Breaking the Sheikh's Rules Read online

  So, apart from the heartache of losing their family business, what was wrong with her? She knew more than most people how things changed, and plenty of their neighbours had undergone similar buyouts to survive. In a way, they’d been lucky; thanks to Devil’s Kiss they’d survived far longer than anyone had thought they would—long enough to see the kids settled at college in Dublin.

  Iseult walked instinctively towards the stables, where Devil’s Kiss heard her coming and put his head out over his door with a welcoming whinny. Iseult smiled sadly and went over, rubbing him affectionately on the nose. ‘This is our last day together, Devil. You’ll be gone tomorrow…’

  A huge lump constricted Iseult’s throat then, and she fought not to give in to the grief when she thought of how she’d hoped and prayed for a different outcome. But one good horse could never have turned their fortunes around. They’d have needed ten winners for that. Everyone had depended on her for as long as she could remember, so it was second nature now to bottle it up, swallow the lump down.

  Her thoughts gravitated back to the Sheikh, and how threatened she’d felt just now with his tall, hard body against her back. She shivered. She couldn’t explain it, but from the moment she’d heard he was coming to get Devil’s Kiss himself her hackles had risen for no good reason. She’d put it down to the fact that she’d have felt that way about whoever the new owner was, but it was almost as if some sixth sense had warned her that he would threaten her on many more levels than that of just being the new owner of their stud, which was ridiculous.

  Her conscience struck her again; she’d felt that way as soon as she’d seen the pictures of him on the internet. It had been a physical reaction to his image that had no basis in logic or rationality. She’d never been one to sigh over and lust after pin-ups; those normal rites of passage were something she’d never had time to indulge in as a teenager.

  But then today her fears had been confirmed. From the moment she’d seen him out of the corner of her eye as she’d exercised Devil’s Kiss on the gallops every sense had gone onto high alert. Which had only got worse when she’d actually seen him up close. He was hard and implacable. Unreadable. And yet…some deeply secret and feminine part of her had thrilled inside when she’d seen him in the flesh.

  Her mouth compressed as she continued to rub Devil’s Kiss distractedly. After losing her mother at the tender age of twelve, she’d never had anyone to encourage her out of her naturally tomboyish state. Her one failed attempt to be feminine had ended in abject humiliation, after which she’d vowed never to let anyone make her feel so vulnerable again…

  Iseult cursed herself now. Why was she thinking of that memory? An image of the Sheikh’s hard, beautiful face came into her mind and her belly quivered. She resolutely refused to acknowledge the fact that this complete stranger seemed to have unlocked something deeply feminine within her, bringing back painful memories. It was preposterous, because there was no way on this earth that a man like him would ever notice someone like her. She’d seen pictures of his women on the internet: all stunning, polished, gorgeous. Every thing Iseult wasn’t and never would be.

  She turned and walked back to the house reluctantly, driving down the mounting feeling of dread at the thought of facing the Sheikh again. She would have to apologise to him for her behaviour.

  After taking off her boots again, and replacing them with trainers in the room beside the kitchen, Iseult walked through the house and paused outside the study door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked lightly and went in.

  The Sheikh stood looking out of the big window which took in a view of rolling green fields as far as the eye could see and the gallops in the distance. Iseult’s breath hitched and her heart took up an unsteady rhythm. And then he slowly turned around, and heat climbed up her chest and into her face.

  She stayed near the door and saw one ebony brow arch imperiously. She was reminded in that instance who she was dealing with, and who she had trifled with. She swallowed. ‘I owe you an apology.’

  The brow stayed arched. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

  ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I was—’

  He cut in then, and she could hear the anger vibrating in his voice. ‘Rude? Obnoxious? Behaving like a petulant teenager?’

  Iseult fought to clamp down on a renewed surge of anger and clenched her fists. The Sheikh walked over to sit against the huge desk, crossing his arms over that formidable chest. In her peripheral vision Iseult could see the material of his jeans straining over his powerful thighs, and for a dizzy second she forgot what he’d just said.

