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    Hosing him down until he was good and wet, she scraped him off, then gave him some hay and a drink. She was just putting a rug on his back when she heard the sound of footfall behind her and some instinct made her turn round and a strange shiver whispered its way over her skin when she saw just who stood there.
    It was Kaliq.
    He was standing in the doorway, the illumination of the magnificent sky behind him throwing his tall figure into silhouette. But the dark outline only seemed to emphasise his muscular physique and dominating presence—as vibrant and as powerful as the stallion itself.
    A strange tremble began to whisper its way over her skin and her heart began to pound in that way which made Eleni feel very slightly faint. She wanted to seek sanctity from that blazing black gaze by looking at the ground as she had been taught over a lifetime of lessons in modesty and subservience. Yet had not the sheikh himself forbidden her to do that?
    Ignoring the girl completely, Kaliq stood staring at the horse, just admiring the sheer magnificence of his latest acquisition until something untoward caught his eye. His lips curving with distaste, he walked over to the horse and lifted a corner of the worn rug which lay over the animal’s back. ‘What is this?’ he questioned acidly.
    ‘A rug, Highness,’ said Eleni helpfully. ‘I brought it with me. I always cover Nabat’s back with straw after I’ve hosed him down and then put this rug straight on top—you can see I have punched holes in it, so that the excess water can escape during the night. It is an excellent method of keeping the horse comfortable and dry.’
    Kaliq was now staring at her in disbelief. ‘You mean, that you’ve brought this filthy old blanket with you all the way from your father’s house?’ he demanded.
    She willed herself not to react to the insult. ‘Yes, Highness.’
    ‘But what about your clothes? Your belongings?’
    ‘They’re in that holdall over there,’ she said, pointing.
    He scowled at the modestly sized and threadbare carpet-bag which was sitting on the straw. ‘And that’s all you’ve brought?’
    ‘Yes.’ Shamefully, Eleni felt a blush begin to stain her cheeks.
    ‘But you’re supposed to be here for good!’ he exploded. ‘Not for an overnight stay!’
    ‘There is no problem—I can wash my clothes out by hand every night, Highness. It is what I am used to.’
    The irony did not escape him. One moment she was modestly looking at the ground—and yet now she was telling her prince about washing out her most intimate garments! Kaliq felt a slow rage begin to simmer in his blood—and not simply because she had been insubordinate. No, because that flush of pink to her cheeks had made her eyes look as green as pistachios and as bright as new leaves—and, unwittingly and inappropriately, he could feel the sudden hot stir of lust at his groin.
    It was a familiar ache. An appetite which demanded to be fed. Desire could sometimes be all the more powerful when it was indiscriminate—and Kaliq was a highly sexed man.
    Part of him wanted to throw her down onto the straw and have done with it. For there was no surer way of losing desire for a woman than to take your fill of her. But he sensed that Eleni might be slow to realise that her duty was to please her sheikh in every aspect that he demanded. His mouth curved into a smile. She would soon learn.
    ‘You may be a stable girl with nothing in the way of social engagements—but you are also a representative of the royal house of Al’Farisi,’ he bit out as he forced his mind away from the hard ache at his groin. ‘And as such—you will not be dressed in rags and looking like a scullery girl! Is that understood?’
    ‘Y-yes, Highness.’
    He clapped his hands and a young, veiled servant appeared from the shadows. ‘This is Amina,’ he said briefly. ‘She will settle you in and ensure that you have something suitable to wear.’
    Pleased that his irritation