His Royal Prize

Should she bow? Curtsy? Heck, her knees were so weak she’d be lucky not to fall on her fanny.

About twelve feet away he stopped, and so did Livy’s heart.

Every fairy tale she’d ever read flitted through her head.

He waved the man behind him forward. “Bring the servant boy to me,” he commanded in lightly accented English.

Livy blinked. Boy? Was Mickey trying to sneak up on her? She shot a look over her shoulder. Not a soul was in sight. Her attention immediately returned to the handsome stranger. He was looking directly at her.

She blinked again. He thought she was a—of all the damn nerve.

“My master summons you.”

She jumped at the gruff, heavily accented voice so close to her ear. Tilting her head back, she peered up into the dark face of the bearded man and scowled. “Your what?”

The man frowned down at her, confusion taking the edge off his barbarous look. He hesitated, glanced at the other man, then said, “You will come.”

She had a good mind to knock the turban off his head just as she’d done to Mickey’s Stetson. Although this contraption would be more of a challenge. And then again, playing along could be a heck of a lot more fun.

She paused a moment longer, pulling her hat rim down lower, while trying not to look at the tall, handsome man waiting for her. Of course his high-and-mighty attitude had taken a bite out of his appeal.

“Come on, Khalid,” she said, in as deep a voice as she could muster. “Let’s go see what this guy wants.”

He was only a few yards away and it was ridiculous to have to walk to him, but she did, leading Khalid in spite of his noisy protests. When Khalid halfheartedly reared, she whispered a few soothing words and he immediately calmed down.

Assured he would behave, she looked quizzically at the stranger, but he had eyes only for Khalid. Incredibly beautiful eyes. So dark blue they almost looked black. But it was the admiration she saw in them that warmed her heart. The man looked at Khalid as if he were the most magnificent horse in the world. Which Khalid was. Next to Prince, of course.

The man lifted his hand, and Livy stroked Khalid’s side, letting him know it was okay to allow the stranger to touch him. The bearded man had immediately stepped several paces back, and while the other man checked Khalid’s teeth, Livy freely studied the strong jut of his jaw, the deep cleft that dented his cleanshaven chin.

He had to be the sheikh. Except he was awfully young. About thirty, she guessed. Maybe he was the sheikh’s son.

Whoever he was, he was gorgeous. Even if he was a snob and didn’t have enough smarts to tell a male from a female.

She slowly glanced down at her worn jeans, the old plaid shirt Mickey had outgrown and passed on to her. It was really too big, but it was free, and with the enormous amount of oats Prince ate, she couldn’t waste money on clothes.

She sighed. Okay, so maybe mistaking her for a boy wasn’t so farfetched. Although she didn’t suppose taking off her ragged hat would help. Not with the last haircut Mickey had given her.

“This animal, he was sired here?”

Animal? Livy bristled. Technically maybe. “Khalid is a fine Arabian colt.”

Her snippy tone briefly drew his attention and she lowered her gaze, letting her hat shield her face as he stared down at her in silence. Finally he asked, “And the other one, the black gelding. How much are these animals?”

Her chin jerked up. “Neither one is for sale.”

Their eyes met and his gaze immediately narrowed. She looked away and focused on stroking Khalid’s neck, her heart pounding. What she said was true. Prince was safe. She wouldn’t sell him for all the money in the world. And although the Desert Rose owners, Randy and Vi Coleman, had no intention of selling Khalid, if this guy was someone important, they might feel obligated to part with the foal.

Livy could barely stand the thought. “I have to take him in now,” she mumbled, and started to turn, tugging on Khalid’s lead.

The bearded man gasped and moved toward them, and she knew she’d made one of those faux pas things Rose had explained to her. But the sheikh guy, his gaze fastened stonily on her, raised a hand, and the other man stopped dead in his tracks.

Mr. High-and-Mighty probably expected her to stop, too. Tough. She led Khalid back into the stables, her heart rate not yet back to normal. Tempted to glance back, she looked straight ahead until they neared his stall. Then out of the corner of her eye, she noticed they had been followed inside. By the head honcho himself. The bearded man was nowhere to be seen.

She was going to ignore him, but when she started to open the gate, he reached out and held it closed.

“In my country, do you know how we handle such insolence from servants?” His voice was deep and close and annoyingly unnerving.

Itching to tell him she didn’t give a hoot, Livy carefully kept her eyes lowered and her mouth clamped shut. No matter what a pain this guy was, he was a guest of the Colemans, and as much as it irked her, she supposed she ought to hold her tongue.

“Do you know who I am, boy? I warn you. Do not ignore me.”

That did it. Livy may have to behave, but Khalid was, after all, just an animal. She whispered something in the horse’s ear and he suddenly threw up his head, catching the man off guard. Before he could recover, Khalid nudged him hard enough that he stumbled forward.

Struggling for balance, he reached out, groping for a pole. And got a handful of Livy’s right breast.

His eyes widened in shock as they met hers, and he curled his fingers, filling his palm more fully, almost in disbelief.

Livy yelped, and shoved him away from her.

His Royal Highness landed on his royal heinie.

Chapter Two

A woman!

Stunned, Sharif propped himself up on one elbow. He should have known, should have sensed somehow that this wisp of a female was not a boy. Without having her soft feminine flesh fill his palm.

He was reminded of her unexpected warmth as he stared up into striking violet eyes. Bewitching eyes that flooded him with wariness.

Laughing eyes.

He straightened, aware suddenly of the undignified way he lay sprawled on the ground. Hay fell from his hair. Mud splattered the front of his shirt, making the fabric cling to his skin.

Sharif sniffed and cursed. There was more than mud ruining the expensive silk.

“If you’re waiting for an apology, you’ll be sitting there for one heck of a long time.” She stuck out her hand, and when he scowled, she shrugged and backed up. “Suit yourself.”

Slowly he started to raise himself. Arms folded across her chest, head cocked slightly to the side, she watched him, looking more amused than alarmed when he finally got to his feet and towered nearly a foot over her.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

She paused with a considering expression, then shrugged. “Not exactly.” At her indifference, his anger grew. “Want me to call your flunky?”

He frowned at the unfamiliar word.

“Your servant?” Her eyes widened in innocence, mocked by her tone. “Or can you handle this by yourself?”

The violet color was extraordinary, but her mouth was tarter than a lemon. He wondered what shade her hair was, all tucked under that hat. Wisps of light brown stuck out here and there, and an occasional blond strand. He could order her to remove the ugly tan hat. He doubted she would obey.