Page 4 of At the Sheikh's Pleasure
He was confused.“Used to?You mean you don’t like horses anymore?”
“No.I mean, yes.”She took a deep breath, and he was suddenly quite enchanted by this confused woman before him.It was as if her shell had cracked, revealing something far more alluring beneath—something uncertain, feminine, and most definitely appealing.As she looked up into his eyes, something caught and tangled between them.Had it been anyone else, he’d have called it attraction.But this was Sheikha Rosana, he reminded himself.The epitome of chill and hostility, the epitome of everything he disliked about the Al Khal royal family.The woman he was going to use.
Chapter2
If Zaire was going to use her effectively, he first had to figure out what she was talking about.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.
“I mean,” she said, more slowly, as if she were having trouble collecting her thoughts, “I grew up with horses, but I don’t have time now.”
His gaze didn’t leave hers.He didn’t think it could, even if he wanted it to.That tangled gaze was a web of magnetic attraction, heat, and something like fear, which puzzled him.He blinked.
“No time?”He didn’t like to see fear in women and took a step back, mentally and physically, untangling that gaze, which had become something far trickier than he’d at first thought.“Not now you’re aseriousacademic,” he said.It came out sounding facetious.He hadn’t meant it to.
But she must have interpreted it this way, too.Because suddenly all uncertainty disappeared and that facade shot up again, like an electric fence, defying anyone to toy with it.Well, that was fine with him, because he didn’t intend to get entangled with any woman.He’d done that once and would allow no one to take Galila’s place in his heart.She was gone and would never be forgotten.
“I am,” she said in a low, controlled voice, full of emotion.
“But serious academics can still have time off for good behavior, can’t they?”chipped in Amare, still intent on doing his job of promoting diplomatic relations.Just as well one brother had the skills of a diplomat.
“My days are full in Oxford.”
“Ah,” said Amare, finding a hole in her argument, which he was determined to exploit.“But you’re here now.So why not take the time to indulge your interests once more?”He shot Zaire a dark look.
Zaire shrugged.He trusted Amare’s diplomatic instincts and knew, deep down, he’d have to push his personal thoughts and feelings about relationships, and about this woman in particular, aside.“Why don’t you come to the stables and have a look, maybe even go for a ride?”
“No.”
There was no ‘thank you’, no ‘perhaps’, no modification to the single syllable.
“Right,” he shrugged again, this time it was aimed at Amare.He’d given it his best shot.Well, maybe not his best, but a shot, anyhow.“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“I’m not someone who changes her mind.”
He didn’t doubt it.“I’m sure.”
She looked at him sharply.His brothers were always telling him they could easily read his thoughts.There was that flash of heat in her eyes again.It reminded him of someone else.Someone he didn’t want to think about.He swallowed.Simply the reminder of Galila tripped him up, made him unsure.Made him think he was being too hard.She’d used to rebuke him if she saw him being too hard on anyone.But that was second nature to him because it was how he was raised.He was brusque with everyone—everyone except Galila.Zaire’s chest tightened at the thought of her.He remembered her urging him to be kind to others, even when it felt impossible.He cleared his throat.
“And I’m also sure that you’d prefer to discuss your theory.Maybe…” He glanced at Amare, hoping he’d help him out, but Amare stood with his arms crossed and his expression severe.Zaire sighed.His brother was angry with him and he knew why.
“Maybe,” he repeated, “we could find a quieter place to discuss your theory,” he suggested, gesturing towards the open doors beyond which lights lit up the trees, and tables and chairs were grouped along a terrace.
She didn’t look toward the doors.“Why?”While her face was impassive and cold, he noticed her fingers tapped impatiently together.She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.It looked like only a humble apology would do.He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done humble, or an apology.
“Because, sheikha, I owe you an apology.”His voice constricted as he said the word, almost choking.He cleared this throat.“I’ve been extremely rude.”
“Indeed.”
He inclined his head and pressed his lips together.If he’d hoped for a simple acceptance of his apology, he’d hoped wrong.“In which case,” he shot a pleading glance at Amare but was met with a fierce gaze, which told him his choices were limited to one if he were going to be on good terms with his chief diplomat.He cleared his voice again.“In which case”—he said, this time with the conviction of someone who knew he was cornered and had no other option—“I’d like the opportunity to make up for that, if I may.”
She raised an arrogant eyebrow.“And how do you propose to do that?”
A sudden burst of laughter from a group close by made her wince.Seemed she was more sensitive to her surroundings than he’d imagined.
“By talking.Just you and me.Somewhere quiet where you can tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for, and exactly how I can help you.”
Her beautiful mouth opened, but no words came forth.It was as if she hadn’t imagined him, the King of Sifra, being direct, telling the truth.For two heartbeats of silence, he wondered what had happened to her for her to be unused to direct dealing and conciliatory behavior.
