to learn that kissing her was not the way to expunge her from his system?
He shook his head and strode inside his Bedouin tent. Set on the edge of a private rock pool and surrounded by palm trees, it was an upscale version of those his ancestors had used to live in. Usually he felt a sense of peace wash over him as he shed the suits and royal robes to reconnect with the man beneath, but not tonight.
He yanked his shirt over his head and made his way to the purpose-built shower at the back. He should not have let her words anger him, he thought savagely; that had been the problem.
He wasn’t used to someone questioning the wisdom of his decisions and he didn’t like the reminder of how they were using each other even though it was true. Riding Bariq back to the stables with her tucked against his ba
ck hadn’t done his nerves any good either. If at any time she had shifted her hand an inch lower she would have realised that the only thing on his mind was sex.
Wondering how she was finding her own accommodation and whether she was wishing it was a five-star hotel, he donned a white thawb and royal headdress and went outside.
The sun was low on the horizon, his favourite time of day in the desert, the ambient light turning the sky a dusky mauve. Hearing a sound behind him, he turned to see Regan dressed in a brightly coloured thawb and flowing floor-length headdress. As soon as they had arrived at the village a group of local women had descended upon their future Queen to give her a traditional makeover. The results were stunning. She was completely covered from head to toe, and yet she managed to look like an exotic treat waiting to be unwrapped. Her chin tilted upwards in a tiny gesture he had first assumed was haughtiness, but now realised was one of self-consciousness. Despite her fair skin, she looked as if she was born to be here. Born to be his.
Perturbed by that last thought, Jag didn’t realise he was frowning until Regan raised a brow. ‘I did try to tell them to stop with the black kohl and henna. I look like I’m dressed for a Halloween party, don’t I?’
Jag felt instantly chagrined at her pained expression. ‘You look stunning. I just had something else on my mind.’ Such as the fact that he might be slowly losing it.
‘Well, whatever it was it obviously wasn’t nice. Which is hard to believe when you’re in a place like this.’ Her gaze swept across the small cluster of tents and the deep blue lagoon. ‘This is like something out of a fairy tale.’
‘You don’t wish for more modern accommodation?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Regan gaped at him. ‘People pay a fortune to have experiences like this. I had no idea tents had carpets and real beds.’
‘You’re getting the upscale version. Come. It is a short drive to the village.’
‘We’re not going by camel?’
Jag couldn’t prevent a grin at her teasing comment. ‘I draw the line at some traditions.’
He held the door wide and her sheer veil caught on his arm as she made to step into the car. As he lifted his hand to disengage it his fingers caught around her silky hair and he nearly threw caution to the wind and buried his hands in the sexy mass and brought her mouth up to his again.
Moments later their car pulled up alongside a large purpose-built marquee. Inside low tables were set in a wide circle with cushions scattered throughout the tent for seating, soft music playing from the edge of the entertainment area.
He watched Regan as she greeted his local tribespeople, speaking softly and attempting a few words in his native tongue, her adept mind already picking up a few phrases. He remembered the way her face had lit up when they had ridden first in the helicopter, and then on horseback through the desert. He had half expected her to hate his homeland but to his surprise she had seemed enamoured by it.
As his people were fast becoming enamoured by her.
‘Your Majesty, your table.’
The tribal chieftain guided them to the central spot in the marquee, where everyone would be able to watch him and Regan interact.
Seeing the smiles on his people’s faces was like a punch in the stomach. He hadn’t given much thought to how much they wanted this to be real and he conceded that Regan had been right to be hesitant in accepting the invitation. Probably he could have got out of it but once again he found himself making a decision to keep this woman close when it wasn’t necessary.
He frowned. What was necessary was getting back to the palace and to what was important—work and finding Milena. But before that could happen he had tonight to get through.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked Regan softly. ‘Overwhelmed? Nervous? I should apologise because you’re the centre of attention again.’
‘I’m fine.’ She gazed around the wide, brightly decorated space. ‘Maybe you dragging me to your palace has been good for me. I think I’ve become a bit reclusive at home, keeping to my usual routine and never stepping outside of my comfort zone. My world is so small compared to yours. I don’t know how you do it; having to be switched on all the time.’
‘Sometimes it’s tough,’ he admitted, something he’d never said out loud before. ‘Sometimes I’m presented with problems and challenges with no clear answers, and I find that the hardest of all.’
Especially now that Regan had started making him question his relationship with his siblings. Did Rafa stay away from Santara because Jag had not created a clear role for him at the palace? Had Milena run off with Chad James because she didn’t want to go through with her royal marriage and couldn’t tell him?
