Winter Blockbuster 2012 (35 page)

“What’s that?” Laurel pointed to a building jutting out in the distance.

“That’s the stable block.”

“Stables?” Laurel came to a standstill. The face that tilted up to him was radiant. “There are horses? Or are the stables empty?”

“There are horses. Not many—the royal stud is located closer to Rashad. But I like to ride when I am home so there are always horses.”

“Can we ride?”

Rakin nodded.

Joy exploded in her eyes. “Tomorrow?” At his nod, she
said, “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve ridden a horse?”

That startled him. “You can ride?”

“All Winthrops can ride—we were taken for our first lesson before we were five.” Her beatific smile told him she’d clearly loved every moment.

“Then why stop?”

“So much else to do. My brothers carried on—they still play polo. But, as the eldest daughter, mother insisted I learn to play tennis and do ballet and piano so that my sisters would follow in my ballet slippers.” She grinned, but Rakin detected a forced gaiety. “And Winthrops fish and shoot and hunt, too, so there was little time left for the demands of horse-riding lessons.”

“You shoot and hunt?”

“I don’t hunt myself, but I’m a crack shot.”

Rakin knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Yet he couldn’t help it. Laurel was so intensely feminine and ladylike he didn’t expect the more physical side of her. Then he remembered what she was like in bed. More tiger than lady. Instantly desire stirred.

He overrode it.

“We will take the horses out tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Now, let me show you my home.”

The ride surpassed everything Laurel had expected.

They rode out of the dark stable yard while it was still cool. It was the only way to escape the relentless heat of the day, Rakin told her, his stirrup chinking against hers as they rode abreast.

The mare she was riding, a gray with small pricked ears and the delicate dish face so characteristic of an Arabian
horse, had an easy gait. By contrast, Rakin was mounted on Pasha, a strong stallion with a high-held tail and long mane.

For a while they rode in utter silence, the clip of the horses’ hooves muffled by the desert sand. Laurel shifted in the saddle and inhaled the dry, already hot air. To the east, the first bright slivers of dawn had cracked the jet-black sky. All around them the desert was coming to life.

To Laurel’s right a dark outcrop had taken shape, and now the first rays of the sun struck the rockface.

“What is that?”

“Jabal Al Tair. The mountain of the birds,” Rakin translated. “We will make our way up as far as we can and watch the sun rise from a higher vantage point.”

The stony path climbed steeply until they came to a place where the rise leveled out between two imposing rock faces.

Rakin dismounted first, then came to hold her mare’s head as Laurel swung her leg over the back of the saddle and slid down to the ground. Handing the reins to Rakin, she watched as he tethered the two horses. Then she followed him along a winding, narrow path between the cliffs.

Once through the fissure, the path opened up into a broad rock platform.

“Oh, wow!”

They stood on the edge of the world.

In front of them the gold desert sands stretched to meet the rising sun.

“Dahab means gold. You can see where the name comes from.”

“Yes.” Laurel didn’t even want to breathe to break the awe of the moment.

“Look,” Rakin pointed.

She followed his arm. A hawk circled in wide swoops. “He’s hunting.”

“Yes,” Rakin agreed, his eyes narrowed as he watched the bird swoop down to the desert below. “See that blur of movement? That’s a hare he’s after.”

The hawk rose, a silhouette against the rosy sky, the hare clutched between hooked talons. Ascending to the sheer walls above them, the big bird disappeared from sight.

Gesturing to the vista spread out in front of them, Laurel said, “It looks so empty, yet it’s an entire ecosystem. It just took the sun coming up to reveal it.” She shot Rakin a look that caused him to want to pull her into his arms and seal her smiling mouth with his. “Apollo driving his fiery chariot into the sky to meet the new day,” she murmured.

Before he could turn thought to action, one of the horses whickered behind them. Laurel started to laugh. “You want to be up there, too?”

“It would be hard, hot work galloping that course every day,” replied Rakin, leashing the rush of raw desire that she’d evoked. “Only an Arabian could keep up.”

“Apollo himself would have to be pretty fit.” Laurel let her gaze drift down Rakin’s lean length. “A horseman with years of skill.”

