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His Christmas Conquest: The Sheikh's Christmas Conquest / A Christmas Vow of Seduction / Claiming His Christmas Consequence
Maisey Yates
Michelle Smart
Sharon Kendrick
Claimed for Christmas!The snow is falling, the fire is roaring, the mince pies are in the oven when Olivia Miller finds a handsome man on her doorstep… Sheikh Saladin Al Mekta-la, is here to whisk her off to his kingdom for the perfect Christmas.*With one band of gold Prince Andres of Petras can erase all of his past sins. But his prospective bride is untameable Princess Zara. So the plaboy prince must seduce her her by Christmas!*Catalina’s stolen Christmas night of irresistible passion with billionaire Natha-nial changed her life forever. Now, she is determined to protect the small life growing within her. Even if she has to defy the husband she so desperately craves!


About the Authors (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…
MAISEY YATES is a USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online, and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: www.maiseyyates.com (http://www.maiseyyates.com).
MICHELLE SMART’S love affair with books started when she was a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading (and writing) them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, with her husband and two young Smarties.
His Christmas Conquest
The Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest
Sharon Kendrick
A Christmas Vow of Seduction
Maisey Yates
Claiming His Christmas Consequence
Michelle Smart


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08527-4
HIS CHRISTMAS CONQUEST
The Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest © 2015 Sharon Kendrick A Christmas Vow of Seduction © 2015 Maisey Yates Claiming His Christmas Consequence © 2016 Michelle Smart
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u6b1ecadc-3b5f-5219-b800-46755308585e)
About the Authors (#ua8bbc14b-07f3-5ee8-9fbc-8ac48a41959b)
Title Page (#ub5736e5a-a133-5540-a6da-3bbada5b6d9c)
Copyright (#uaba5fa95-af7e-5f54-ba5c-2614f870ad15)
The Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest (#u1f5ed592-d7f1-5bf2-8578-26e262bcdfa5)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#u7154b6aa-f499-5bee-b266-6f2b6b67c9a5)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc4a9edb6-f8d8-572c-a461-53db2dce7693)
CHAPTER TWO (#u60262190-dd20-591f-b397-5b5c8f0db2f3)
CHAPTER THREE (#u139b8db6-c042-5392-a5ca-bc340922307a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u441be415-11dc-523c-83a5-3ac8632d3090)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ua73f7378-2f7f-5284-a03b-fed43bc6cddf)
CHAPTER SIX (#ud16a9b67-bd5a-5eac-94db-374c0afb6864)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u0108c785-b64b-5357-b851-855b70ce0acf)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#u7bd753d1-5c95-5d30-a22c-b36ec5d73448)
CHAPTER NINE (#ua0f322c2-26fa-5453-9932-c20a2eb490cc)
CHAPTER TEN (#uad46cdd6-c52d-5547-879e-fb6c4775f531)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#u359791d2-1a94-5579-a700-ab06598553ff)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
A Christmas Vow of Seduction (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Claiming His Christmas Consequence (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
The Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
Sharon Kendrick
Summoned by the sheikh!
Sheikh Saladin Al Mektala isn’t used to being disobeyed. Incomprehensibly, the woman he summoned to help his favorite mare—the best horse “whisperer” in the world—turned his generous offer down! So he takes matters into his own hands.
The snow is falling, the fire is roaring and the mince pies are in the oven when innocent Olivia Miller finds a darkly handsome and physically compelling man on her doorstep… The sheikh she dared to refuse is here to whisk her off to his kingdom—and this time he won’t take no for an answer!
A passionate read for Christmas nights!
To the amazing Anni MacDonald-Hall – who
taught me SO MUCH about horses. Sheikh
Saladin Al Mektala is very grateful for her
expertise
CHAPTER ONE (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
LIVVY WAS HANGING mistletoe when the doorbell rang. Expensive, mocking mistletoe tied with ribbon the colour of blood. The sudden sound startled her because the heavy snow had made the world silent and she wasn’t expecting anyone until Christmas Eve.
Go away, whoever you are, she thought as several white berries bounced onto the floor like miniature ping-pong balls. But the doorbell rang again—for much longer this time—because whoever was outside had decided to jam their thumb against the buzzer.
Livvy wished the unwanted caller would vanish, because there was still so much to do before the guests arrived, and the snowfall meant that Stella, her part-time help, hadn’t turned up. But you couldn’t run a successful business and behave like a prima donna—even if it was only four days before Christmas and you didn’t have any room vacancies. She climbed down the ladder with a feeling of irritation that died the instant she opened the door.
She was unprepared for the man who stood on her doorstep. A stranger, yet not quite a stranger—although it took a moment for her to place him. He was famous in the horse-racing world she’d once inhabited. Some might say infamous. He was certainly unforgettable with eyes like gleaming jet and rich olive skin that showcased his hawklike features. His hard body spoke of exercise and discipline, and he was the kind of man who would make you take a second glance and then maybe a third.
But it wasn’t just his appearance or his undeniable charisma that made Livvy blink her eyes in disbelief—it was his lofty status. Because it wasn’t just any man who stood there surveying her so unsmilingly—it was Saladin Al Mektala, the king of Jazratan. A real-life desert sheikh standing on her doorstep.
She wondered if there was some sort of protocol for greeting one of the world’s wealthiest men, especially when they also happened to be royal. Once upon a time she might have been intimidated by his reputation and his presence—but not anymore. She’d had to do a lot of growing up these past few years and her experiences had made her strong. These days she lived an independent life she was proud of—even if currently it felt as if she was clinging on to that independence by her fingernails.
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you,’ she said, tipping her head to one side, ‘that it’s polite to wait for someone to answer the first ring, rather than deafening them with a repeated summons?’
Saladin raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his surprise at her feisty response. It was an untraditional greeting to receive, even here in England where the demands of protocol were less rigid than in his homeland. But even so. His royal presence was usually enough to guarantee total deference, and although he sometimes complained to his advisors that people were never normal around him, he missed deference when it wasn’t there.
He narrowed his eyes and studied her. ‘Do you know who I am?’
She laughed. She actually laughed—her shiny ponytail swaying from side to side, like the tail of a chestnut horse.
‘I thought that was the kind of question B-list celebrities asked when they were trying to get into the latest seedy nightclub,’ she said.
Saladin felt a flicker of annoyance and something else. Something that was a little harder to define. He had been warned that she was difficult. That she could be prickly and stubborn—but these were qualities that were usually melted away by the sheer force of his personality and his position in society. And, not to put too fine a point on it, by his impact on the opposite sex, who usually melted like ice in the desert whenever he was around. His instinct was to bite back a withering response to put her in her place, but Livvy Miller had something he badly wanted so that he was forced to adopt a reasonable tone, something that didn’t come easily to him. ‘It was a genuine question,’ he said. ‘I am Saladin Al Mektala.’
‘I know who you are.’
‘And my office have been trying to contact you.’ He paused. ‘Repeatedly.’
She smiled, but Saladin noted that the smile did not reach her eyes.
‘I know that, too,’ she said. ‘In fact, they’ve been bombarding me with emails and phone calls for the past week. I’ve barely been able to switch on my computer without a new message from palace@jazratan.com pinging into my inbox.’
‘Yet you chose to ignore them?’
‘That is my prerogative, surely?’ She leaned on the doorjamb, her unusual eyes shaded by their forest of lashes. ‘I gave them the same answer every time. I told them I wasn’t interested. If they were unable to accept that, then surely the fault lies with them. My position hasn’t changed.’
Saladin could barely disguise his growing irritation. ‘But you don’t know what it is they were asking of you.’
‘Something to do with a horse. And that was enough for me.’
She drew herself up to her full height but he still towered over her. He found himself thinking that he could probably lift her up with one hand. When he’d heard about her ability to soothe huge and very temperamental horses, he’d never imagined she could be so...petite.
‘Because I don’t have anything to do with horses anymore,’ she finished gravely.
Dragging his gaze from her slender frame to eyes that were the colour of honey, he fixed her with a questioning look. ‘Why not?’
She gave a little clicking sound of irritation, but not before he had seen something dark in her eyes. A flash of something uncomfortable that he stored away for future reference.
‘That’s really none of your business,’ she said, tilting her chin in a gesture of defiance. ‘I don’t have to offer any kind of explanation for my decisions, particularly to people who turn up unannounced on my doorstep at one of the busiest times of the year.’
Saladin felt the first flicker of heat. And of challenge. He was not used to resistance, or defiance. In his world, whatever he wanted was his. A click of his fingers or a cool glance was usually enough to guarantee him whatever he desired. Certainly, this kind of opposition was largely unknown to him, and certainly when it came from a woman, because women enjoyed submitting to his will—not opposing it. His response was one of renewed determination, which was quickly followed by the first sweet shimmer of sexual arousal and that surprised him. Because although Olivia Miller was reputed to have a magical touch when it came to horses, she certainly hadn’t applied the same fairy dust to her appearance.
Saladin’s lips curled. She was one of those women who the English called tomboys—and he didn’t approve, for weren’t women supposed to look like women? Her hair was pale brown, touched by red—a colour named after the great Italian painter Titian and a colour rare enough to be admired—but it was tied back in a functional ponytail, and her freckled face was completely bare of artifice. Why, even her jeans failed to do the only commendable thing that jeans were capable of—they were loose around her bottom instead of clinging to it like syrup. Which made the undeniable stir of lust he was feeling difficult to understand. Because why on earth should he be attracted to someone who sublimated her femininity as much as possible?
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you aware that your attitude could be termed as insolence?’ he questioned softly. ‘And that it is unwise to answer the king of Jazratan in such a way?’
Again, that defiant tilt of the chin. He wondered if she was aware that such a positioning of her face made her look as if she were inviting him to kiss her.
‘I wasn’t intending to be insolent,’ she said, although the message in her eyes told him otherwise. ‘I was simply stating a fact. What I chose to do with my life has nothing to do with you. I owe you no explanation. I am not one of your royal subjects.’
‘No, you are not, but you might at least grant me the courtesy of hearing what I have to say,’ he bit out. ‘Or does the word hospitality mean nothing to you? Are you aware that I have travelled many miles in the most inclement weather in order to meet you?’
Livvy eyed the remaining bunches of mistletoe still waiting to be hung and thought about all the other things that needed to be done before her guests arrived. She wanted to make more cake to fill the house with sweet smells, and there were fires to make up in all the bedrooms. Her to-do list was as long as her arm and this handsome and vaguely intimidating stranger was hindering her. ‘You could have chosen a more convenient time than just before Christmas,’ she said.
