The Playboy Sheikh's Virgin Stable-Girl (5 page)

‘And I have drawn you a bath,’ continued Amina.

Eleni stared at her. ‘A bath?’ she repeated blankly.

Amina pushed open yet another door and there, gleaming and steaming, was a large bath, set low into the ground and lined with gold. Eleni stood and gazed at it in dazzled fascination.

‘By the falcon’s wing!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who is this for?’

Amina gave a little smile. ‘It is for you, Eleni,’ she said gently. ‘All for you.’

Eleni blinked, the unexpected sting of salt blurring her eyes. ‘This is truly amazing,’ she whispered in awe.

Amina nodded. ‘I felt the same when first I was brought to the palace. Now, do you wish for me to assist you with your bathing?’

But if the thought of the bath was a daunting prospect, then the idea of getting naked in front of anyone made Eleni want to run a million miles in fear. ‘Oh, no! Thank you, Amina—but I will manage by myself.’

Seeing the wide, square bath filled with scented water had dazed her, but more shocking still was Eleni’s unexpected glimpse of herself in a mirror. How long since she had looked in a mirror? Not since school. Her father had banned them in the house as being indicators of vanity and there had seemed little need for her to gaze at herself.

But now she did and the sight which greeted her could not have been worse. Her face was engrained with desert dirt—and streaking over her cheeks were paler tracts where beads of sweat must have trickled down during the long, hot ride here. Her thick hair was dull and desperately in need of a wash and her clothes were covered with a fine layer of sand.

Eleni almost wept. Where was any trace of her femininity? Why, she looked more like a street urchin than a woman! With trembling fingers she pulled the dirty garments from her body—but as she turned she was confronted by another mirror and, in a way, this was even worse.

It was a full-length glass and she stared into it with a kind of horrified fascination at an Eleni she didn’t recognise. How rounded her little breasts looked—and how pink their tips. She had not realised how curved her body had become—or that her waist was as tiny as the trunk of a young walnut tree. And there was more, too…

For the first time she could see the dark triangle of hair which lay at the fork of her thighs and she shrank back in fear, resolutely turning her back on the image to climb into the bath. She let the warm water glide over her aching limbs with a sense of relief.

And disbelief.

Because this was Eleni’s first real taste of luxury and once again she almost wept, only this time with sheer joy, wondering how any experience could feel so utterly pleasurable.

She had learnt to find her enjoyment in simple things—like the feel of the wind on her hair when she was riding Nabat or the sight of a particularly beautiful sunset, sinking over the mighty splendour of the mountain. But this felt different. It felt…

Restlessly, Eleni stirred as ripples of water tickled at her skin and picked up the beautifully scented bar of soap. Her washing usually consisted of a hasty early-morning cold-water scrub in the outhouse while the rest of the world was sleeping. Yet just the touch of this soap was…was…

She swallowed as it foamed up into a creamy cascade of foam over her skin and she felt the oddest sensation as she tentatively stroked some onto her breast. A face swam into her mind. A dark, mocking face with hard black eyes and cruel, curving lips.

The soap dropped into the water with a splash and as Eleni hauled herself out of the bath with flailing and slippery limbs she couldn’t seem to stop herself from trembling.

CHAPTER FOUR

NEXT morning, Eleni arrived at the stable block soon after sunrise. Her first night’s sleep at the palace had been restless, probably because of the rich food she’d been given for dinner in the staff kitchen—food which she had been astonished to discover she was not expected to cook for herself.

Eleni had never been waited on in her life. Nor felt soft silk against her skin when she had worn some of her new clothes down to supper. But before she had bedded down for the night, she had washed out her old things—more out of habit than anything else. She had hung them out on a rail in the bathroom and put them on this morning. That way she felt more comfortable. More like herself.

With a spring in her step she greeted Nabat, who came whinnying up to greet her.

‘Hello, boy,’ she murmured. ‘You look happy!’ She mucked him out and then exercised him—and while he was eating his oats—went over to look at all the sheikh’s other horses. They were, as she might have expected, all utterly magnificent—but the finest of all was a huge black stallion at the far end of the yard. It was Kaliq’s horse! The one he had ridden into her father’s yard, the first time she’d seen him.

