Susan Stephens - His Forbidden Diamond

‘Well, I mustn’t take up all your time.’

Realising he’d been ignoring the old lady, he quickly turned to her. ‘You must once more forgive me. I was distracted.’

‘By Princess Jasmina?’ The old lady smiled up at him. ‘I’m not surprised.’

He shrugged with amusement at being caught out. These were good people, all keen to welcome him back, and he should show them more respect. He would. Tonight would go smoothly from now on, if he just could stick to one simple rule: Jazz Kareshi was off-limits.

But within moments a group had formed around him and all they wanted to talk about were his exotic friends from Kareshi. One of the women pointed to Sharif, who even Tyr had to admit looked striking in his flowing robes.

‘The sheikh is exactly what I think of when I imagine a desert warrior,’ she enthused. ‘Tell me, Tyr,’ she added with a smile, ‘did they hand out handsome pills at your school?’

‘No. Cold showers and the birch,’ he murmured distractedly, wondering what the crowd of young women around Jazz could have said to make her face light up. Leaving the women around him still exclaiming with outrage on his behalf at his comments about his old school, he made his way towards her. There was only one woman in this room who held his attention and only one woman in the world who could provoke any sort of response in him. He’d clamped down on feelings in order to survive, and had thought he’d lost the knack of feeling anything, until tonight.

Britt was in the same group as Jazz, and smiled as he walked up to them. Sharif’s hooded stare followed him across the crowded room. He glanced back to reassure his friend, and to tell him at the same time that they might be as close as brothers, but no one told Tyr how to live his life. But could he risk infecting a bright spirit like Jazz with his darkness? Hadn’t Jazz heaped enough pain on herself without him interfering? Freedom was a gift he had always taken for granted, but Jazz was a glaring example that life wasn’t always so straightforward. Jazz’s boundaries hadn’t expanded. When she grew up they had shrunk.

There was another quick look from Jazz that took him right back to the tricks they used to play on each other when they were younger: burrs beneath the saddle, itching powder in their riding boots. Innocent times before the shadows crept in. He’d have a short, polite conversation with her and then move on, he decided. What could be more innocent than that? He’d ask her about the riding stables. Britt had told him how much Jazz enjoyed working there. He wouldn’t make a single comment about the remote racing stable being yet another way for Jazz to shut herself off from the world. And he certainly wouldn’t tell her about the arousal that lanced through him each time their glances met and held. They were good friends. They would remain good friends. They had always been able to ease their way back into an easy friendship, even after months apart.

That was then and this is now, and now everything has changed.

True, the past could not be recaptured, and the future was not his to command, but seizing the moment was his particular skill and this chance to talk to Jazz was up for grabs.

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