‘And when would have been a more convenient time?’ he retorted. ‘When you have consistently refused to be pinned down?’
‘Most people would have taken the hint and cut their losses.’
‘I am a king. I don’t do hints’ came his stony response.
Livvy hesitated. His behaviour confirmed everything she’d ever heard about him. He had been known for his arrogance on the racing circuit—seemingly with good reason—and she was so tempted to tell him to go. But she was running a business—even if it was currently a struggling business—and if she angered Saladin Al Mektala any more than he was already clearly angered, he might just spread a malicious word or two around the place. She could imagine it would be easy for someone like him to drip a little more poison onto her already damaged reputation. And adverse publicity could be death if you worked in the hospitality industry.
Behind him, she could see the falling snow, which had been coming down in bucketloads since before breakfast. Fat flakes were tumbling past like a never-ending slide show. Lawns that earlier had been merely spattered with the stuff now sported a thick white mantle—as if someone had been layering on cotton wool while she hadn’t been looking. If it carried on like this, the lanes would soon be impassable and she’d never get rid of him. And she wanted to get rid of him. She didn’t like him dominating her doorway and exuding all that testosterone and making her think about stuff she hadn’t thought about in a long time. She didn’t like the way he made her feel.
Farther up the drive stood a black four-wheel drive and she wondered if anyone was sitting shivering inside.
‘What about your bodyguards—are they in the car?’ Her gaze swept around the wintry garden. ‘Hiding in the bushes, perhaps—or waiting to jump from a tree?’
‘I don’t have any bodyguards with me.’
So they were all alone.
Livvy’s anxiety increased. Something about his powerful body and brooding features was making her skin prickle with a weird kind of foreboding—and an even more alarming sense of anticipation. For the first time she found herself wishing that she had a dog who would bark at him, rather than a soppy feline mop called Peppa, who was currently stretched out in front of the fire in the drawing room, purring happily.
But she wasn’t going to allow this man to intimidate her. And if she wasn’t intimidated, then it followed that she shouldn’t keep avoiding a meeting with him. Maybe this was the only way he would understand that she meant what she said. If she kept repeating that she wasn’t interested in whatever he was offering, then surely he would have no choice other than to believe her. And to leave her alone.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said as an icy gust brought a flurry of snow into the hall. ‘I can give you thirty minutes but no longer. I’m expecting guests for Christmas and I have a lot to do before they arrive.’
She saw his faintly triumphant smile as he stepped inside and noticed how the elegant proportions of the airy entrance hall seemed to shrink once she had closed the front door on the snowy afternoon. There was something so intensely masculine about him, she thought reluctantly. Something that was both exciting and dangerous—and she forced herself to take a deep breath in an attempt to slow the sudden galloping of her heart. Act as if he’s a guest, she told herself. Put on your best, bright smile and switch on your professional hospitality mode.
‘Why don’t you come into the drawing room?’ she suggested politely. ‘There’s a fire there.’
He nodded and she saw his narrowed gaze take in the high ceilings and the elaborate wooden staircase as he followed her across the hallway. ‘This is a beautiful old house,’ he observed, a note of approval deepening his voice.
‘Thank you,’ she said, automatically slipping into her role as guide. ‘Parts of it date back to the twelfth century. They certainly don’t build them like this anymore—perhaps that’s a good thing, considering the amount of maintenance that’s needed.’ The building’s history was one of the reasons why people travelled to this out-of-the-way spot to hire a room. Because the past defined the present and people hungered after the idea of an elegant past. Or at least, they had—until the rise of several nearby boutique hotels had started offering the kind of competition that was seriously affecting her turnover.
But Livvy couldn’t deny her thrill of pleasure as the sheikh walked into the drawing room, because she was proud of her old family home, despite the fact that it had started to look a little frayed around the edges.
The big fire was banked with apple logs, which scented the air, and although the huge Christmas tree was still bare there weren’t many rooms that could accommodate a tree of that size. At some point later she would have to drag herself up to the dusty attic and haul down the decorations, which had been in the family since the year dot, and go through the ritual of bringing the tree to life. Soon it would be covered in spangles and fairy lights and topped with the ancient little angel she’d once made with her mother. And for a while, Christmas would work its brief and sometimes unbearable magic of merging past and present.
She looked up to find Saladin Al Mektala studying her intently and, once again, a shiver of something inexplicable made her nostalgic sentiments dissolve as she began to study him right back.
He wasn’t dressed like a sheikh. There were no flowing robes or billowing headdress to indicate his desert king status. The dark cashmere overcoat that he was removing—without having been invited to—was worn over dark trousers and a charcoal sweater that hugged his honed torso. He looked disturbingly modern, she thought—even if the flinty glint of his dark eyes made him seem disturbingly primitive. She watched as he hung the cashmere coat over the back of a chair and saw the gleam of melted snow on his black hair as he stepped a little closer to the fire.
‘So,’ she said. ‘You must want something very badly if you’re prepared to travel to the wilds of Derbyshire in order to get it.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ he said silkily. ‘I want you.’
Something in his sultry tone kick-started feelings Livvy had repressed for longer than she cared to remember and for a split second, she found herself imagining what it would feel like to be the object of desire to a man like Saladin Al Mektala. Would those flinty eyes soften before he kissed you? Would a woman feel helpless if she was being held in arms as powerful as his?
She swallowed, surprised by the unexpected path her thoughts had taken her down because she didn’t fall in lust with total strangers. Actually, she didn’t fall in lust at all. She quickly justified her wayward fantasy by reminding herself that he was being deliberately provocative and had made that statement in such a way—as if he was seeking to shock her. ‘You’ll have to be a little more specific than that,’ she said crisply. ‘What do you want me to do?’
His face changed as the provocation left it and she saw a shadow pass over the hawklike features. ‘I have a sick horse,’ he said, his voice tightening. ‘A badly injured stallion. My favourite.’
His distress affected her—how could it fail to do so? But Livvy hardened her heart to his problems, because didn’t she have enough of her own? ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘But as a king of considerable wealth, no doubt you have the best veterinary surgeons at your disposal. I’m sure they’ll be able to work out some plan of action for your injured horse.’
‘They say not.’
‘Really?’ Linking her fingers together, she looked up at him. ‘What exactly is the problem?’
‘A suspensory ligament,’ he said, ‘which has torn away from the bone.’
Livvy winced. ‘That’s bad.’
‘I know it’s bad,’ he gritted out. ‘Why the hell do you think I’m here?’
She decided to ignore his rudeness. ‘There are revolutionary new treatments out there today,’ she said placatingly. ‘You can inject stem cells, or you could try shockwave treatment. I’ve heard that’s very good.’
‘You think I haven’t already tried everything? That I haven’t flown out every equine expert to examine him?’ he demanded. ‘And yet everything has failed. The finest specialists in the world have pronounced themselves at a loss.’ There was a pause as he swallowed and his voice became dark and distorted as he spoke. ‘They have told me there is no hope.’
For a moment, Livvy felt a deep sense of pity because she knew how powerful the bond between a man and his horse could be—especially a man whose exalted position meant that he could probably put more trust in animals than in humans. But she also knew that sometimes you had to accept things as they were and not as you wanted them to be. That you couldn’t defeat nature, no matter how much you tried. And that all the money in the world would make no difference to the outcome.
She saw the steely glint in his dark eyes as he looked at her and recognised it as the look of someone who wasn’t intending to give up. Was this what being a king did to a man—made you believe you could shape the world to your own wishes? She sighed. ‘Like I said, I’m very sorry to hear that. But if you’ve been told there’s no hope, then I don’t know how you expect me to help.’
‘Yes, you do, Livvy,’ he said forcefully. ‘You know you do.’
His fervent words challenged her nearly as much as his sudden use of his name.
‘No. I don’t.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t have anything to do with horses anymore. I haven’t done for years. That part of my life is over, and if anyone has told you anything different, then they’re wrong. I’m sorry.’
There was a pause. ‘May I sit down?’
His words startled her as he indicated one of the faded brocade chairs that sat beside the blazing fire—and his sudden change of tactic took her by surprise. And not just surprise. Because if she was being honest, wasn’t there something awfully flattering about a sheikh asking if he could prolong his stay and sit down? Briefly, she wondered if he would let her use his endorsement on her website. ‘The Sheikh of Jazratan loves to relax in front of the old-fashioned fire.’ She met the cold glitter of his eyes. Probably not.
‘If you want,’ she said as she turned on one of the lamps so that the fading afternoon was lit with something other than firelight.
But her heart began to race as he sat down—because it seemed disturbingly intimate to see his muscular body unfold into a chair that suddenly looked insubstantial, and for those endlessly long legs to stretch out in front of him. He looked like a panther who had taken an uncharacteristic moment of relaxation, who had wandered in from the wild into a domestic domain, but all the time you were aware that beneath the sheathed paws lay deadly claws. Was that why her cat suddenly opened its eyes and hissed at him, before jumping up and stalking from the room with her tail held high? Too late she realised she should have said no. She should have made him realise she meant what she said before ejecting him into the snowy afternoon before the light faded.
‘So,’ she said, with a quick glance at her watch. ‘Like I said, I have things I need to do, so maybe you could just cut to the chase?’
‘An ironic choice of words in the circumstances,’ he commented drily. ‘Or perhaps deliberate? Either way, it is unlikely that my stallion will race again, even though he has won nearly every major prize in the racing calendar. In fact, he is in so much pain that the vets have told me that it is cruel to let him continue like this and...’ His voice tailed off.
‘And?’
He leaned his head back against the chair and his eyes narrowed—dark shards that glinted in the firelight. ‘And you have a gift with horses, Livvy,’ he said softly. ‘A rare gift. You can heal them.’
‘Who told you that?
‘My trainer. He described to me a woman who was the best horsewoman he’d ever seen. He said that she was as light as a feather but strong as an ox—but that her real skill lay in her interaction with the animal. He said that the angriest horse in the stables would grow calm whenever she grew close. He said he’d seen her do stuff with horses that defied logic, and astounded all the horse vets.’ His voice deepened as his dark eyes grew watchful. ‘And that they used to call you the horse whisperer.’
It was a long time since Livvy had heard the phrase that had once followed her around like mud on a rainy day at the stables. A phrase that carried its own kind of mystique and made people believe she was some kind of witch. And she wasn’t. She was just an ordinary person who wanted to be left to get on with her life.
She bent to pick up a log so that her face was hidden, and by the time she straightened up she had composed herself enough to face his inquisitive stare and to answer him in a steady voice.