She could see that he was aristocratic and highly strung and at first he stared at her with suspicious eyes. But she approached him softly and calmly and after a few moments he started to nuzzle her in an impatient and friendly manner.

‘Hello, my lovely,’ she said softly as she ran her fingers appreciatively over his neck. ‘You are so beautiful. Nearly as beautiful as Nabat—though we shall never allow him to hear me say that!’

But a soft sound in the yard disturbed her and Eleni turned round to see the sheikh standing very still, just watching her, and she swallowed, her heart beginning to race in an erratic, unsteady beat. It was the face from her dreams—which had kept sleep so tantalisingly at bay all night. The face which had flitted in and out of her mind when she had lain naked in her bath. Which had made her body feel so restless.

She swallowed as she drank in his dark beauty. Those black eyes. That ebony hair. Her eyes flickered downwards. And a lean body dressed in clothes which were unmistakably western today.

Eleni was so taken aback that she simply stared at the vision he made. He was wearing a tight, tight pair of trousers, a white silk shirt and long, leather boots. Never in her life had she seen a man dressed so…so inappropriately. Why, you could almost see the hard definition of his thighs and their powerful, curving muscles.

Her heart was beating wildly now—so wildly that for a moment Eleni felt quite light-headed. She could feel the colour flaming in her cheeks as she went to curtsey to him, but he waved his hand impatiently.

‘You like my horse, lizard?’ he questioned silkily.

Horses were her passion—her reason for being here—so she must drive from her mind the terrible fascination of seeing the sheikh in these distracting garments. Concentrate on the question, she told herself fiercely. ‘He is magnificent, Highness.’

‘Yes. But temperamental, too. It is unusual for him to let a stranger so close. Very unusual.’ His black eyes were hooded, and watchful. ‘Think you can ride him?’ he suggested silkily.

Eleni wasn’t sure how to respond. Was this a challenge? A test to see whether she was intimidated by mounting such a mighty and valuable animal? But it seemed that he meant it, for he was interlocking his fingers together for her to use as a stirrup and nodding, she swung up on the horse’s bare back without another word.

For a few seconds, she sank against the animal’s powerful warm flesh, almost letting herself melt into it—to give both horse and rider confidence. Briefly, she saw the sheikh’s black eyes narrow in astonishment as she began to trot the stallion around the yard as if she had spent her life riding him. But that was something which seemed to happen to her around horses—something magical and inexplicable which went some way to making up for the fact that it was always humans who seemed to let you down.

Eleni put the horse through its paces as she took him round, knowing that she was showing off a little—but who could blame her when Kaliq’s critical gaze was searing over her like black fire? When had she last felt this good? This confident?

As Kaliq stood and watched her braided hair streaming behind her he felt the stir of recognition which was even fiercer then the sharp stir of desire. Because he recognised that he was witnessing something rare—the potent combination of talent, instinct and sheer bravado. And executed by a woman, too! His mouth flickered into a fleeting smile as she brought the horse to a halt beside him, bending down over the horse’s neck and smiling straight into his face.

‘Want me to jump him for you?’ she questioned, exhilaration momentarily making her forget just who she was speaking to.

‘Think you can?’ he challenged as the spark of genuine excitement in her green eyes made him respond with equal candour.

‘Oh, yes!’

The sound of a distant shout reluctantly brought Kaliq back into real time. Why, for a second then he had been so dazzled by her horsemanship that he had forgotten that she was nothing but a humble stable girl. Why, he had forgotten that she was a girl.

But now he noticed how the faint sheen of sweat clung to her skin, making her tunic stick to the curves of her body—undeniably emphasising her femininity. In fact, she was not a girl. Not at all. This green-eyed servant with the honeyed skin was pure woman.

Suddenly, he felt the insistent clamouring of sexual hunger. A sudden ache in response to the provocation in her confident assurance that she would be able to jump his powerful horse—a provocation made more sensual still by the fact that it was completely unintended.

Kaliq’s mouth dried. ‘Not now,’ he said huskily. ‘Dismount.’