  But then she remembered. Her vision cleared, the red mist lifted. She lifted her chin. ‘I’m apologising now for my behaviour. I had no right to treat you with such disrespect.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ He sounded a little surprised, and looked at her assessingly. ‘But I can appreciate that this must be a difficult situation, so I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. For now.’

  His eyes dropped for a moment, in a long sweep down her body. Iseult could feel that clammy sweat break out again. Why did she feel as if he’d undressed her every time he did that?

  ‘After all,’ he drawled, his eyes on hers again, ‘you can’t be more than…what? Eighteen?’

  That red mist hovered close again. Iseult had to will it down and bit out, ‘I’m no child. I’m twenty-three.’

  Nadim had to quell the surge of reaction when he heard how old she was. She was the same age as Sara had been when she’d— He ruthlessly cut off his thoughts there, uncomfortably aware of how different the woman in front of him was from his late wife. He didn’t appreciate being reminded of her now, and it made his voice harsh.

  ‘Clearly a very immature twenty-three-year-old, who can’t abide the thought of no longer being the mistress of the house.’

  Iseult felt hysteria rising. ‘Clearly you’ve not taken a close look at your new property, Sheikh. It’s been a long time since there was a mistress of this house the way you’re implying. Everyone here works day and night to keep the place running. Even Mrs O’Brien hasn’t been paid in months; she’s here out of loyalty and because we provide a roof over her head.’ Her voice took on a bitter edge. ‘But evidently sheer hard work wasn’t enough to bring us through tough times.’

  ‘Or a good horse…’ Nadim said.

  ‘Or a good horse,’ Iseult repeated, unable to hide the weariness in her voice.

  Nadim was taken aback by the sudden jump from passion to defeat. He’d clearly hit a nerve. Taking a closer look for the first time, he could see that Iseult was actually bordering on being painfully thin. And when her face wasn’t flushed with anger, as he’d seen it often enough today, it was pale…too pale. He could see faint purple shadows under her eyes. Something shifted in his chest, and a protective instinct nearly overwhelmed him with its force.

  ‘Is your father still drinking?’ he asked then, so abruptly that Iseult’s face flushed again. Curiously, it made Nadim feel somehow comforted.

  She shook her head fiercely, her eyes flashing a warning. ‘He hasn’t touched a drop in seven years. And he won’t—ever again.’

  Nadim’s mouth quirked, but not with humour. ‘Not even you can guarantee that—and I saw your worried glance earlier, before you saw he was drinking water. How do you know this transition won’t send him off the rails again? After all, isn’t that what precipitated your decline?’

  Iseult wondered dimly how he’d so effortlessly articulated her own innermost worries, how he knew so much, but then had to concede that her father’s drinking problem had been common knowledge within their circles—despite her attempts to hide it and take his workload onto her shoulders.

  Reluctantly she explained, ‘We started to do badly when my grandfather became gravely ill—nearly thirteen years ago. We’d had a run of bad luck…disappointing foals and yearlings. The owners of the horses we were training got nervous after my grandfather died and sent them to other trainers.’
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  Her mouth twisted. ‘We were suddenly unfashionable. And we were up against much more successful studs with infinitely more resources than we had. Not long after my grandfather died my mother passed away, and that was when my father…’

  She didn’t have to finish. She couldn’t finish. In truth, she was a little stunned that she’d just shared what she had. But some instinct had warned her that the Sheikh would dig until he got to the very bottom of their modus operandi and how they’d got to this dismal state of affairs. And if he went through the paperwork it wouldn’t take him long to trace events back to her grandfather’s death, and then her mother’s.

  He was frowning at her now. ‘What happened then? Who did your father bring in to keep this place running?’

  Iseult shook her head, feeling shame mount for the first time in her life at hearing their history articulated so baldly. At knowing that she had failed. ‘No one. We all pulled together. I…’ She faltered, and then hitched her chin again. ‘I helped until my father could get back on his feet again…and since I left school I’ve been working here full-time.’