‘That’s all hocus-pocus,’ she said. ‘Nothing but an old wives’ tale and people believing what they want to believe. I just got lucky, that’s all. The law of probability says that the horses I helped “heal” would have got better on their own anyway.’
‘But I know that sometimes nature can contradict the laws of probability,’ he contradicted softly. ‘Didn’t one of your most famous poets say something on those lines?’
‘I don’t read poetry,’ she said flatly.
‘Maybe you should.’
Her smile was tight. ‘Just like I don’t take advice from strangers.’
His eyes glittered. ‘Then, come and work for me and we’ll be strangers no longer.’
With a jerky movement she threw another log onto the grate and it sparked into life with a whoosh of flames. Had he deliberately decided to use charm—knowing how effective it could be on someone who was awkward around men? She knew about his reputation but, even if she hadn’t, you needed only to look at him to realise that he could have a woman eating out of his hand as easily as you could get a stroppy horse to munch on a sugar cube.
‘Look,’ she said, trying to sound less abrasive, because he was probably one of those men who responded best to a woman when she was cooing at him. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you, but I haven’t got a magic wand I can wave to make your horse better. And although I’m obviously flattered that you should have thought of me, I’m just not interested in your offer.’
Saladin felt a flicker of frustration. She didn’t sound flattered at all. What was the matter with her? Didn’t she realise that accepting this job would carry a huge financial reward—not to mention the kudos of being employed by the royal house of Al Mektala?
He had done his research. He knew that this ancient house she’d inherited was written up in all the guidebooks as somewhere worth visiting and that she ran it as some kind of bed and breakfast business. But the place was going to rack and ruin—anyone could see that. Old houses like this drank money as greedily as the desert sands soaked up water, and it was clear to him that she didn’t have a lot of cash to splash about. The brocade chair on which he sat had a spring that was sticking into his buttocks, and the walls beside the fireplace could have done with a coat of paint. His eyes narrowed. Couldn’t she see he was offering her the opportunity to earn the kind of sum that would enable her to give the place a complete facelift?
And what about her, with her tomboy clothes and freckled face? She had turned her back on the riding world that had once been her life. She had hidden herself away in the middle of nowhere, serving up cooked breakfasts to the random punters who came to stay. What kind of a life was that for a woman who was nearly thirty? In his own country, a woman was married with at least two children by the age of twenty-five, because it was the custom to marry young. He thought of Alya and a spear of pain lanced through his heart. He remembered dreams crushed and the heavy sense of blame, and he cursed the nature of his thoughts and pushed them away as he looked into Olivia Miller’s stubborn face.
‘You might not have a magic wand, but I would like you to try. What is it that you say? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And I think you will discover that the financial rewards I’m offering will be beyond your wildest dreams.’ He tilted the corners of his mouth in a brief smile. ‘And surely you don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth?’
She didn’t respond to his attempt at humour, she just continued to stare at him, only now there was a distinct flicker of annoyance in her amber eyes. Saladin felt another rush of sexual attraction, because women didn’t often glare at him like that and he was finding her truculence a surprising turn-on. Because no woman had ever refused him anything.
‘How many ways do I have to say no before you’ll believe I mean it?’ she said.
‘And how long will it take you to realise that I am a very persistent man who is used to getting what I want?’
‘Persist away—you won’t change my mind.’
And suddenly Saladin did what he’d told himself he was only going to do as a last resort, which he seemed now to have reached. He leaned back, his eyes not leaving her face. ‘So is this how you are intending to spend the rest of your life, Livvy?’ he questioned softly. ‘Hiding yourself away in the middle of nowhere and neglecting a talent that few possess—and all because some man once left you standing at the altar?’
CHAPTER TWO (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
AT FIRST LIVVY didn’t react to Saladin’s cruel taunt because not reacting was something she was good at. One of the things she’d taught herself to do when the man she’d been due to marry had decided not to bother turning up. She’d learned not to show what she was feeling. Not to give the watching world any idea what was going on inside her head, or her heart. But the sheikh’s words hurt. Even now, they hurt. Even though it was a long time since anybody had been crass enough to remind her that she had once been jilted. That she had stood at the altar wearing a stupid white dress and an eager smile, which had faded as the minutes had ticked by and the silence had grown into hushed and increasingly urgent whispers as it had dawned on the waiting congregation that the groom wasn’t going to show.
She looked at the man sitting there with firelight illuminating his hawklike face and in that moment she actually hated him. How dare he bring up something so painful just so he could get what he wanted? Didn’t he care about hurting people’s feelings and trampling all over them—or was he simply a master of manipulation? Didn’t he realise that such a public humiliation had dealt her self-confidence a blow from which it had taken a long time to recover? And maybe it had never completely recovered. It had still been powerful enough to make her want to leave her old life behind and start a new one. To leave the horses she’d once adored and to view all subsequent advances from men with suspicion.
She would like to take a run at him and shake him. To batter her fists against that hard, broad chest and tell him that he was an uncaring beast. But she suspected her rage would be wasted on such a powerful man, and mightn’t he regard such a strong response as some petty kind of victory?
‘My abandoned marriage has nothing to do with my reasons for not wanting to work for you,’ she said, with a coolness she’d cultivated to cope with all the questions she’d had to deal with afterwards. And she’d needed it. She remembered the badly disguised glee in the voices of the women—those wafer-thin blondes who couldn’t understand why Rupert de Vries had proposed to someone as unremarkable as her in the first place. He didn’t say why? You mean you honestly had no idea? No. She’d honestly had no idea. What woman would ever subject herself to that kind of public ridicule if she’d had any inkling the groom was going to do a runner?
She glared into Saladin’s glittering dark eyes. ‘Though the fact that you even asked the question is another mark against you.’
His dark brows knitted together. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about the fact that you’ve obviously been delving into my private life, which isn’t making me feel very favourable towards you. No person likes to feel they’re being spied on, and you’re not doing a very good job of selling yourself as a prospective employer.’
‘I don’t usually have to sell myself,’ he replied, with a coolness that matched hers. ‘And surely you can understand why I always investigate people I’m planning to employ.’
‘When are you going to accept that you won’t be employing me?’
He opened his mouth and then shut it, turning to look around the room, his gaze coming to rest on the faded velvet curtains, as if he’d only just noticed that the sun had bleached them and that moths had been attacking some of the lining.
Had he noticed?
‘So is your bed and breakfast business thriving?’ he questioned casually.
It was quite clear what he was getting at and suddenly Livvy wanted to prove him wrong. So just showhim, she thought—though it didn’t occur to her until afterwards that she wasn’t obliged to show him anything. She wondered if it was pride that made her want to elevate her image from jilted bride to that of budding entrepreneur, even though it wasn’t exactly true.
‘Indeed it is. It’s been a very popular destination,’ she said. ‘Historic houses like this have a wide appeal to the general public and people can’t get enough of them. Speaking of which...’ Pointedly, she looked at her watch. ‘Your half hour is almost up.’
‘But it must be hard work?’ he persisted.
She met the mocking question in his black eyes. ‘Of course it is. Cooking up to eight different breakfasts to order and making up beds with clean linen most days is not for the faint-hearted. But I’ve never been afraid of hard work. You don’t get anything for nothing in this life.’ She paused, her smile growing tight. ‘Although I suppose someone like you might be the exception to the rule.’
Not showing any sign of moving, he surveyed her steadily. ‘And why might that be?’
‘Well, you’re a sheikh, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘You’re one of the richest men in the world. You own a string of prizewinning racehorses and a palace—for all I know, you might own hundreds of palaces. You have your own plane, I imagine.’
‘And?’
‘And you’ve probably never had to lift a finger to acquire the kind of wealth you take for granted. You’ve probably had everything handed to you on a plate.’
There was silence as Saladin felt a flicker of exasperation. It was an accusation levelled at most people born to royal status, but never usually voiced in his presence because usually people didn’t dare. Yes, he was unimaginably rich—but did she think that he had grown up in a bubble? That he’d never had to fight for his country and his people? That he’d never known heartbreak, or stared into the dark abyss of real loss? Once again, Alya’s beautiful and perfect face swam into his memory, but he pushed it aside as he met the Englishwoman’s quizzical gaze.
‘Materially I do not deny that I have plenty,’ he said. ‘But what about you? You’re not exactly on the breadline, are you, Livvy? This place is hardly your average house. You, too, have known privilege.’
Livvy wished he would move away from her, because his presence was making her feel distinctly uncomfortable. As if her plaid shirt had suddenly become too small and her breasts were straining against the tightening buttons. As if those watchful eyes could somehow see through her clothes to the plain and functional underwear that lay beneath.
‘It’s a rare Georgian house,’ she agreed, her fingers playing with the top button of her shirt. ‘And I’m lucky to live here. It’s been in my family for many years.’
‘But the maintenance costs must be high,’ he mused.
‘Astronomical,’ she agreed. ‘Which is why I open the house to paying guests.’
He was glancing up at the ceiling now. Had he noticed the ugly damp stain then, or did the firelight successfully hide it? His gaze was lowered and redirected to her face, where once again it seemed to burn its way over her skin.
‘So how’s business, Livvy—generally?’
Her smile was bland. ‘Business is good.’
‘Your guests don’t mind the fact that the paint is peeling, or that the plaster is crumbling on that far wall?’
‘I doubt it. People come looking for history, not pristine paintwork—you can find that almost anywhere in some of the cheaper hotel chains.’
‘You know, I could offer you a lot of money,’ he observed, after a moment or two. ‘Enough to pay for the kind of work this place is crying out for. I could throw in a little extra if you like—so that you could afford the holiday you look as if you need.’
Livvy stiffened. Was he implying that she looked washed out? Almost without her thinking, her fingers crept up to her hairline to brush away a stray strand that must have escaped from her ponytail. It was true she hadn’t had a holiday in ages. And it was also true that her debts continued to grow, no matter how many new bookings she took. Sometimes she felt like Canute trying to turn back the tide, and now she couldn’t remember how Canute had actually coped. Had he just admitted defeat and given up?
She wished Saladin would stop looking at her like that—his black eyes capturing her in their dark and hypnotic spotlight. She wasn’t a vain woman by any definition of the word, but she would have taken a bit more trouble with her appearance if she’d known that a desert sheikh was going to come calling. Suddenly her scalp felt itchy and her face hot, and her shirt still felt as if it had shrunk in the wash.
‘Is that your answer to everything?’ she questioned. ‘To write a cheque and to hell with anything else?’
He shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t it be—when I have the capability to do exactly that, and money talks louder than anything else?’
‘You cynic,’ she breathed.
