Kasey Michaels - His Innocent Temptress

“Ibrahim’s favorite,” Zakariyya whispered. “I remember. And the boys? Are they there?”

Azzam nodded, unable to speak. “Abdul-Rahim is convinced Coleman’s three sons are Ibrahim’s. Grown men now, all three, and one of them promised to a daughter of Balahar. Your daughter Serena, Zakariyya.”

Zakariyya was quiet for some moments. “You will contact this Coleman?” he asked at last. “Ibrahim’s widow is his sister.”

Azzam nodded. “It will be done in good time, but not yet. I want to do more than simply tell him his sister may be alive, in an asylum somewhere in Europe. Unfortunately, I know not where as yet, but I will. It is my duty to find her, and pray that she is saner than my poor, misguided Layla, who now suffers the fate she wished upon Queen Rose.”

“And if Coleman’s sons are really the heirs of Ibrahim, and the true heirs to the throne of Sorajhee? What then, my old friend?”

Azzam’s expression was bleak. “As it has always been for the Jeved of Sorajhee, as it has been for the Al Farid of Balahar. It will be as my people will. This I promise you, Zakariyya. If the people wish it, I will step aside. There has already been too much pain.”

SHORTLY AFTER DAWN, Alex made his way to the stables to look in on Khalahari and the foal, Khalid. He stood just outside the last stall in the stable that held more than fifty splendid Arabians, and marveled at the sight of Jabbar’s son.

The foal finished feeding, then shook his head and looked straight at Alex. The small animal’s head lifted proudly before it turned away, disdainful of the interruption by a mere man.

“Oh, you’re a prince, all right,” Alex said, grinning. “But learn who is the master here, Khalid. Although I suppose you already have decided that, haven’t you?”

“Morning, Alex,” Mac said, walking toward him down the length of the stables. “I’ve come to see the new stud. Cade told me he’s a beaut.”

Alex turned to look at his brother. Cade’s mirror image. How changed they both were from the small, whimpering, motherless babies that had traveled with him to Boston, to their new lives. The softness of their mother was still in their faces, a gentleness of feature that might be discernible only to Alex, but there just the same, always filling his heart with memories of the woman who had loved them all enough to leave them.

The twins were thirty-one now, the same age their father had been when he’d been cut down, assassinated by some madman who believed bloodshed was the way to peace. While Cade was a major force in the running of the Coleman businesses, Mac had proved himself to be a gifted trainer. It was Mac who trained the boarder horses for the ring, as well as some of The Desert Rose’s own bloodline.

Cade was the playboy, Mac the relentless worker. Cade was a brilliant businessman beneath his banter, and Mac could care less about the business. To him, life was his horses and The Desert Rose. Especially now that he had been unlucky—damned unlucky—in love, and had all but given up on women. Horses he could trust, or so he said.

“May I take a closer look?” Mac asked, already opening the door to the stall and stepping inside. “Ah, Alex, he’s magnificent!” Mac bent down, eye to eye with Khalid, and the foal allowed his attentions, even seemed to welcome them. There wasn’t a horse in the world who didn’t, not when Mac was the man who approached.

Alex smiled at his brother as he leaned on the low door and watched Khalid and Mac bond.

Uncle Randy and Aunt Vi had done a splendid job in raising the sons of Ibrahim Bin Habib El Jeved, for Alex wasn’t so dedicated to his brothers that he believed he had done so well all on his own. He was only a little over a year older than Mac and Cade, but he was still the older brother. He had been given a mission by his mother, and he had always taken his responsibility seriously. Even now, with the twins grown, Alex felt responsible for them, as he had always taken on the role of big brother for Randy and Vi’s daughter, Jessica. Sometimes he thought he felt responsible for the whole world.

That thought brought him back to Hannah Clark, and the mind-blowing request she had made of him last night. He did feel some responsibility for Hannah’s self-conscious demeanor, her shy and awkward bumbling and stumbling. After all, she’d been at The Desert Rose weekly with her father, and if Alex had not joined in the lighthearted but—he saw now—painful teasing his brothers had indulged in, he certainly had done nothing to stop it.

He’d never looked beyond the nervous smile or the pratfalls, the stumbles, the awkward child who sometimes seemed to have her legs on backwards, and her tongue in a knot. He’d never considered her as a person, another motherless child like himself, but without the love of someone like Aunt Vi. A boy needed his mother, certainly. But a girl without a mother, and with a bombastic, sarcastic, hardheaded and bitter man like Hugo Clark for a father needed one most of all.

Could Alex absolve himself from all blame for the way Hannah Clark had turned out? He certainly hadn’t helped her, not in all the years she’d hung around the fringes of The Desert Rose, watching and hoping and either teased or ignored.

Now she’d done him a favor and asked a favor in return. She didn’t see that she had grown into a competent veterinarian, a woman who didn’t mumble or falter or feel insecure when it came to helping a distressed mare in real danger.

Hannah had been competent and assured the entire time she’d dealt with Khalahari, only reverting to type after the job was done, the mare and foal safe. There was a part of Hannah Clark that had grown, matured. Triumphed.

But she didn’t see that, obviously, and Alex highly doubted that she had heard a single word of praise from Hugo.

And yet she’d come back to Bridle, come back to her father. He was getting older, she’d said, and she’d come back to help him, be the dutiful daughter. Why was it that so often the most undeserving parents were gifted with the most loyal love? Was the need for a parent’s love, a parent’s acceptance, that strong?

Probably, or else Hannah would have been long gone, never returning after getting her degrees, which she’d instead carried home to Hugo who, if Alex read the man correctly, never uttered a word of praise for her accomplishment.

That wasn’t Alex’s fault, damn it, and he knew it. And yet…and yet he felt this responsibility, this need to help Hannah realize who she was, how wonderful she was all by herself.

Wonderful? Alex shook his head, wondering where that word had come from. Yes, he’d been impressed with Hannah the vet, definitely. But he had also been impressed with her conversation, the flashes of wit and humor that she tried to hide. And he’d been just about blown away by that damn top button on her blouse, spending at least half the night wondering what would happen if he reached across the table and undid it.

“Alex?” Mac said as Alex stepped back, allowing Mac to exit the stall. “Cade told me you took Hannah Clark to dinner last night.”

“To thank her for saving Khalahari and Khalid, yes,” Alex said, turning with his brother and walking back down the length of the stables.

“I don’t think I’ve seen her since she got back from veterinary school. How is she?” Mac asked, stopping at the door to the stables and looking out at another cold, damp morning. “Still the klutz? Good old Hannah Slip-on-a-banana.”

“She’s twenty-eight and a damn good vet, Mac,” Alex said angrily. “I think we can safely retire that old joke now.”

“Hey, hey! Calm down, brother. I didn’t mean anything by it. What happened? Did the clumsy duckling turn into a graceful swan?”