Something dark which underpinned his aristocratic voice reminded Eleni exactly where she was. And that what she had just done surely amounted to a punishable offence…for she had been speaking to the Prince Kaliq Al’Farisi as if he were an equal!

It was as if the world had suddenly changed from safe to danger in the blinking of an eye. Aware of a strange and sudden tension hovering around them, Eleni slid to the ground. With trembling fingers she tied the stallion to a post and then stared up at the sheikh, dreading what he would think of her behaviour.

Kaliq stared at her, the pulsing of blood thick in his veins. ‘You have a gift,’ he said simply.

Eleni let out a low sigh of relief. So he wasn’t angry that she had spoken to him as if she had been speaking to a stable lad! ‘Thank you, Highness.’

A gift he must utilise, he thought, and then ran his eyes over her again—this time trying to ignore the soft swell of her hips and the lush pertness of her breasts. Despite the sheen of her newly washed hair—how could he take her anywhere when she still looked like the scruffy urchin he had found in her hovel of a desert home? ‘You have settled into your quarters?’ he questioned acidly.

‘Yes, Highness.’

‘And?’

‘They are indeed the most beautiful—’

He cut across her words with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘Please do not state the obvious,’ he snapped. ‘I have a whole palace of people who do that constantly—and it bores me. I ordered that new clothing was to be left there for you—yet today you appear before me dressed in this lowly apparel. Why is that? Do you reject my generosity?’

‘No, Highness.’

‘What, then?’

Inwardly, Eleni squirmed. ‘It was just…’

‘Just what?’

The ebony light from his black eyes was piercing. How could she tell him that the feel of fine silk brushing against her skin had made her feel peculiar—and not like herself at all. Just as he did. ‘Habit, I suppose,’ she answered instead.

‘Then break it,’ he ordered softly. ‘When you work for a prince, you will dress accordingly, is that understood?’

‘Yes, Highness.’

Idly, he ran the flat of his hand over his narrow hip. ‘Really, you should be wearing jodhpurs,’ he mused. ‘Like these.’

It was impossible to avert her eyes from the cream-covered fabric which stretched almost indecently across his narrow hips and hugged the muscular thighs, but Eleni’s natural modesty and fear made the words tumble out of their own accord. ‘I could not possibly wear such garments as those, Highness!’

‘No?’ He thought that the soft rose flush of her cheeks made her green eyes look even more magnificent. Would she be as good in bed as she was in the saddle? he wondered, and was punished with another sharp spear of desire. ‘Maybe not,’ he agreed, on a sultry murmur, and felt his throat dry with lust.

Trying to dispel the image of how her bottom might look when hugged by a snug pair of jodhpurs, he forced his thoughts back to the present. ‘Now listen to me. I have matters which I wish to discuss with you,’ he said huskily. ‘You will be brought to me later this evening.’

Brought to him? Eleni shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Could we not…discuss it now?’ she ventured, suddenly nervous.

He slammed her a chilly look. ‘I said tonight, not now. You will follow my timetable,’ he clipped out. ‘Not your own. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Highness.’

‘Good.’ And with that, he untied the black stallion and leapt up onto its back, his hand tangled in its mane as he urged it forward with a swift clench of his powerful thighs.

In a daze, Eleni watched as he galloped off in a cloud of dust, but for once her mind was far too preoccupied to be able to appreciate his amazing riding technique. Why did he want her brought to him tonight? And why had he made his summons sound not only imperious—but also, vaguely…Eleni swallowed. Not threatening, no—that would be too strong a description. But unsettling, yes—definitely unsettling—and she wasn’t quite sure why.

But she didn’t have the luxury of time spent in careless thought. There was too much to do and learn and so she set about discovering as much as she could about her new place of employment.

She was gratified to discover that the stable staff were far more welcoming than she had expected—though they seemed a little bemused at having a female in their midst. But then she was used to working mainly in isolation—with nothing but the occasional interference from a cruel and harsh father—and it made a welcome change to have a little company.

A day spent with horses always flew as fast as the hunting falcon—but here there was the added bonus of having the very finest facilities imaginable. Eleni felt as if she had died and gone to heaven.

She took Nabat out onto the gallops—accompanied by an eager young stable lad who, rather flatteringly, copied everything she did!