‘I’m not denying that.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Or maybe you’re just naive. Money talks, Livvy—it talks louder than anything else. It’s about the only thing in life you can rely on—which is why you should do yourself a favour and come with me to Jazratan. My stable complex is the finest in the world and it would be interesting for you to see it.’
He smiled at her, but Livvy sensed it was a calculating smile. As if he had only produced it because it would add a touch of lightness to conversation that wasn’t going the way he intended.
‘Come and work with my horse and I’ll give you whatever you want, within reason,’ he continued. ‘And if you cure Burkaan—if you ensure that a gun will not be held to his head while I am forced to stare into his trusting and bewildered eyes as the life bleeds out of him, you will walk away knowing that you need never worry about money again.’
The heartfelt bit about the horse got to her much more than the financial incentive he was offering. In fact, she hated the mercenary progression of his words. As if everything had a price—even people. As if you could wear them down just by increasing the amount of money on the table. Maybe in his world, that was what happened.
But despite her determination not to be tempted, she was tempted. For a minute she allowed herself to think what she could do with the money. Where would she even start? By tackling the ancient wiring in some of the bedrooms, or sorting out the antiquated boiler that badly needed replacing? She thought about the icy corridors upstairs and the lack of insulation in the roof. Most of the heat was pumped into the guest bedrooms, leaving her own windows coated with a thin layer of ice each morning. She shivered. It had been a bitter winter and they were still only a third of the way through it, and she was getting fed up with having to wear thick socks to bed at night.
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I have guests who are due to spend the holidays here who are arriving in a couple of days. I can’t just cancel their Christmas and New Year when they’ve spent months looking forward to it. You’ll just have to find someone else.’
Saladin’s mouth tightened, but still he wasn’t done. Didn’t she realise that he would get what he wanted in the end, no matter how he had to go about it? That if it came to a battle of wills, he would win. Spurred on by the almost imperceptible note of hesitation he’d heard in her voice, he got up from his chair and walked over to the window. It was almost dark, but the heavy clouds had already leached the sky of all colour and all you could see was snow. It had highlighted all the leafless trees with ghostly white fingers. It had blanketed his parked car so that all that was visible was a snowy mound.
His eyes narrowed as fat flakes swirled down, transformed into tumbling gold feathers by the light streaming from the window. He ran through the possibilities of what he should do next, knowing his choices were limited. He could go and get his car started before the snow came down any harder. He could drive off and come back again tomorrow. Give her time to think about his offer and realise that she would be a fool to reject it. Or he could have his people deal with it, using rather more ruthless back-room tactics.
He turned back to see her unsmiling face and he was irritated by his inability to get through to her. Logic told him to leave, yet for some reason he was reluctant to do so, even though she had started walking towards the door, making it clear that she expected him to trail after her. A woman who wanted him gone? Unbelievable! When had any woman ever turned him away?
He followed her out into the wood-lined corridor, which was lit by lamps on either side, realising that she was close enough to touch. And bizarrely, he thought about kissing her. About claiming those stubborn and unpainted lips with his own and waiting to see how long it would take before she was breathlessly agreeing to anything he asked of her.
But his choices were suddenly taken away from him by a dramatic intervention as the lights went out and the corridor was plunged into darkness. From just ahead of him, he heard Livvy gasp and then he felt the softness of her body as she stumbled back against him.
CHAPTER THREE (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
AS THE CORRIDOR was plunged into darkness, Saladin’s hands automatically reached out to steady the stumbling Livvy. At least, that was what he told himself. He thought afterwards that if she’d been a man he wouldn’t have let his hands linger on her for quite so long, nor his fingers to grip her slender body quite so tightly. But Livvy Miller was a woman—and it had been a long time since he had touched a woman. It had recently been the anniversary of Alya’s death and he always shied away from intimacy on either side of that grim date, when pain and loss and regret overwhelmed him. Because to do so felt like a betrayal of his wife’s memory—a mechanical act that seemed like a pale version of the real thing. With other women it was just sex—something a man needed in order to function properly. A basic appetite to be fed—and nothing more. But with Alya it had been different. Something that had captured his heart as well as his body.
But maybe for now a body would do...
He felt himself tense with that first, sweet contact—that first touch that set your hormones firing, whether you wanted them to or not. He could feel Livvy’s heart beating hard as his hands curved around her ribcage. The soapy scent that perfumed her skin was both innocent and beguiling, and the tension inside him increased. He found himself wishing he could magic away their clothing and seek relief from the sudden unbearable aching deep inside him. An anonymous coupling in this darkened corridor would be perfect for his needs. It might even have the added benefit of making the stubborn Englishwoman reconsider his offer, because a sexually satisfied woman automatically became a compliant woman.
For a moment he felt her relax against him and he sensed her welcoming softness—as if a split second more would be all the time he needed for her to open up to him. But then she pulled away. Actually, she snatched herself away. In the darkness he could hear her struggling to control her breathing and, although he couldn’t see the expression on her face, he could hear the panic in her voice.
‘What’s happened?’ she gasped.
It interested him that she’d chosen to ignore that brief but undeniable embrace. He wondered what she would say if he answered truthfully. I am big enough to explode and I want to put myself inside you and spill my seed. In his fantasy he knew exactly what he would like her response to be. She would nod and then tear at his clothing with impatient fingers while he dealt swiftly with hers. No need even to undress. Access was all that was required. He would press her up against that wood panelling, and then slide his fingers between her legs while he freed himself. He would kiss her until she was begging him for more, and then he would guide himself to where she was wet and ready, and push deep inside her. It would be quick and it would be meaningless, but he doubted there would be any objections from her.
She was flicking a light switch on and off, but nothing was happening. ‘What’s happened?’ she repeated, only now her voice sounded accusatory.
With a monumental effort he severed his erotic fantasy and let it drift away, concentrating instead on the dense darkness that surrounded them, but his mouth was so dry and his groin so hard that it was several seconds before he was able to answer her question.
‘There’s been a power cut,’ he said.
‘I know that,’ she howled illogically. ‘But how did it happen?’
‘I have no idea,’ he answered steadily. ‘And the how isn’t important. We have to deal with it. Do you have your own emergency generator?’
‘Are you insane?’ Her panicked question came shooting at him through the darkness. ‘Of course I don’t!’
‘Well, then,’ he said impatiently. ‘Where do you keep your candles?’
Livvy couldn’t think straight. He might as well have asked her where the planet Jupiter was in the night sky. Because the sudden loss of light and heating were eclipsed by the realisation that she had been on the brink of losing control. She’d nearly gone to pieces in his arms, because his touch had felt dangerous. And inviting. It had only been the briefest of embraces, but it had been mind-blowing. She hadn’t imagined feeling the unmistakable power of his arousal pressing firmly against her. And the amazing thing was that it hadn’t shocked her. On the contrary—she’d wanted him to carry on holding her like that. Hadn’t she been tempted to turn around and stretch up on tiptoe, to see whether he would kiss her as she sensed he had wanted to? And then to carry on kissing her.
‘Candles?’ he prompted impatiently.
She swallowed. ‘They’re...in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘I’ll get them.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You don’t think I’m capable of finding my way around my own house?’
‘It’s dark,’ he ground out. ‘And we’re sticking together.’
Saladin caught hold of her wrist and closed his fingers over it, thinking that if only he had been accompanied by his usual bodyguards and envoys, then someone would now be attempting to fix whatever the problem was.
But he had undertaken this journey alone— instinct telling him that he would have a better chance of success with the Englishwoman without all the dazzle of royal life that inevitably accompanied him. Because some people were intimidated by all the trappings that surrounded a royal sheikh—and, in truth, he liked to shrug off those trappings whenever possible.
When travelling in Europe or the United States, he sometimes got his envoy Zane to act as a decoy sheikh. The two men were remarkably similar in appearance and they had long ago discovered that one powerful robed figure wearing a headdress in the back of a speeding car was interchangeable with another, to all but the most perceptive eye.
In Jazratan he sometimes took solo trips deep into the heart of the desert. At other times he had been known to dress as a merchant and to blend into the thronging crowds of the marketplace in the capital city of Janubwardi. It gave him a certain kick to listen to what his people were saying about him when they thought they were free to do so. His advisors didn’t like it, but that was tough. He refused to be treated with kid gloves, especially here in England—a country he knew well. And he knew that the dangers in life were the ones where obvious risk was involved, but the ones that hit you totally out of the blue...
He could feel her pulse slamming wildly beneath his fingers.
‘Let me go,’ she whispered.
‘No. You’re not going anywhere,’ he snapped. ‘Stick close to me—I’m going first. And be careful.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me to be careful. Don’t you have a phone? We could use it as a torch instead of stumbling around in the dark.’
‘It’s in my car,’ he said as they edged along a corridor that seemed less dense now that his eyes had started to accustom themselves to the lack of light. ‘Where’s yours?’
‘In my bedroom.’
‘Handy,’ he said sarcastically.
‘I wasn’t expecting to be marooned in the darkness with a total stranger.’
‘Spare me the melodrama, Livvy. And let’s just concentrate on getting there without falling over.’
Cautiously, they moved along the ancient passage. The flagged floors echoed as she led him down a narrow flight of stairs, into a large windowless kitchen that was as dark as pitch. She wriggled her hand free and felt her way towards a cupboard, where he could hear her scrabbling around—before uttering a little cry of triumph as she located the candles. He found himself admiring her efficiency, but noticed that her fingers were trembling as she struck a match and her pale face was illuminated as the flame grew steady.
Wordlessly, he took the matches from her and lit several more candles while she melted wax and positioned them carefully in tarnished silver holders. The room grew lighter and the flames cast out strange shadows that flickered over the walls. He could see the results of what must have been a pretty intensive baking session, because on the table were plates of biscuits and a platter of those sweet things the English always ate at Christmastime. He frowned as he tried to remember what they were called. Mince pies, that was it.
‘What do you think has happened?’ she questioned.
He shrugged. ‘A power line down? It can sometimes happen if there’s a significant weight of snow.’
‘But it can’t!’ She looked around, a touch of desperation in her voice. ‘I’ve still got so much to do before my guests arrive.’
He sent her a wry look. ‘Looks as though it’s going to have to wait.’
A sudden silence fell and he noticed that her hand was trembling even more now.
‘Hadn’t you better go, before the snow gets much worse?’ she said, in a casual tone that didn’t quite come off. ‘There must be someone waiting for you. Someone who’s wondering where you are.’
Incredulously, he stared at her. ‘And leave you here, on your own? Without electricity?’ He walked over to one of the old-fashioned radiators and laid the flat of his hand on it. ‘Or heating.’
