‘And did you like it?’ he demanded.
‘Not particularly, Highness, no.’
‘Those in the west are addicted to it,’ Kaliq observed wryly. ‘And allow the cameras to take many liberties with their lives. These women in the makeover programmes allow other women to poke their naked flesh and tell them what to wear.’
Despite her disapproval that the sheikh should have been watching such a programme, Eleni couldn’t help herself. ‘Please,’ she protested. ‘You must not joke with me, Highness!’
‘But I do not joke.’ A mocking smile curved at his lips but the chauvinist within him silently applauded her entirely predictable reaction and the fact that she made no attempt to hide her rather prudish disapproval. How rare it was to find an unsophisticated woman—particularly for a man who moved within such rarefied social circles and globe-trotted as often as Kaliq did. He had only recently returned from Argentina—where he had been playing hard and fast on the polo field.
Afterwards, he had flown on to Rio where he had played even harder in the arms of a lover who was always exclusively available for him whenever he wanted her to be. And sometimes it was easier to take up with a woman you already knew than have to go through the mind-numbing motions of getting to know someone new.
The lady in question had possessed a dynamite body which she had delighted in flaunting. He found himself remembering her spectacular breasts, shown off in all their glory by the side of a swimming pool—and the pert thrust of her buttocks barely concealed by a shiny scarlet thong.
But although Kaliq was as appreciative of beauty and sexuality as the next man—wasn’t there something deliciously refreshing about this young woman’s genuine shock and outrage? His eyes flicked over her pink cheeks and pale green eyes. As well as something deliciously pleasing. His brows narrowed into a thoughtful look. What would she be like in his bed? he wondered idly. Would she be outraged at some of the things he would like to do to her—or would she embrace them with as much skill as she showed in the saddle?
He patted the cushions beside him. ‘Come. Sit. You will eat.’
‘Eat? You mean, here?’ Eleni swallowed. ‘With you?’
‘But of course.’ He glimmered her a smile. ‘We must discuss my plans for the horses and there is no reason why we should not do so in comfort.’
‘But—’
‘Please do not argue with me,’ he drawled, though his tone was emphatic. ‘The first time you express a doubt I might find it tolerable—but repeat it and it will quickly become tedious. Do you understand?’
Oh, she understood, all right. Spoilt, jaded sheikh used to getting his own way at all times! But Eleni kept her face impassive as she nodded. ‘Yes, Highness.’
His black eyes were glittering like jet as he pointed at the cushions and, although Eleni felt as if her limbs had been turned into marble, somehow she managed to walk over and sit down beside him. For what choice did she have when the sheikh had commanded it? Tell him that she’d rather be eating with the other servants in the kitchen as she had last night? That no morsel of food would ever be able to pass her lips in his daunting presence?
As if on cue, servant after servant began to noiselessly appear, carrying plates of exquisite food—some of which Eleni had never seen before, let alone tasted. Alongside the usual meat curry there was rare fish from the waters of the Kordela river, and jewel-bright fruits laid out on gleaming platters of pure gold. There were nuts and sweets, too—of such a variety that were usually only seen on feast days and holidays.
But more disturbing still than the sight of such a lavish feast was the prince’s proximity. Eleni could almost feel the warmth of his body beside her and was appalled by the way it made her heart race with a strange kind of excitement. She did not know what to do, or where to look. For if she cast her eyes downwards as was correct—then might he not once again remonstrate with her? And yet she could not bear to look directly into that forbiddingly aristocratic face—for fear that she would never be able to tear her gaze away from its dark beauty.
‘Eleni.’
He had even remembered her name!
She looked directly into the ebony eyes, her heart giving that terrible little wrench again. ‘Yes, Highness.’
‘Come, come—you must be hungry. Stop staring into space and eat something,’ he said softly. ‘For you have had a long day in the stables.’
She couldn’t possibly tell him that she had never felt less like eating in her life, could she? Might that not be seen as an insult to his hospitality? And anyway, not a morsel had yet passed his lips, though he was looking at her expectantly.
‘But a man must always eat first and take his fill before a woman,’ she protested as she tried and failed to imagine her father letting her have first choice of any food.
Kaliq frowned. And that, he realised—with a start—was the downside of inequality. He had never considered it before and for the first time in his life he saw that his late stepmother’s fight to end sexual discrimination in Calista might not have been a bad thing. ‘Eat,’ he said softly. ‘For your sheikh commands it.’
And didn’t everyone know that a sheikh’s wishes must be met? Self-consciously picking up a piece of fish, Eleni wrapped it in an edible leaf and began to eat and suddenly all her doubts and fears melted away in the wake of such a delicious explosion of tastes and flavours in her mouth. The sheikh had been right—she had ridden and worked since sunrise with nothing more than a handful of fruit in her belly. And this was like the food of the gods.
‘It’s good?’ he questioned, almost indulgently.
‘It’s… it’s wonderful.’
He watched while she ate, his eyes drawn to her with a rare fascination—thinking that everything she did was with a certain kind of grace.
But he was not employing her for her grace.
He was employing her for her prowess with horses—but now Kaliq could see for himself that Eleni had other very commendable attributes, too. And surely it would be a crime not to avail himself of them? As the silvery silk rippled over her firm, young arm, he felt the first soft beat of anticipation.
Forcing himself to wait until she had finished eating, he clapped his hands and the dishes were removed—and then he dismissed the last of the guards and other servants who always lingered in the darkened alcoves in case he wished for something on a whim.
‘Now,’ said Kaliq softly.
Eleni’s senses were alerted—but to what she knew not. Almost without meaning to, she shrank back slightly against the silken mound of cushions, stared up into the harsh yet beautiful face with its cruel curve of a nose and glittering black eyes.
‘You wish to discuss horse welfare?’ she questioned nervously.
Kaliq almost laughed—but he knew that laughter had no place in the bedchamber. Horse welfare was the very last thing on his mind right now! So was she being prim, or merely cowed by his royal presence? He leaned towards her, seeing her green eyes darken. ‘How old are you?’ he questioned softly.
‘Tw-twenty-five.’
Older than he had thought! ‘Ah, that is good,’ he purred as he lifted one of the braids of hair and rubbed his fingers experimentally over the thick, silken rope. ‘Yet heading towards thirty and you’ve never had a husband?’
‘Why, no, Highness.’
‘Never wanted one?’
Eleni clamped her lips together. These were very personal and rather hurtful questions for her ruler to be asking—though she suspected that he wasn’t really interested. She doubted whether he wanted to hear that the young men who had attempted to woo her had either been oafish, or had been