  There was no expression on the Sheikh’s face, but Iseult could see a muscle pulse in his jaw. ‘Your brothers and sisters?’

  ‘I’ve two brothers and one sister. They’re away in college in Dublin. They helped out when they could.’

  Nadim reeled inwardly. At the mere age of twelve she had taken on that burden, along with school? If what Iseult was saying was true, then she’d more or less single-handedly helped keep the stables afloat. He could tell that she was embarrassed, and he could also tell that she was used to protecting her father. He felt a surge of anger towards that man now, and couldn’t fathom how his perception of this woman before him had changed so much in such a short space of time.

  ‘And Devil’s Kiss? You trained him?’

  Iseult flushed. ‘With my father. We both did.’

  Nadim felt on a more even keel here. ‘How do you know that you haven’t overtrained him? That he isn’t peaking too early?’

  Sheer pride straightened Iseult’s back. ‘Do you think he’s peaking too early? Couldn’t you tell just from riding him today that if anything his winning those races was just a sign of things to come?’

  Her confidence astounded him, but he had to admit grudgingly to himself that he had formed that opinion. ‘You’re very confident.’

  ‘Because I know horses, and I know Devil’s Kiss. He’s not yet shown half his potential. His lineage is pure thoroughbred; his father was Hawk Eye and his dam was Sheila’s Wish, whose line goes back directly to Queen of Tara.’

  Nadim knew Devil’s Kiss’s stellar lineage back to front, and Iseult was right. ‘If what you say is true…you do know what you’re saying?’

  Iseult nodded. ‘He could become something very special.’

  ‘More than special—a world champion.’

  Iseult nodded again, surprised to recognise that he was hearing her and taking her opinion on board. She’d chafed to think that he didn’t rate her training skills. While she knew she had a long way to go, she’d always had the confidence instilled within her from her grandfather to trust her instincts. And she knew she was right when it came to Devil’s Kiss.

  The Sheikh stood from the desk then, and in a skittish move Iseult took a step back—even though feet separated them. She caught his dark look and cursed herself for reacting, hating that he might suspect she was so aware of him. She watched as he walked around the desk and sat down in the high-backed leather chair that had been her grandfather’s.

  He gestured her forward to take the seat on the other side. Too hot inside, and bemused, Iseult couldn’t even feel insulted that he was clearly taking control. When she’d sat down, he flicked a hand over a sheaf of papers on the desk.

  ‘The papers are signed, Iseult. I now own everything.’ His dark look speared her. ‘I now own you.’

  Iseult’s throat dried up. She was reacting to too many things at once. The fact that he’d just called her by her name, with that deep voice and sexy accent making it sound deliciously foreign and sensual, and also—despite her assertion earlier that she wasn’t part of the inventory—the fact she couldn’t refute his claim that he owned her. She was as much a part of this place as the earth of the land and the stones of the house. She’d even been born in her parents’ bedroom upstairs.

  ‘So…?’ she managed to croak out. ‘What…?’

  Nadim looked at the young woman opposite him. He didn’t like to acknowledge how hearing how old she was had seemed to make his awareness of her increase thousandfold within him—as if he’d been denying it to himself when he’d believed her to be out of bounds.

  And she still was. Yet, despite that assertion, he knew what he wanted with stunning clarity—and what he wanted was to keep this woman close, for such myriad reasons that he wasn’t even going to investigate them now. He made a split-second decision.