‘I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own,’ she said stubbornly.
‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. What kind of man would walk out and leave a woman to fend for herself in conditions like these?’
‘So you’re staying in order to ease your own conscience?’
There was a pause, and when he spoke his voice had a bitter note to it. ‘Something like that.’
Livvy’s heart thundered as she tried to work out what to do next. ‘Don’t panic’ should have been top of her list, while the second should be to stop allowing Saladin to take control. Maybe where he came from, men dealt with emergencies while the women just hung around looking decorative. Well, perhaps it might do him good to realise that she didn’t need a man to fix things for her. She didn’t need a man for anything. She’d learned to change a fuse and fix a leaking tap. She’d managed alone for long enough and that was the way she liked it.
She walked over to the phone, which hung on a neat cradle on the wall, but was greeted with nothing but an empty silence as she placed it against her ear.
‘Dead?’ he questioned.
‘Completely.’ She replaced it and looked at him but, despite her best intentions, she was starting to panic. Had she, in the rush to buy the tree and hang the mistletoe and bake the mince pies, remembered to charge her cell phone? ‘I’ll go upstairs and get my phone.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Were you born to be bossy?’
‘I think I was. Why, does it bother you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tough,’ he said as he picked up a candle.
But as they left the kitchen Saladin realised that for the first time in a long time he was feeling exhilarated. Nobody had a clue where he was. He was marooned in the middle of the snowy English countryside with a feisty redhead he suspected would be his before the night was over. And suddenly his conscience and his troubled memories were forgotten as he followed her up the large staircase leading from the arched reception hall, where the high ceilings flickered with long shadows cast from their candles. They reached her bedroom and Saladin drew in a deep breath as she pushed open the door and turned to him, a studiedly casual note in her voice.
‘You can wait here, if you like.’
‘Like a pupil standing outside the headmaster’s study?’ he drawled. ‘No. I don’t like. Don’t worry, Livvy—I won’t be judging you if your room’s a mess and I think I’m sophisticated enough to resist the temptation to throw you down on the bed, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘Oh, come in, if you insist,’ she said crossly.
But it was with a feeling of pride that she opened the door and walked through, with Saladin not far behind her. The curtains were not yet drawn and the reflected light from the snow outside meant that the room looked almost radiant with a pure and ghostly light. On a table beside the bed stood a bowl of hyacinths, which scented the cold air. Antique pieces of furniture glowed softly in the candlelight. It was a place of peace and calm—her haven—and one of many reasons why she clung to this house and all the memories it contained.
She walked over to the window seat and found her phone, dejectedly staring down at its black screen.
‘It’s dead,’ she said. ‘I was sending photo messages to a school friend when the snow started and then they delivered the Christmas tree...’ Her words tailed off. ‘You’ll have to go out to the car and get yours.’
‘I will decide if and when I’m going out to the car,’ he snapped. ‘You do not issue instructions to a sheikh.’
‘I didn’t invite you here,’ she said, her voice low. ‘We’re here together under duress and in extremely bizarre circumstances—and I think it’s going to make an unbearable situation even worse if you then start pulling rank on me.’
He looked as if he was about to come back at her with a sharp response, but seemed to think better of it—because he nodded. ‘Very well. I will go to the car and get my phone.’
He left the room abruptly, and as she heard him going downstairs she felt slightly spooked—a feeling that was only increased when the front door slammed. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet without him—all she could hear was the loud tick of the grandfather clock as it echoed through the house. She stared out of the window to see the sheikh’s shadowy figure making its way towards a car that was now completely covered in white. The snow was still falling, and she found herself thinking that at least he’d had the sense to retrieve his cashmere coat and put it on before going outside.
She could see him brushing a thick layer of snow away from the door, which he was obviously having difficulty opening. She wondered what would happen next. Would crack teams of Jazratan guards descend in a helicopter from the snowy sky, the way they did in films? Doubtfully, she looked up at the fat flakes that were swirling down as thickly as ever. She didn’t know much about planes, but she doubted it would be safe to fly in conditions like this.
Grabbing a sweater from the wardrobe and pulling it on, she went back downstairs to the kitchen and had just put a kettle on the hob when she heard the front door slam, followed by the sound of echoing footsteps. She looked up to see Saladin standing framed in the kitchen doorway and hated the instant rush of relief—and something else—that flooded through her. What was the something else? she wondered. The reassurance of having someone so unashamedly alpha strutting around the place, despite all her protestations that she was fine on her own? Or was the root cause more fundamental—a case of her body responding to him in away she wasn’t used to? A way that scared her.
Despite the warm sweater she’d pulled on, she could feel the puckering of her breasts as she looked at him.
‘Any luck?’ she said.
‘Some. I’ve spoken with my people—and the roads are impassable. We won’t get any help sent out to us tonight.’
Livvy’s hand trembled as she tipped boiling water into the teapot. They were stuck here for the night—just the two of them. So why wasn’t she paralysed with a feeling of dread and fear? Why had her heart started pounding with excitement? She swallowed.
‘Would you like some tea?’
‘Please.’ His voice grew curious. ‘How have you managed to boil water?’
‘Gas hob,’ she said, thinking how domesticated this all sounded. And how the words people spoke rarely reflected what was going on inside their heads. She looked into the gleam of his eyes. ‘Are you hungry? I’ll put some mince pies on a plate,’ she said, in the kind of babbling voice people used when they were trying to fill an awkward silence. ‘And we can go in and sit by the fire.’
‘Here. Let me.’ He took the tray from her, aware that this was something he rarely did. People always carried things for him. They ran his bath for him and laid out his cool silk robes every morning. For diplomatic meetings, all his paperwork was stacked in symmetrical piles awaiting his attention, even down to the gold pen that was always positioned neatly to the left. He didn’t have to deal with the everyday mechanics of normal life, because his life was not normal. Never had been, nor ever could be. Even his response to tragedy could never be like other men’s—for he’d been taught that the sheikh must never show emotion, no matter what he was feeling inside. So that when he had wanted to weep bitter tears over Alya’s coffin, he had known that the face he’d needed to show to his people must be an implacable face.
His mouth hardened as he carried the tea tray to the room where the bare Christmas tree stood silhouetted against the window and watched as she sank down onto the silky rug. And suddenly the sweet wholesomeness of her made all his dark thoughts melt away.
The bulky sweater she was wearing emphasised her tiny frame and the slender legs that were tucked up neatly beneath her. The firelight had turned her titian ponytail into a stream of flaming red, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to see her naked...
So make it happen, he thought—as the pulse at his groin began to throb with anticipation. Just make it happen.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
‘WE HAVE A long evening ahead of us, Livvy. Any idea of how you’d like to fill it?’
Livvy eyed Saladin warily as he drawled out his question, thinking that he was suddenly being almost too well behaved, and wondering why. She almost preferred him when he was being bossy and demanding, because that had infuriated her enough to create a natural barrier between them. A barrier behind which she felt safe.
But now?
Now he was being suspiciously compliant. He had drunk the tea she’d given him and eaten an accompanying mince pie—declaring it to be delicious and telling her he intended to take the recipe back for the palace chefs, so that his courtiers and guests could enjoy the English delicacy. He had even dragged a whole pile of logs back from the woodshed and heaped them into the big basket beside the fire.
Despite the thickness of her sweater, a shiver ran down her spine as she watched him. His body was hard and muscular and he moved with the grace of a natural athlete. He handled the logs as if they were no heavier than twigs and somehow made the task look effortless. Livvy was proud of her independence and her insistence on doing the kind of jobs that some of her married school friends turned up their noses at. She never baulked at taking out the rubbish or sweeping the gravel drive. She happily carried logs and weeded the garden whenever she had time, but she couldn’t deny that it felt like an unexpected luxury to be waited on like this. To lean back against the cushioned footstool sipping her tea, watching Saladin Al Mektala sort out the fire for her. He made her feel...pampered, and he made her feel feminine.
She considered his question.
‘We could always play a game,’ she suggested.
‘Good idea.’ His dark eyes assumed the natural glint of the predator. ‘I love playing games.’
Nobody had ever accused Livvy of sophistication, but neither was she stupid. She’d worked for a long time in the testosterone-filled industry of horse racing and had been engaged to a very tricky man. She’d learned the hard way how womanising men flirted and used innuendo. And the only way to keep it in check was to ignore it. So she ignored the flare of light that had made the sheikh’s eyes gleam like glowing coal and subjected him to a look of cool question. ‘Scrabble?’ she asked. ‘Or cards?’
‘Whichever you choose,’ he said. ‘Although I must warn you now that I shall beat you.’
‘Is that supposed to be a challenge I can’t resist?’
‘Let’s see, shall we?’
To Livvy’s fury, his arrogant prediction proved correct. He won every game they played and even beat her at Scrabble—something at which she normally excelled.
Trying not to be a bad sport, she dropped the pen onto the score sheet. ‘So how come you’ve managed to beat me at a word game that isn’t even in your native tongue?’ she said.
‘Because when I was a little boy I had an English tutor who taught me that a rich vocabulary was something within the grasp of all men. And I was taught to win. It’s what Al Mektala men do. We never like to fail. At anything.’
‘So you’re always triumphant?’
He turned his head to look at her and Livvy’s heart missed a beat as she saw something flickering within the dark blaze of his eyes that didn’t look like arrogance. Was she imagining the trace of sorrow she saw there—or the lines around his mouth, which suddenly seemed to have deepened?
‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘A long time ago I failed at something quite spectacularly.’
‘At what?’
‘Something better left in the past, where it belongs.’ His voice grew cold and distant as he threw another log onto the fire, and when he turned back Livvy saw that his features had become shuttered. ‘Tell me something about you instead,’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘There’s not very much to tell. I’m twenty-nine and I run a bed and breakfast business from the house in which I was born. My love life you already seem well acquainted with. Anything else you want to know?’
‘Yes.’ His hawklike features were gilded by the flicker of the firelight as he leaned forward. ‘Why did he jilt you?’
She met the searching blaze of his black eyes. ‘You really think I’d tell you?’
He raised his dark brows. ‘Why not? I’m curious. And after the snow clears, you’ll never see me again—that is, if you really are determined to turn down my offer of a job. Isn’t that what people do in circumstances such as these? They tell each other secrets.’
As she considered his words, Livvy wondered how he saw her. As some sad spinster who’d tucked herself away in the middle of nowhere, far away from the fast-paced world she’d once inhabited? And if that was the case, then wasn’t this an ideal opportunity to show him that she liked the life she’d chosen—to show him she was completely over Rupert?
