could sense that Tyr was a highly sexed hunter in the prime of his life, while she was a virgin who knew nothing about sex, except in theory. And what she’d heard was hardly enticing—except when Eva got started, but then Eva had always liked to shock, so it was never possible to be sure if what Eva said was absolutely true.
‘You can take your safety belt off now, Princess Jasmina.’
The pilot’s voice sounded shrill and metallic in her headphones as he switched off the engine, and she bit back a smile at the thought of how lucky she was that he couldn’t read her thoughts. She’d keep her safety belt well and truly fastened until the day she got married, thank you very much.
* * *
Tyr was coated in sand from head to foot after trekking for hours over rugged terrain. There had been a shift in the pattern of the sand dunes since the last storm, meaning the four-wheel drive couldn’t take him any closer to the village. He’d radioed to make sure the vehicle could be collected before the next storm closed in, and then he set out on foot. It was a relief to know Jazz was half a world away with this bad storm closing in.
Pausing to shift his backpack into a more comfortable position, he thought back to his schooldays, when Sharif had taken pity on him during the holidays because Tyr had three sisters. But when Tyr had arrived in the desert he had discovered that his troubles had only just begun, because Sharif’s one sister had been more aggravation than his three put together. At first he’d thought it would be an easy matter to shake Jazz off when she tagged along, but they hadn’t had a horse fast enough to get away from her. They’d devised all sorts of cunning plans, but Jazz had always outrun them. They’d be relaxing beside the oasis while their horses drank their fill when she’d appear round a palm tree to taunt them, until finally they gave in, and their exclusive gang of two became three.
Cresting the dune overlooking Wadi village, he stared down as if he expected to see Jazz waiting for him. Of course she wasn’t there. She was in Milan, pretending to be a fashionista. And even if she had been waiting for him, they could never recapture those innocent days. Time had changed them both too much for that. Squinting his eyes against the low-lying rays of a dying sun, he set out on the last leg of his journey.
* * *
Had she ever been so happy to tug on riding gear?
Nope, Jazz concluded, not even bothering to check her appearance in the mirror. The sun was up and the grey light of dawn was slowly giving way to a warm buttery glow. It promised to be a fabulous day for riding, if she got out before the sun rose too high, turning everything from comfortably warm into the fiery pit of hell. With her hair tied neatly back, and her close-fitting breeches covered by one of the long, concealing shirts she wore for riding, she only had to pick up her hard hat at the door and she was ready to trial her new stallion. Spear was said to be impossible to ride. She’d see about that. Kindness combined with firmness always won the day with a difficult stallion, and Spear was such a beautiful beast.
Now, why should Tyr Skavanga flash into her mind?
Where beautiful beasts were concerned, Tyr was a prime example, that was why.
Maybe she’d catch sight of Tyr if she rode by Wadi village.
She was a princess with responsibilities—she had to remember that.
Okay, so she wouldn’t go that way, not unless the wind blew from the east, in which case she didn’t want the sand in her face, and so then she would have no option but to turn in the direction of Wadi village.
Leaving her bedroom, Jazz raced down the stairs and minutes later she was in the stable yard. Crossing to the half-open door, she whispered to Spear and caressed his ears, for which she received a whinnying reply and a good nuzzle as the horse set about searching her pockets for mints. Resting her cheek against his warm, firm muscular neck, she revelled in the stallion’s tightly contained strength, and her thoughts flew back to Tyr. What was he doing now? Would he be thinking about her?
Don’t be ridiculous!
But there was a chance Tyr might be preparing to ride out. Dawn and dusk had always been his favourite times to ride too, because dawn was so beautifully still and silent, while dusk was cool.
Talking quietly to her horse, Jazz led her magnificent stallion into the yard. ‘You are a bad boy,’ Jazz breathed as the stallion threw back his head, resisting her attempts to calm him, ‘but you’re very handsome,’ she soothed as she sprang lightly into the saddle. The stallion was impatient for his morning run and skittered sideways until she brought him back under control. Shifting her weight, she coaxed him forward at a controlled canter, rather than the flat-out gallop Spear was aiming for.
Having passed beneath the stone archway that divided the safe, controlled environment of Sharif’s racing stables from the desert beyond, they entered the wild, unpredictable frontier, as Jazz always thought of her desert home, and, drawing in a deep breath of joyful anticipation, she lightened her grip and gave Spear his head.
The wind ripped her veil off as she galloped across the dunes. She was at one with the powerful beast as he surged forward, and that was the best sensation in the world. Spear had exceeded all her expectations and anyone who said she couldn’t ride him because he was too strong for her was so wrong. She could do anything if she put her mind to it, and Spear was perfection. It was just a pity about the wind. Blowing from the east, it gave her only one option, which was to head in the direction of Wadi village.
She decided to take a short cut. It was a riskier route than going round the dunes, but much quicker. The climb up the final dune was the most testing, but when she reached the top she could see the oasis where she had used to swim with Tyr, and Wadi village, spread out like a twinkling toy city in front of her.
* * *
The cold water of the oasis hitting his heated skin was a pleasure Tyr had anticipated since the moment he woke up. There was nowhere else on earth like this; nowhere that assaulted his senses quite so comprehensively with such contrasts of hot and cold, shade and light, and sheer vastness. Everything was extreme in the desert. That was why he liked it. There were no grey areas. There was just constant challenge and danger. Easing his shoulders, he prepared to dive in.
And was stopped by a shriek.
Swinging round, he saw the stallion’s legs buckle beneath it as it started the long slide down the dune. It was a relief to see the rider instinctively kick away the stirrups and leap off its back to avoid being crushed beneath half a ton of horse. Recognising the rider, he grabbed a towel and began to run.
‘Jazz!’
He powered up the bank of the oasis. The next few seconds passed in a disorientating blur of sand and spinning horse as Jazz and her stallion rocketed down the slope. He jumped clear as the horse skidded past him with its legs pounding uselessly at the air. Jazz took a little longer to arrive, before landing at his feet in an untidy sprawl. Hunkering down, he made a quick assessment. She was winded. She was shocked. She couldn’t speak. Apart from that, her colour was good and she was breathing, always a plus.
‘Tyr?’
Letting go of her hand, he sat back on his heels.
‘My horse?’ she gasped out.
‘Unharmed.’ He glanced at the banks of the oasis, where he could see Jazz’s horse sucking in water. ‘Are you okay?’ He sounded gruff and guessed he was probably more shocked than Jazz. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be swanning around in Italy,