  ‘A chain of events has been set into motion. This will become my European base. It will need to be built up. As you may already know, I’ve acquired the land adjoining the stud down the road…’

  Iseult nodded in acknowledgement. It had been the first sign of how determined he was to buy them out. He’d been so confident of acquiring their stud that he’d invested in the land around them before they’d even announced the sale. Her anger at his arrogance had surged from that point. But, in fairness, she could see now that it would have been directed at anyone who had stepped in to buy them out…

  ‘I’ve already hired a new manager to come in and take over both facilities—the training grounds and the stud—’

  Iseult gasped, pulled out of her straying thoughts. ‘I thought you were going to allow my father to stay on.’ Anger blurred her vision. For a second there she’d been distracted by this man’s sheer charisma, when all along— ‘If you think that you can come in here like this and just—’

  He surged up from his seat to place both hands on the desk, and towered over Iseult in the chair. ‘Stop talking—right now.’

  Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest, and along with shock at his quick anger Iseult also felt a dangerous thrill at being so close to that vibrant, tightly coiled energy.

  He sat back down and raked a hand through his hair, impatience bouncing off him in waves. ‘You are unbelievably impertinent. No one speaks to me like this—no one. The fact that you are even here, having this conversation with me, is because I recognise the role you have played here. That is all. Believe me, in any other instance you would be lucky to have me acknowledge your existence—never mind conduct a discourse like this.’

  Iseult clamped her mouth shut on the words aching to trip off her tongue at his arrogance. In truth, he was intimidating her more than she cared to admit, and after seeing the evidence of his protective entourage she could well imagine that he wouldn’t normally have cast someone like her a second glance. The thought surprisingly sank like a lead balloon in her belly. ‘Your father is being kept on—exactly as I promised. But in an advisory capacity at first. I will not allow someone to take over the running of this place who has so obviously let it slip between his fingers. And, despite your noble defence of him, I’m not convinced that his weakest traits are behind him.’

  Iseult could feel herself blanch. He meant her father’s drinking. She couldn’t meet the Sheikh’s eyes for long, feeling as if he was looking right into her soul and seeing her own private fears laid bare. Because she wasn’t entirely sure herself how her father would react.

  ‘My newly appointed manager will start here to morrow, early, and I expect you to give him a full rundown of everything. I know you still have some mares. The fact that you have a training facility here at the house is one of your great advantages, making this a fully sufficient stud, which is exactly what I want to expand upon. Then will come the task of acquiring new foals, yearlings, stallions and mares, and slowly building everything from the ground up again…’

  Iseult nodded her head, a tiny spark
of excitement spiking through her to think of them getting an overhaul and breeding once again. ‘I can fill the new manager in when he comes…we’ll have some time, though, won’t we? The autumn yearling sales won’t be starting for a few weeks.’

  Nadim just looked at her, and Iseult felt something unspoken move between them. Instinctively she shivered.

  ‘He will have plenty of time, yes. Along with your father. You, however, will have just the morning to acquaint him with everything you’ve dealt with. Be cause tomorrow early evening you’ll be travelling to Merkazad with Devil’s Kiss.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ISEULT just looked at the Sheikh dumbly. She shook her head faintly. ‘Merkazad? What’s Merkazad? I’ll be needed here.’

  His face tightened ominously, ‘Merkazad is where I live—my country. It’s a small independent sheikhdom in the southern region of Al-Omar. And, yes, you are coming.’

  Fear made her heart stop. ‘But why? Why would you need me to come there? You have a veritable industry in your own country.’

  He arched his brow again. ‘You’ve been checking me out?’

  Iseult flushed, mortified. ‘I just looked you up to see who our new owner was, that’s all.’ Except now all she could think of were those pictures of his glamorous women.

  Nadim couldn’t really believe he was still having this conversation. He told people what he wanted and they obeyed. It was simple and straightforward and had been all his life. But for the first time it wasn’t. And it came in the shape of this redhaired, quick-tempered woman before him, who was still dressed in the clothes she’d worn when riding Devil’s Kiss earlier.

  He looked at her mouth, which was as lusciously full and sensuous as he’d suspected it would be when he’d first seen her, and felt a flash of desire in that moment so strong that he had to clench a fist against his thigh under the desk. He questioned his sanity at insisting she come to his country, but something compelling wouldn’t allow him to backtrack.