But if you’re over him—then how come you still shut out men? How come you must be the only twenty-nine-year-old virgin on the planet?
The uncomfortable trajectory of her thoughts made her bold. So let it go, she told herself. Let the past go by setting it free. ‘Do you know Rupert de Vries?’ she asked slowly.
‘I met him a couple of times—back in the day, as they say.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I didn’t like him.’
‘You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.’
‘I can assure you that I never say things I don’t mean, Livvy.’ There was a pause. ‘What happened?’
She stared down at the rug, trying to concentrate on the symmetrical shapes that were woven into the silk. She pictured Rupert’s face—something she hadn’t done for a long time—fine boned and fair and the antithesis of the tawny sheikh in front of her. She remembered how she couldn’t believe that the powerful racing figure had taken an interest in her, the lowliest of grooms at the time. ‘I expect you know that he ran a very successful yard for a time.’
‘Until he got greedy,’ Saladin said, stretching his legs out in front of him. ‘He overextended himself and that was a big mistake. You should always keep something back when you’re dealing with horses, no matter how brilliant they are. Because ultimately they are flesh and blood—and flesh and blood is always vulnerable.’
She heard the sudden rawness in his voice and wondered if he was thinking about Burkaan. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘So how come it got as far as you standing at the altar before he got cold feet?’ Black eyes bored into her. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it? Didn’t he talk to you about it beforehand—let you know he was having doubts?’
Livvy shook her head as her mind raced back to that chaotic period. At the time she’d done that thing of trying to salvage her pride by telling everyone with a brisk cheerfulness that it was much better to find out before the wedding, rather than after it. That it would have been unbearable if Rupert had decided he wanted out a few years and a few children down the line. But those had been things she’d felt obliged to say, so that she wouldn’t come over as bitter. The truth was that the rejection had left her feeling hollow...and stupid. Not only had she been completely blind to her fiancé’s transgressions, but there had been all the practical considerations, too. Like paying the catering staff who were standing around in their aprons in the deserted marquee almost bursting with excitement at the drama of it all. And informing the driver of the limousine firm that they wouldn’t be needing a lift to the airport after all. And cancelling the honeymoon, which she’d paid for and for which Rupert had been supposed to settle up with her afterwards. He never had, of course, and the wedding that never was had ended up costing her a lot more than injured pride.
And once the initial humiliation was over and everyone had been paid off, she had made a vow never to talk about it. She’d told herself that if she fed the story it would grow. So she’d cut off people’s questions and deliberately changed the subject and dared them to continue to pursue it, and eventually people had got the message.
But now she looked into the gleam of Saladin’s eyes and realised that there had been a price to pay for her silence. She suddenly recognised how deeply she had buried the truth and saw that if she continued to keep it hidden away, she risked making herself an eternal victim. The truth was that she was over Rupert and glad she hadn’t married him. So why act like someone with a dirty secret—why not get it out into the open and watch it wither and die as it was exposed to the air?
‘Because I allowed myself to do what women are so good at doing,’ she said slowly. ‘I allowed myself to be wooed by a very persuasive man, without stopping to consider why someone like him should be interested in someone like me.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh, come on, Saladin—you haven’t held back from being blunt, so why start now? He was known for dating glamorous women and I’m not. The only thing I had to commend me was the fact that my father owned a beautiful house. This house. My mother was dead and my stepmother long gone—and since I don’t have any brothers or sisters, I stood to inherit everything. From where Rupert was sitting, it must have looked a very attractive proposition and I think he made the assumption that there was lots of money sitting in a bank account somewhere—the kind of money that could have bailed out his failing business.’
‘But there wasn’t?’
‘At some point there was. Before my stepmother got her hands on it and decided to blow a lot of it on diamonds and plastic surgery and then demand a massive divorce settlement. By the time my father died there was nothing left—not after I’d paid for the nurses who helped care for him in his final years.’
‘You didn’t think to tell de Vries that?’
Livvy gave a snarl of a laugh as she picked up the poker and gave the fire a vicious stab. ‘Most brides labour under the illusion that they’re being married for love, not money. It would look a bit pathetic, don’t you think, if one were to have a conversation on the lines of, “Look, I’ve just discovered that I’m broke—but you do still love me, don’t you?” And the truth of it was that I didn’t realise how little money there was—at least, not until just before the wedding.’
‘And then you told him?’
‘I told him,’ she agreed. She would never forget the look on her prospective groom’s face. That leaching of colour that had left him with a curiously waxy complexion and the fleeting look of horror in his eyes. In that illuminating moment Livvy hadn’t been able to decide who she was angrier with—Rupert, for his unbelievable shallowness, or herself for having been too blind to see it before. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to see.
‘I told him and he didn’t like it. I wish he’d told me right then that he’d changed his mind, so that I wouldn’t have to go through the whole pantomime of dressing up in a big white frock with my bridesmaids flapping around me in nervous excitement. But obviously that was something he couldn’t face doing. So there.’ She looked at him defiantly. ‘Have you got the whole picture now?’
There was silence for a moment—the firelight flickering over his ebony hair as he studied her. ‘Not quite,’ he said.
Defensively, she stiffened. ‘You want a blow-by-blow account of my subsequent meltdown?’
He shook his head. ‘I meant that not everything you said is true.’
His words were softer than before, as if they’d suddenly been brushed with velvet. Or silk. Yet despite their softness, all the time Livvy was aware of the underlying steel underpinning them, and that made him sound even more attractive. Dangerously so.
‘Which bit in particular?’
He smiled. ‘That you have nothing to commend you other than a house.’
‘Oh, really?’
Saladin heard the disbelief in her voice and felt a surge of rage that someone as worthless as de Vries had smashed her confidence and made her hide herself away like this.
‘Yes, really.’ His gaze drifted over her. ‘Would you like me to list your more obvious attributes?’
Splaying her hands over her hips, she struck a pose. ‘My old jeans and sweater?’
‘Your complexion, for a start, which makes me think of honey and cream.’ His voice dipped. ‘And, of course, your freckles.’
Her fingers strayed to her nose. ‘I hate my freckles.’
‘Of course you do, but in my country they are highly prized. We call them kisses from the sun.’
‘Well, that’s certainly not what we call them here.’ She gave a nervous laugh and then shivered, as if she had only just registered the sudden plummet in temperature. ‘It’s cold,’ she said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. ‘I should go and make us something to eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You must be. I am. Starving, in fact.’
He could hear the lie in her voice as she jumped to her feet and picked up one of the candles, as if she couldn’t wait to escape from the sudden intimacy that had sprung up between them.
‘I’ll come and help you,’ he said.
‘No.’ The word was sharp, before she pulled it back with a smile. ‘I’d prefer to do it on my own. Really. You stay here. You look very comfortable.’
He knew why she was trying to put distance between them and that it was a futile exercise. Didn’t she realise that her darkened eyes gave her away and her body was betraying all the signs of sexual excitement? He felt the hard beat of anticipation cradling his groin and suddenly the bright beat of sexual excitement burned out everything except the anticipation of pleasure. ‘Don’t be long,’ he said softly.
Livvy felt almost helpless as she made her way towards the kitchen through the now distinctly chilly corridors. She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted out all that stuff—to Saladin, of all people—and wondered how he’d managed to cut through her defences so effectively. But he had. She had been surprised at his understanding—and then suspicious of it, because it made her feel vulnerable. And she didn’t want to feel vulnerable. She didn’t want to feel any of the stuff that was raging through her body like wildfire. As if she would die if he didn’t touch her. As if her life wouldn’t be complete unless she knew what it was like to have Saladin Al Mektala take her in his arms and kiss her.
Because she had made that mistake once before. She’d fallen for a powerful man who was way out of her league—and it was not something she intended repeating.
She set about preparing food she suspected neither of them wanted, putting a plate of newly baked bread onto a tray along with some cheese from the local shop, and adding some rosy apples that she absently polished with a cloth. She wondered if he drank wine but decided against it, making coffee instead. Wine was the last thing either of them needed.
When she returned to the drawing room, he hadn’t moved from where he’d been sitting. In fact, his eyes were closed and he was so still that she thought he might have fallen asleep. For a moment she just stood there looking at him, trying to take in the unbelievable scene that lay before her. A real-life king was stretched out in front of her fire, his ebony head resting against the faded crimson silk of the brocade chair. He looked powerful and exotic—dominating his surroundings with a brooding sensuality, which shimmered from his powerful frame. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him and the material of his trousers was flattened down over the hard bulge of his thighs. And all her best intentions melted away because just looking at him made her want him—and it was wrong to want him.
Suddenly he opened his eyes and the crockery on the tray she was holding began to jangle as her hands began to tremble. Livvy hoped he hadn’t noticed the rush of blood that was making her cheeks burn, but she was aware of the glint of amusement in his eyes as she walked across the room towards the fire. She waited for him to make some smart comment, but he said nothing—just watched in silence as she put the tray down. Her heart was pounding as she sat down on the rug beside him and tried to behave casually.
‘Help yourself,’ she said.
‘Help yourself?’ There was a pause. ‘But I am used to someone serving me, Livvy.’
She heard the mockery in his voice and she turned her head to catch the provocative gleam in his eyes. He’s flirting with me, she thought. And no way was she going to flirt back. ‘I’m sure you are,’ she said crisply. ‘But something tells me you are a man who is perfectly capable of looking after himself.’
Saladin smiled, wondering if she was aware that her attitude was slowly sealing her fate. If she had been submissive and eager to please—as women always were—then his desire might now have faded. But she wasn’t being in the least bit submissive. She was sitting munching her way through an apple, though she didn’t look as if she was particularly enjoying it—and her body had stiffened with a defiance that he couldn’t resist.
He could feel the sudden beat of anticipation. Apart from the protected virgins in his homeland who were expected to remain pure until marriage, he couldn’t think of a single woman in this situation who wouldn’t be coming on to him by now. She was a challenge—in a world where few challenges remained. Shifting his position slightly, he tried to alleviate some of the pressure on his rapidly hardening groin.
She had thrown the apple core into the fire and was holding out her hands in front of the flames again, spreading her fingers wide. They were working hands, he thought, and something made him lean over and pour coffee for them both—though she took hers with a look of surprise she couldn’t quite disguise.
He watched as she ate a little bread and cheese, but he took no food himself and eventually she pushed her plate away.
‘You’re not eating,’ she said.
‘I told you I wasn’t hungry.’
She hugged her arms around her knees and looked at him. ‘So now what do we do? More Scrabble? Or do you want to try calling up your people to see if the roads are clear?’
