He laid her down on a sofa facing a wall-to-wall mirror before heading to the closets paneling the walls. Through a sliding door he gathered clothes that looked like replicas of his, and came back to her. Then he kneeled in front of her. He held one foot after the other, slipped off her sandals, then, as in the gardens, he pressed one to his heart. This time when his lips hovered over her flesh, they descended, made contact.
She arched on a spasm of emotion, at the sight of him, the feel, the very idea of him kissing her foot.
“I’ve never waited for the gratification of my desires, ya galbi.” His voice was gruff, driven as he dragged his lips and tongue over the arches of her feet, the backs of her calves, the insides of her thighs. She was quaking, begging when he withdrew, swept the clothes over her lap. “But I can wait if it’s for you. I can wait until everything is perfect.”
Just perfect.
Farah glowered at the Byzantine-style woodcarving that hung at the entrance to Shehab’s stables. The thermometer nestling in its intricacy stood at 112°F. In the shade. She wondered if it was reading the atmosphere’s temperature or hers.
Even an hour after that episode in her bedroom, after a perfect meal and a real shower and a change into the clothes he’d picked out for her, she was still sizzling. Everything he did or said kept her simmering. Before leaving her to go and deal with some details, he’d urged her to go inside the stables out of the heat and given her a kiss that had her a breath away from meltdown.
She stumbled into the interior, seeking its coolness. The sun was merciless even during its descent, but Shehab had made sure she was protected from all its dangers. Cool, flowing clothes, constant hydration and her every exposed part covered in sunblock. He’d seen to that himself, with meticulousness that had left her feeling more burned than any ultraviolet exposure could have caused. She’d assured him from distant memory that she’d always handled sun and heat well. He’d countered, not sun like this. She hadn’t been built for it, hadn’t been drenched in it from birth like he had been. He had to acclimatize her to it gradually, would never forgo any precaution. He couldn’t be too careful with her.
She thought he could be. He was. Too careful with her. And it was starting to mess with her sanity.
She pushed her sunglasses over her head. As her vision adjusted, a silver mare materialized out of the gloom, patiently standing in the aisle wearing a saddle and bridle. She was looking straight at her, and, Farah could swear, was stunned to see her. In the next second she whinnied and tossed her head. And, wow, what a beauty.
She’d seen enough Useel, purebred Arabian mares, in her father’s stables to recognize one. This one was remarkable even by his fanatical standards. Which figured. There was no way Shehab had anything but the best. The horse stood at least 15 hands, with an impressive depth of chest. Her short head had a beautiful concave profile, a broad forehead and wide jowls.
Farah’s admiring scrutiny faltered. The mare was trotting toward her, ears tucked, nostrils flared, snorting an unmistakable threat…
“Ablah.”
At Shehab’s admonition, the mare at once stopped and perked up her ears, her prominent eyes all but grinning sheepishly.
Farah swung around to him. “I hope that’s not your most accommodating mare.”
“Actually, she is.” He caught his lower lip in his teeth, his face ablaze with wickedness. “I like my horses spirited.”
“Yeah, and it seems you train them as guard dogs, too.”
“She doesn’t usually see strangers. She was probably wary of you.”
She smirked. “She didn’t seem wary to me, and I’m no longer sure I want to reprise my long-bygone equine experience.”
He gave her a considering look, then turned to the mare. “Ablah…ta’ee hena.” Ablah trotted to him at once, nuzzled him in the shoulder. He held her face in his hands, murmured in Arabic. Ablah shifted uncomfortably, looking positively shamefaced.
Farah was incredulous. “What did you say to her?”
He gave Ablah a stern look. “That I was upset with her because she wasn’t nice to you, that you’re the woman I crave.”
“That’s supposed to make her more amenable toward me? I bet that’s why she wasn’t nice. She’s jealous as hell.”
He huffed a chuckle. “She’s a horse, Farah.”
“She’s a mare, Shehab. I bet you have females of every species swooning within a hundred-mile radius.”
He flashed her a smile that left her wanting to flip down her sunglasses. “Though I’d be appalled to think every female rat and shrimp around were wiggling their whiskers at me, I’ll snap this up as the compliment I’m sure you meant.” She narrowed her eyes at him, stuck out her tongue. He laughed, pinched her cheek softly. “I can assure you Ablah won’t try to get rid of the competition. But if you’re not comfortable, I’ll ride her, and you can ride Barq.” He patted the neck of the other horse, which a stable hand had just led up to them, placing the reins in Shehab’s hand. “He’s taken with you.”
Farah looked at Barq, a magnificent black stallion who looked decidedly more docile than Ablah and who was checking her out with interest. She looked back into the mare’s eyes, almost saw the impish challenge there, then she shook her head. “Nah, I think I’ll get acquainted with Ablah. I’m sure we can come to an understanding, one lady to another.”
His smile brightened with approval. “That’s jameelati, always doing the unexpected.”
“Yeah, let’s just hope I don’t really do the unexpected and spend my sabbatical in traction. Say, what does Ablah mean?”
“‘Perfectly formed.’ Barq means ‘lightning.’”
Farah eyed the magnificent mare, then sighed. “And she knows it, too. And if Barq’s name is also descriptive, I’d say it’s a good choice I opted to ride Ablah.”
He gathered her to him, tilted up her face to his. “You do know I wouldn’t propose riding either if I wasn’t certain you’d be totally safe?” She nodded, smiled her total trust up at him. His smile widened as he half kneeled beside her offering a leg up. “Up you go.”
She put her foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle and let him boost her up only for Ablah to give a distressed whinny when she landed on her back.
“Oh, c’mon. So I’m no lightweight, but your master outweighs me by…” she eyed him hungrily, gave her lips an involuntary lick “…seventy pounds, at least. So quit pretending you’re about to keel under my weight.”