Rakin grew still.

“I want you,” he said roughly. “Now.”

“Now?” Laurel could feel herself flushing. “Here?”

“Yes.”

The bald statement caused her to blink. Twice.

His cheekbones jutted out in hard angles from his rigid face.

“But it’s morning.” She heard herself, and shuddered. She sounded like a naive virgin. Both of them knew she was not that.

“It makes you shy to make love in the daylight?” he asked,
and touched her. One finger trailed down her cheek. “Still? Despite what we shared that night in Las Vegas?”

Her heart contracted at his mention of love.

This marriage had never been about love… yet Laurel was starting to think increasingly about love. It wasn’t something she had ever discovered. Her lashes sank hiding her eyes from his all-too-perceptive gaze. What she shared with Rakin had a depth and intensity beyond what she’d felt for men in the past.

This was different.

Could it be love?

She started as his hands closed on her shoulders.

“Laurel…?”

The husky sound of his voice caused her look up. Taut tension radiated from him. A rush of desire bolted through her veins. She knew he was going to kiss her… and she did nothing to stop him. Instead, she waited… and welcomed the surge of heat as his mouth opened over hers.

His tongue sank in. Hungry. Possessive. Laurel’s hands came up to grasp his forearms and she held on tight, her response desperate with pent-up passion. At least she hoped it was passion. Not—

Or was this… hunger… this desperation… this powerful emotion possibly… love?

Fear of the answer finally made her break away.

Rakin’s chest rose and fell as he sucked in a rasping breath—but he let her go.

After a beat he said, “So? You’re certain you don’t want to risk making love in the daylight?”

There was humor… and a dark passion that tempted her at the same time that it terrified her. “It’s the idea of…” She swallowed, then carefully imitated the wording he had used “…of making love outside—where anyone might see
us. What happened in Vegas was under the cover of darkness.” Mostly.

He scanned their surroundings. “Who will see us? We are far above the desert. There is no one near.” And he came closer.

So much for her thirst for adventure, her craving to break free.

“I know, I sound ridiculous. I can’t explain it.” She backed toward where the horses were tethered. And she damned all her inhibitions.

There was a glint in his eyes, as he murmured, “So my rebel is not such a rebel after all.”

Laurel wished she had the gumption to pick up the gauntlet he had thrown down. “I’m not ready for such an adventure.”

CHAPTER NINE

T
HEY
were almost home when a boy came running toward them.

Rakin checked the stallion, and brought him to a halt beside the boy.

“Give me your hand.” Leaning forward, he grabbed the boy’s hand and scooped him up onto the stallion in front of him.

The horse started to stride out, neck arched and head held high.

“I am riding Pasha.” The child’s back was rigid with pride. “He’s much better than Halva.”

Rakin laughed out loud. “Don’t let Halva hear that—her feelings will be hurt, and she might buck you off.”

“Pah.” It was a sound of disgust. “Halva is too old to buck.”

Rakin shot Laurel a conspiratorial look. “Halva is kind with the sweetest nature in the horse kingdom. Nothing wrong with nice. And don’t forget I learned to ride on Halva’s mother.”

They turned into the stable yard. An elderly man with a sun-beaten face came out of the nearest stable.

As Rakin reined the stallion to a halt, the boy muttered
something and slid off the horse. By the time the stable manager had hobbled up, the boy had disappeared.

“That boy, he is a nuisance.” But there was pride in the old man’s eyes.

“Your grandson will be a fine rider one day—like his grandfather.”

The pride grew brighter. “He does well at school. He learns more than his father or his grandfather ever did. English. Computers. All the villagers say we are blessed.”

Rakin waved his thanks off. “It was time.”

The more she learned of Rakin, the more complex he became. The news that he was responsible for educating the youngsters. His gentleness with the boy and his grandfather made Laurel forget the reserve that had distanced him from her. Instead, she found herself melting inside at his connection with the pair. The discovery of this softer side of her husband moved her more than she would’ve expected. Rakin’s gentleness… his social conscience were more facets to admire about a man who was starting to occupy an awful amount of her life.