‘Forget about my people,’ he said impatiently, his gaze straying to the pinpoint tips of her nipples. ‘You’re cold.’
Livvy saw the direction of his glance—bold, appraising and unashamed—and felt the instant quickening of her body in response. Her heart was fluttering as if it was trying to escape from the confinement of her ribcage, and she knew exactly what she should do. She should say goodnight and go upstairs to her icy bedroom and stay there until the morning brought snow ploughs, or his private helicopter or something to rescue them from their incarceration.
But she didn’t. She stayed exactly where she was, seated on the rug, gazing back at him—as if she had no idea what was going to happen next. Yet despite her lack of experience and the sheer impossibility of the situation, she knew exactly what was about to happen because it was happening right now. Saladin Al Mektala was putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her close before bending his head to kiss her.
Livvy reeled at that first sweet taste as he began to explore her mouth with the flickering tip of his tongue, and a great wave of desire and emotion swept through her in a stupefying rush. As his arms tightened around her she felt safe. She could taste coffee on his tongue and feel the warmth of his breath as he anchored her head to deepen the kiss and she opened her mouth beneath his seeking lips. His fingertips moved to whisper their way over her neck, but the first touch of his hand to her breast made her freeze as she wondered just what he would expect from her.
She knew exactly what he would expect from her—and it was a million miles away from the reality of what he would actually get. And wouldn’t he be horrified if he knew the truth?
‘Saladin—’ The word came out as a barely intelligible sound as she broke the kiss.
‘You’re now going to list all the reasons why we shouldn’t do this?’ he said unsteadily.
‘Yes.’
‘Starting with what? Lack of desire?’ He grazed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and it trembled wildly in response. ‘I don’t think so.’
With an effort she jerked away from him, her words tumbling out of her mouth as she struggled to do the right thing. ‘Starting with the fact that you’re a sheikh and I’m a commoner and we don’t really know each other.’
‘Something that can be solved in an instant,’ he said unevenly.
‘In fact, we don’t even seem to like one another,’ she continued. ‘We’ve done nothing but argue since you arrived.’
‘But conflict can make sex so piquant, don’t you think?’ he murmured. ‘Such a blessed relief when all that tension is finally broken.’
Livvy didn’t answer. She didn’t dare. Would he laugh if he realised the truth? And now he was reaching behind her head to tug the elastic band from her ponytail—and she was letting him. Sitting there perfectly still as her hair spilled down over her shoulders and his eyes narrowed with appreciation.
‘You could probably come up with a whole stack of reasons why we shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘But there’s one thing that cancels out every one of your objections.’
She knew she shouldn’t, but Livvy asked it all the same. ‘Which is?’
‘Because we want to. Very, very badly. At least, I do. How about you?’
Livvy shut her eyes, afraid that she would be swayed by the desire that burned so blackly from his eyes. Because we want to. How simple that sounded to someone who hadn’t followed her own desires for so long that she’d forgotten how. But maybe that was because she hadn’t ever been tempted before—at least, not like this. After she had behaved so circumspectly with Rupert, his betrayal had come as a complete shock and had made her question her own judgement. She’d been cautious of men—and wary. After she’d packed up her wedding dress and sent it off to raise money for charity, she had felt empty inside—as if there were a space there that could never be filled. She had begun to think there was something wrong with her. That she wasn’t like other women.
But now...
Now there was a hot storm of need within her and she felt anything was possible. That the powerful sheikh had all the knowledge required to give her pleasure. And was it such a terrible thing to want pleasure when it had been denied to her for so long?
She tipped her head back to expose her neck to him and instantly he covered it with a path of tiny kisses. Beneath the sweater, she could feel the increasing weight of her breasts and the denim of her jeans scraping against her newly sensitive thighs as sexual hunger began to pulse through her.
‘Saladin,’ she said again, her voice a throaty invitation as she felt his hand move slowly down her ribcage towards her waist.
‘You are very overdressed, habibi,’ he observed, peeling the sweater over her head with effortless dexterity.
Livvy held her breath with trepidation as he began to unbutton the shirt underneath and she wondered if he would be turned off by her boring white bra, because a man like this would surely be used to fine underwear. But he didn’t appear to notice any obvious deficiencies in the lingerie department as he peeled away her shirt—he seemed too intent on bending his dark head to her exposed skin and she shivered again as she felt his tongue slide over her breastbone, leaving a moist trail behind.
‘Your body is so tiny,’ he said as he edged his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman who is so small.’
And that was when reality hit her like an invisible punch to the solar plexus. She was making out with a man she barely knew. A ruthless sheikh who exuded a dark and dangerous sensuality—and she was seconds away from succumbing to him. Heart pounding, she wrenched herself away, grabbing at her scattered clothes and scrambling to her feet as he stared up at her with dazed disbelief.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
She began to button up her shirt with shaking fingers. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m stopping this before it goes any further.’
He raked his fingers through his hair, his expression one of impatience and frustration. ‘I thought we’d already had this conversation,’ he growled.
‘It’s an ongoing conversation,’ she said, sucking in an unsteady breath. ‘On every level, this would be a mistake and it’s not going to happen. We’re two people from completely different worlds, who won’t ever see one another again once the snow melts. It seems you’re stuck here until help arrives, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ll just have to make the best of a bad situation. Just so you know—there are seven bedrooms in this house and you’re welcome to sleep in any of them.’ She glared at him. ‘Just stay out of mine.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
SALADIN WAS CUPPING her breast again, only this time it was completely bare. His palm was massaging the peaking nipple and Livvy made a mewing little sound of pleasure.
‘Please,’ she moaned softly. ‘Oh, Saladin. Please.’
He didn’t answer, but now his hand was circling her belly—slowly and rhythmically—before drifting down towards the soft tangle of curls at her thighs and coming to a tantalising halt. Her throat dried as the molten heat continued to build and she felt her thighs part in silent invitation. Just do it, she prayed silently. Forget all those stupid objections I put in your way. I was stupid and uptight and life is too short. I don’t care whether it’s right or wrong, I just want you.
She opened her mouth to call his name again when she heard the loud bang of a door somewhere in the distance and she woke with a start, blinking in horror as she looked around, her heart banging against her ribcage like a frenzied drum. Disorientated and bewildered, she tried to work out what had happened, before the truth hit her. She was in her bedroom at Wightwick Manor with her hand between her legs, about to call out Saladin’s name—and she’d never felt so sexually excited in her life.
Whipping the duvet away, she was relieved to see that the other side of the bed was smooth and unslept in—although her pyjama bottoms were uncharacteristically bunched up into a small bundle at the bottom of the bed. Heart still racing, she grabbed them and slithered them on, still trying to make sense of the warm lethargy and pervading sense of arousal that was threatening to overwhelm her. So don’t let it, she told herself fiercely. Just calm down and try to work out what’s going on.
Jumping out of bed, she scooted over to the windows and pulled back the heavy curtains—her heart performing a complicated kind of somersault as she looked outside. Because there, on the snow-laden lawns, was her sweetest dream and worst nightmare all rolled into one. Saladin Al Mektala knee-deep in snow. The man she’d dreamed about so vividly that she’d woken up believing he was in bed with her was outside, shovelling snow like a labourer.
He’d managed to find a spade from somewhere and had cleared the path leading to the front door, although the rest of the landscape was still banked with white. More snow must have fallen overnight and the beautiful gardens were unrecognisable—blotted out by a mantle that was so bright it hurt the eyes. Livvy blinked against the cold whiteness of the light. And once again, that sense of unreality washed over her, because it was beyond weird to see the desert-dwelling king standing in the middle of the snowy English countryside.
He must have found himself a pair of the wellingtons she always kept for the guests in case they wanted to go walking—because, in her experience, nobody ever brought the correct footwear with them. She wondered why he hadn’t put on one of the waterproof jackets, because surely it was insane to be shovelling snow in a cashmere coat that must have cost as much as her monthly heating bill.
She was about to duck away from the window when he looked up, as if her presence had alerted him to the fact he was being watched. He was too far away for her to be able to read his expression correctly—and Livvy told herself she was imagining the glint of mischief in his eyes. Was she? With a small howl of rage, she turned away and headed for the freezing bathroom just along the corridor—only to discover that the lights still weren’t working.
After a brief and icy shower, her worried thoughts ran round and round, like a hamster on a wheel. It had just been a dream, hadn’t it? The aching breasts and heavy pelvis and the hazy memories of him in bed with her were all just the legacy of an overworked imagination, weren’t they? Probably her subconscious reacting to the way he’d kissed her by the fire.
Pulling on a black sweater over her jeans, she piled up her hair into a topknot, wondering why he’d made a pass at her in the first place. Maybe she looked like someone who was crying out for a little affection. Or maybe he’d just felt sorry for her when she’d told him about Rupert.
He was arrogant and infuriating and dangerous and yet, when she closed her eyes, all she could remember was the sweet seduction of his kiss as he’d pulled her against his hard body.
She ran downstairs and checked the phone but the lines were still down. Which meant...
Meant...
The front door slammed and Saladin walked in, looking as if the wintry wilds of the snowy English countryside were his natural habitat. His golden skin was glowing after the physical exertion of shovelling snow, and Livvy flushed a deep pink as embarrassment coursed through her. Because suddenly all she could think about was her dream and how vivid it had felt. And it was a dream, wasn’t it?
‘Where did you sleep?’ she questioned—and wasn’t part of her terrified he’d answer ‘in your bed’? That he would sardonically inform her that the reason the dreams had been so vivid was because they were real...
‘Aren’t you supposed to enquire how I slept, rather than where?’ he questioned coolly, removing a pair of leather gloves and dropping them on a table. ‘Isn’t that the usual role of the hostess?’
She forced a smile. ‘Okay. Let’s start again. How did you sleep?’
‘For a time I slept the sleep of the just,’ he drawled, raking his fingers back through black hair that was damp with melting snow. ‘But that was before you woke me up.’
Livvy’s throat dried as she stared at him in growing horror. ‘I woke you up?’
‘Indeed you did.’ He flicked her a glance from between the dark forest of his lashes. ‘You were shouting something in your sleep.’
Her rosy flush was now a distant memory. She could feel all the colour leaching from her face and knew from past experience that her freckles would be standing out as if someone had spattered mud all over her skin. ‘What,’ she croaked, ‘was I shouting?’
There was a split-second pause. ‘At first I thought it was my name until I decided I was probably mistaken—given the abrupt way you drew the evening to a conclusion,’ he said, his eyes sending out some sort of coded message she couldn’t decipher. ‘But I thought I’d better get up and investigate anyway.’