‘We don’t always get it right,’ she said softly, as if reading his mind.
But he did. He had people depending on him. People who needed him to get it right. Especially when his father had been too caught up in his domestic dramas to lead the country as it deserved to be led.
Fortunately the tempo of the music increased, cutting off any further chance of conversation. A good thing, since he had a habit of revealing too much of himself around this woman.
* * *
Dancers poured into the tent, smiling and clapping, and, despite her misgivings about being here, Regan decided she was going to enjoy the evening. It wasn’t as if she was likely to get a chance to experience something like this again any time soon. And yes, it would be better if she wasn’t so aware of the man beside her, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Try as she had...
They might not have met in the most conventional of circumstances, but the way her body responded to him was one hundred percent conventionally female.
And knowing that he was just as attracted to her was driving her crazy. It made her wonder what might have been if he had been an ordinary guy she had met at her local park. But he wasn’t. He was a king, a man of supreme importance—and her brother had run off with his sister.
She gave an inward groan, wishing that Chad would return, wishing that this crazy situation was over so that she could go back to normal. If that was even possible after the way Jaeger had touched her, kissed her...
A kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in her stomach as she absently watched his strong hands as he gestured with the person next to him. His wrists were thick, his forearms sinewy and dusted with dark hair. Everything about him was so potently male it made her feel breathless with need.
I’m falling for him, she realised with a jolt of dismay. I’m really falling for him.
She must have made a small sound of distress because he immediately turned towards her, his eyes scanning her face.
‘Habiba, what is it?’
Regan shrugged helplessly. ‘Nothing.’
His frown told her that he didn’t believe her but he was prevented from asking more when she joined in the energetic clapping as a troop of new dancers took to the floor. This time the group was made up entirely of women in brightly coloured outfits and carrying sheer scarves.
You’re not falling for him, she assured herself sternly. You’re suffering from a serious case of lust for a man who knows how to kiss a woman into a stupor. You’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last, to imagine themselves in love with the sheikh. Princess Alexa was a good case in point. She’d met the King twice and fallen for him. And maybe Jag was right in that the Princess only wanted to marry him for political reasons, but Regan had her doubts. She’d seen the woman’s heartfelt misery in thinking she had lost him.
Blindly she turned back to concentrate on the dancers. The women were undulating their hips with practised ease, gracefully weaving silken scarves around their bodies in a coordinated display of confidence and femininity. Combined with the lyrical music, it was both provocative and sensual. But all Regan could really concentrate on was the man seated so closely beside her.
Glancing at
him through her lashes, she noticed a fine line of tension bracketing his mouth. She wondered why he was having such a reaction to the beautiful display when the story behind the dance hit her on the head. This was no ordinary dance. The scarves, the hip bumps, the sensual spell that held the crowd captivated...this was a type of love dance.
One of the performers broke from the circle and Regan held her breath, only to release it again when she approached a young woman, encouraging her to join her on the floor.
The woman did, smiling shyly at the young man she had been seated next to.
The crowd cheered and clapped encouragingly.
‘Please tell me they’re not going to expect me to go up there?’ she whispered raggedly.
Jag’s blue eyes snagged with hers and she knew the answer before he even opened his mouth.
She shook her head. ‘I’m a hopeless dancer. I have no coordination at all.’
‘You forget I’ve seen you on horseback, so I know that’s blatantly untrue.’
‘Riding a horse is nothing like dancing. At least with horseback riding if something goes wrong I can blame the horse.’
Jag laughed. ‘Habiba, I—’
Before he could finish one of the dancers undulated in front of her, beckoning to her. By this time three other women had joined the dance, mimicking the sensual movements in a joyful display of passion and love.
Oh, God, she was seriously going to die of embarrassment.
Jag’s eyes were a deep blue as she slowly rose to her feet. His hand caught hers. ‘Regan, you don’t have to do this.’
It was kind of him to say so, but Regan knew she’d be disappointed in herself if she didn’t do it. Not only because she would be disappointing the people watching, but also because it was another chance to step outside her comfort zone and own it.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she murmured with more bravado than she felt, throwing him one last beseeching look, and she followed the dancer out onto the floor, accepting the rose-coloured scarf that was offered to her.
At first she felt rigid and clumsy, conscious of everyone watching her, but slowly, and by some miracle, the sensual music started to flow through her, luring her to lower her inhibitions.
Bound to Her Desert Captor Page 13