He would make a wonderful father one day… and a perfect husband.

One day…

When she was long gone. Looking away from the man who’d taken over so much of her life, Laurel reined the gray in and swung her leg over the back of the saddle to dismount. She slid to the ground, then walked to the horse’s head, taking care not to glance in Rakin’s direction.

Their marriage had not been forged for love or family. It was purely a temporary proposition. She was nothing more than a temporary wife.

And, despite the heat of the day, that reminder caused a chill to settle around Laurel’s heart.

It was the final day of their getaway. Tomorrow they would be leaving as Rakin had a board meeting in the capital.

They’d retreated to Rakin’s library after sharing a late dinner as they’d done each night. The past four days had been a time that Laurel knew she would treasure even after their marriage was over.

Today Rakin had taken her deeper into the desert to explore its magic. They’d explored towering rock formations where wadis—water paths that brought life to the desert—hid. He’d taken her to visit villages with markets that had delighted Laurel with their character.

She should’ve been exhausted.

Yet she was too wired to sit. Her mind was still whirring, stimulated by the color and excitement of the day. Instead of joining Rakin on the wide, overstuffed daybed, where heavily embroidered cushions added an exotic touch to the huge room, she made for the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

Every subject under the sun was covered.

Politics. History. Books about Diyafa; about deserts; about ancient cultures. In addition to the leather-covered books and coffee-table hard covers, there was a large selection of well-read paperback fiction. Modern literary novels and a selection of popular crime fiction. The collection revealed the breadth and scope of Rakin’s interest.

“There’s a large number of travel books both ancient and modern,” Rakin said from the couch.

“I can see.”

“Their journeys were fascinating—they were men driven by more than action, by a vision of what they wanted from life.”

She was on her own odyssey, Laurel realized. And it was far from over. Blindly she stared at the shelf in front of her. Then her gaze fell on a shelf of smaller tomes. Poetry, she
saw. One was a volume titled simply
Pleasures
in faded gold lettering on the burgundy leather spine.

Laurel drew it from the shelf, the calf binding soft against her fingers. As she opened it, the yellowed pages with a flower-printed border were revealed.

A verse caught her eye.

My love! Sun of my Dark Heart, brighten my Day,
Bring life to stone-dry Desert, warm me with your Fire;
As surely as Dawn follows the Star-scattered Night
And floods the Perfumed Garden of my Desire.

Love poetry. Oft read from the way the pages fell open.

Read by Rakin?

“What are you looking at?”

It was as if her thoughts had conjured up his voice.

“A collection of poetry.”

She flipped the page over, and her eyes fell on an illustration. It caused her to gasp. A pair of lovers, entwined on a bed under a tree. The woman lush and voluptuous, her lover dark and powerful. Laurel stared down at the undoubted beauty of the naked flesh that the artist had painted.

Normally she would’ve felt awkward to be faced with such material. The man’s head was flung back, a look of unrestrained passion on his face, while the woman looked utterly satisfied.

Heat balled in her stomach.

What would she give to see that look on Rakin’s face?

She shut the book and slid it back into the empty space; then she crossed to where Rakin sat and dropped down on the wide sofa arm.

“Thank you for a wonderful day,” her voice sounded
hoarse. She couldn’t look at him yet, in case she gave herself away.

His finger touched the tip of her chin, with a gentle pressure to turn her head. She resisted. His fingertip moved to touch her lip.

Then he said softly, “You must be tired—ready to go to bed?”

Was that a question in his voice? A suggestion? The heat in her stomach blazed through her veins. Her gaze dropped down to connect with his. And a spark leapt between them.

“Come here,” he groaned.

Laurel couldn’t have said who moved first, but she was in his lap, his mouth replacing his fingertip on her lips, and they were kissing fiercely. The fevered heat was soaring. Raging. Within a minute her control had shredded.

Their clothes came off in a hurry, and there was little time for preliminaries before Rakin pulled her astride him.

It was fast and furious.

With every pleasure-increasing stroke, she watched him. Every flicker of his eyes. The way his throat tightened as he swallowed and the moment his eyelids closed as a moan broke from deep in his throat.