“No. My father was killed working construction when I was twelve. My mother died of the flu when I was twenty-one.”
Sympathy for him moved within her, twining with the excitement she felt at his nearness. Kajar tossed his head. She turned to the gelding, reaching up to stroke his elegant face, settling him. And then she said to Noah, “That is too sad.”
“It is what it is.”
She faced the groom fully again. “It must have been horrible for you.”
“I learned to depend on myself.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“A younger sister. Lucy is twenty-three.”
She wanted to ask his age—but somehow that seemed such an intimate question. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He had to be at least thirty. “What brings you to Montedoro?”
He seemed faintly amused. “You’re full of questions, Your Highness.”
She answered honestly. “It’s true. I’m being very nosy.” And it’s time for me to go. But she didn’t go. She kept right on being as nosy as before. “How long have you been here, in my country?”
“Not long at all.”
“Do you plan to stay on?”
“That depends....”
“On?”
He didn’t answer, only held her gaze.
She felt the loveliest, most effervescent sensation. Like champagne sliding, cool and fizzy, down her throat. “You love horses.”
“Yes, I do. And you’re wondering how a guy from East L.A. learned to handle horses....”
Tell him that you really do have to go. “I have been wondering exactly that.”
“When I was eighteen, I went to work for a man who owned a horse ranch in the Santa Monica Mountains. He taught me a lot. And I learned fast. He kept warm bloods. Hanoverians and Morgans, mostly.”
“Excellent breeds.” She nodded in approval. “Strong, steady and handsome. Not nearly so testy and sensitive as an Akhal-Teke.” All her horses were Tekes. Akhal-Tekes were called the “heavenly horses,” the oldest breed on earth. Originating in the rugged deserts of Turkmenistan and northern Iran, the Teke was swift and temperamental and very tough. Both Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great chose Akhal-Tekes to carry them into battle.
“There is nothing like an Akhal-Teke,” he said. “I hope to own one someday.”
“An admirable goal.”
He chuckled and the sound seemed to slide like a sweet caress across her skin. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I’ll never be able to afford one?”
“That would be rude. And besides, you seem a very determined sort of person. I would imagine that if you want something strongly enough, you’ll find a way to have it.” He said nothing, only regarded her steadily through those beautiful eyes. She was struck with the sense that there was much more going on here than she understood. “What is it?” she asked finally, when the silence had stretched thin.
“I am determined.”
She found herself staring at his mouth. The shape of it—the slight bow of his top lip, the fullness below—was so intriguing. She wondered what it might feel like, that mouth of his touching hers. It would be so very easy to step in close, go on tiptoe and claim a kiss....
Stop. No. Wrong. Exactly the sort of foolish, bold, unprincess-like behavior she was supposed to be avoiding at all costs.
“I...” She was still staring at his lips.
“Yeah?” He moved an inch closer.
She clutched the reins tighter. “...really must be on my way.”
He instantly stepped back and she wished that he hadn’t—which was not only contrary but completely unacceptable. “Ride safe, ma’am.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Then she clucked her tongue at Kajar and turned for the wide-open stable door.
* * *
Once again he was gone when she returned from her ride. That day, she worked with a couple of the yearlings and put one of the show jumpers through his paces. Later she went home to shower and change.
In the afternoon, she met with the planning committee for next year’s Grand Champions Tour. Montedoro would host the sixth leg of the tour down at the harbor show grounds in June. Through the endless meeting, she tried very hard not to think of blue eyes, not to remember the deep, stirring sound of a certain voice.
That night, alone in her bed, she dreamed she went riding with Noah. She was on Yasmine and he rode the bay stallion Orion. They stopped in a meadow of wildflowers and talked, though when she woke she couldn’t remember a thing they had said.
It was a very tame dream. Not once did they touch, and there was none of the heated tension she had felt when she’d actually been near him. In the dream they laughed together. They were like longtime companions who knew each other well.
She woke Friday morning as usual, long before dawn, feeling edgy and dissatisfied, her mind on the American.
Why? She hardly knew this man. She didn’t know him. She’d seen him twice and shared one brief conversation with him. He should not have affected her so profoundly.
Then again, there was probably nothing profound about it. He was hot and mysterious, untamed and somehow slightly dangerous. He called to her wild side. She found him madly attractive.
Plus, well, maybe she’d been keeping too much to herself. She wanted to avoid getting wild in the streets, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a life. She’d been sticking too close to home. This obsession with Noah was clear proof that she needed to get out more.
And she would get out, starting that very evening with a gala party at the palace, a celebration of her sister Rhiannon’s recent marriage to Commandant Marcus Desmarais. It would be lovely. She would enjoy herself. She would dance all night.
She rose and dressed and went to the stables, expecting to see Noah again, unsure whether she wanted to see him—or wished that he wouldn’t be there.
He wasn’t there.
And her uncertainty vanished. She did want to see him, to hear his voice again, to find out if her response to him was as strong as it had seemed yesterday. As she tacked up the black mare Prizma, she was alert every moment for the telltale sound of someone entering the stables behind her. But no one came.
She went for her ride, returning to find that he still wasn’t there. She almost asked Gilbert about him.
But she felt too foolish and confused—which wasn’t like her at all. She was a confident person, always had been. She spoke her mind and had few fears. Yes, she was making a definite effort not to get into situations that might attract the attention of the tabloids and embarrass her family. But that didn’t mean she was all tied up in emotional knots. She liked to live expansively, to take chances, to have fun.
She was no shy little virgin afraid to ask a few questions about a man who interested her.
The problem was...
Wait a minute. There was no problem. She’d met a man and found him attractive. She might or might not see him again. If she ever did get something going with him, well, it could be a bit awkward. She was a princess of Montedoro and he was a penniless American from a place called East Los Angeles.
They didn’t exactly have a whole lot in common.
Except that they did. She was half American after all. And they both loved horses. And she had so enjoyed talking with him. Plus,