Livvy’s heart pounded. ‘Right,’ she said breathlessly.
‘So I walked along the corridor to your room, and you shouted it again but this time there could be no mistake, because it was very definitely my name and you were saying it as if you were in some kind of pain. Or something.’ His eyes glittered. ‘So I turned the door handle and...’
‘And?’ she squeaked, hating the way he had deliberately paused for dramatic effect.
He glimmered her a smile. ‘And I discovered that you’d locked yourself in.’
‘So I had,’ she remembered, breathing out a shaky sigh of relief.
‘Of course—’ his eyes narrowed but she couldn’t mistake the dangerous glint sparking from their ebony depths ‘—if there had been any real danger, no door would have kept me out—locked or otherwise. In the circumstances, I can’t quite decide whether you were being prudent or paranoid. What did you think was going to happen, Livvy—that I was going to force my way into your room in the middle of the night, all on the strength of one little kiss?’
‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly, wondering if her words sounded as unconvincing to him as they did to her. What if she had left her door unlocked and he’d come running when she’d called out his name? It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that she would have reached out for him, was it? Grabbed at him and kissed him as hungrily as before. It wouldn’t take much of a leap of the imagination to work out what would have happened next...
She wanted to bury her face in her hands, or close her eyes and find that when she opened them he would be gone—taking with him all these confusing thoughts and this gnawing sense of frustration. But that wasn’t going to happen, and it was vital she acted as if it was no big deal. As if it had been just one little kiss—as he had said so dismissively.
‘I certainly didn’t mean to disrupt your night,’ she said.
‘I can live with it,’ he said softly. ‘Would you like some coffee? There’s a pot brewing in the kitchen.’
‘You’ve made coffee?’ she questioned.
‘Last night you told me to make myself at home. You also made it very clear that you weren’t going to wait on me, so it seems I shall have to fend for myself.’
He turned on his heel and began walking towards the kitchen, and Livvy felt obliged to follow him, wondering indignantly how he had managed to assume such a powerful sense of ownership in her home.
By daylight and without the mysterious glow of candles, the kitchen seemed a far less threatening environment than it had done last night. Livvy sat down at the table and watched as he poured coffee with the same dexterity as he’d demonstrated when removing her sweater. Oh, God—he’d taken off her sweater. And her shirt. Briefly, she shut her eyes. He would have taken off even more if she hadn’t stopped him.
So stop letting him take control. Tell him he’s got to stop shovelling snow and making coffee and to concentrate on getting himself out of here as soon as possible. She needed to remember that the response he evoked in her was purely visceral, and it would soon pass. He’d kissed her and made her feel good, and so her body wanted him to do it all over again. It was as simple as that—and it was to be avoided at all costs.
‘So did you get through to your people?’ she questioned.
Saladin slid the cup towards her. ‘I did. On a very bad line and with a low battery, but yes. Sugar?’
‘Just milk, thanks.’ She took the coffee. ‘And they’re coming to get you, I presume?’
‘Unfortunately, it’s not quite that easy,’ he said smoothly. ‘Several trees are down and some of the lanes are blocked, and all the gritting lorries are needed for the arterial roads.’
Livvy only just avoided choking on her second mouthful of coffee. ‘What does that mean?’
Saladin shrugged. He wondered if she realised he could have commandeered a whole fleet of gritting lorries with a click of his fingers—plus a helicopter prepared to swoop down and fly him away to anywhere he chose to go.
But he wasn’t planning on leaving. At least, not yet. Not until she’d agreed to accompany him to Jazratan. And he realised there was something else that was making him stay put—and that was a desire for her so intense that he couldn’t look at her without his groin aching. ‘It means I’m staying here, Livvy,’ he said.
Her eyes widened with alarm and with something else—something that was easily recognisable as desire. He could see it in the self-conscious way her body stiffened whenever he approached. He had tasted it in that amazing firelight kiss last night even if— incredibly—she had turned him down afterwards. And it pleased him that her hunger matched his, even if her reluctance to have sex with him astonished him. Did she realise that resisting him was only fuelling his determination to join with her? Why, he could have exploded with frustration and excitement when she’d banished him to his bedroom and barricaded herself into her own room last night. For passion-fuelled seconds he’d actually considered behaving as one of his ancestors would have done and broken down the door—before sanity had prevailed and he had slunk away with a sense of disbelief and a throbbing groin.
‘You’re staying here?’ she echoed as a series of conflicting emotions crossed over her freckled face.
‘It would seem so.’
‘For how long?’
‘Until it’s safe to leave.’
‘Surely someone like you could call for a helicopter,’ she objected. ‘I can’t believe that the sheikh of Jazratan, with all his power and influence, is stuck in the snow in the English countryside.’
He smiled, because this was something else he wasn’t used to. People usually did everything to entice him to stay because they loved the cachet of having a royal in their presence. They didn’t stare at him with a mulish expression on their face, not bothering to hide their wish to see him gone. ‘Anything is possible,’ he mused. ‘But you wouldn’t want me to put one of my pilots at risk, would you, Livvy—just because having me around makes you feel uncomfortable?’
She licked her lips, as if his soft tone had temporarily disarmed her—which was precisely what he intended it to do.
‘You don’t make me feel uncomfortable.’
Their eyes met.
‘Well, then,’ he said softly. ‘There isn’t a problem, is there?’
She glared at him and Saladin felt a heady sense of triumph. Surely she must realise by now that that resistance was futile?
‘Just so you know,’ she said, glancing up at the wall clock, ‘I have things to do and I can’t stand around entertaining you all day.’
‘If this is what you term as entertainment, I’m happy to pass.’
She slanted him a furious look. ‘I have to work on the assumption that the weather is going to clear and that my guests will be arriving on schedule.’
‘So let me help you.’
Livvy put down her cup with a clatter. ‘How?’
‘Are there logs that need chopping?’
‘You chop logs?’
‘Yes, I chop logs, Livvy. Or do you think I lie around on silken cushions all day doing nothing?’
‘I have no idea. I hadn’t given your daily routine a moment’s thought.’
Exaggeratedly, he ran his hand slowly down over his biceps. ‘You don’t get a body like this by just lying around all day.’
‘That’s the most outrageous boast I’ve ever heard!’
He smiled. ‘So? Logs?’
‘A man from the village chops them.’ She got up from the table. ‘But you can bring some through to the drawing room from the big pile in the storehouse if you like. That would be very helpful. And if you’d like to light the fire, that would also be helpful.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I’m decorating the Christmas tree.’
She flung the words out like a challenge.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Something at which I am a complete novice, which means you can order me round to your heart’s content. I’m sure that will give you immense pleasure, won’t it, Livvy? You seem to enjoy taking control.’
He watched as she appeared to bite back what she was about to say. She looked as if she wanted to tell him to go to hell.
‘I suppose you can hold the ladder for me,’ she said, and he almost laughed as she bit out the ungracious response.
Half an hour later he found himself gripping the sides of a ladder while she hauled dusty boxes from the loft and handed them to him. Saladin stared down at different labelled boxes bearing the words Baubles and Tinsel with the sense of a man entering uncharted territory. He had never decorated a Christmas tree in his life—it wasn’t a holiday they celebrated in Jazratan—and unexpectedly he found he was enjoying himself.
From his position at the foot of the stepladder, he was able to study the slender curves of Livvy’s body, and from this angle her jeans certainly looked a lot more flattering. Every step up the ladder hugged the denim against the curve of her buttocks and outlined each slender thigh. His gaze travelled up to the back of her neck, which was pale and dusted with a few freckles. He wondered if she had deliberately put her hair into that topknot, knowing he would want to remove the single clip that held it in place. So that it would tumble around her shoulders like a fall of flame, the way it had done last night...
Last night.
He swallowed as she leaned out to attach a sparkly silver ball to the end of a branch, his hands again gripping the sides of the ladder—not quite sure which of them he was keeping steady. He’d lied to her about sleeping well because the truth was that he’d barely slept at all—especially when he’d realised she’d meant what she said, and that she wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him. In the silence of his icy room, he’d kept reliving their fireside kiss—thinking how unexpectedly erotic it had been. His fierce hunger for her had taken him by surprise—because nobody could deny that she was a very unassuming creature—but just as surprising was her determination to resist him.
At first he’d thought she was joking. Or that she was playing the old, familiar game because women often believed that a man was more likely to commit if they played hard to get. He gave a cynical smile. But if that was her plan then she was wasting her time, because there would be no commitment from him other than the guarantee of pleasure. His mouth hardened and his heart clenched with pain. He had walked that path before and he would not be setting foot on it again.
‘Could you hand me that angel, please?’
Angel? Livvy’s voice broke into his uncomfortable thoughts and Saladin picked up the figure she was pointing to—a plastic doll wearing a crudely sewn dress. A tiny ring of tinsel wreathed the flaxen hair, and she was holding a foil-covered matchstick, which he assumed was meant to be a wand.
‘Homemade?’ he ventured wryly, as he held it out towards her.
She hesitated before giving a brief, sad smile. ‘I made it with my mum.’
That smile touched something deep inside him and he found himself wanting to kiss her again, but her rapid ascent up the ladder was clearly intended to terminate the conversation, and maybe that was best. Yes, definitely for the best, he told himself. Instead, he forced himself to concentrate on the way she brought the bare tree to life by heaping on the glittering baubles and tinsel while the fire crackled and spat. It was one of the most innocent ways he’d ever spent a morning, and Saladin was overcome by an unexpected wave of emotion, because wasn’t it captivating to find a woman whose main focus wasn’t sex? How long since he’d been in the company of a female who was behaving with restraint and with decorum? Not since Alya, he thought—and a wave of guilt washed over him as he made the comparison.
‘Be careful,’ he growled as she began to back her way down the ladder.
‘I am being careful.’
But suddenly, he was not. He was giving in to what he could no longer resist. He caught hold of her as she made that last step and his hand closed over hers, and to his surprise she didn’t pull away from him. She just stared at him as he turned her hand over and raised it slowly to his lips, his tongue snaking out over her palm to slowly lick at the salty flesh.
‘Saladin,’ she whispered, but he could see that her eyes had darkened.
‘Don’t talk anymore, because I’m going to kiss you,’ he said, his voice deepening with sudden urgency. ‘But you already know that, don’t you, Livvy? You know that’s what I have been longing to do since I got up this morning.’
As a stalling device it was pathetic, but Livvy said it all the same, lifting her gaze to the bare ceiling. ‘There’s supposed to be mistletoe,’ she whispered.
‘Damn the mistletoe,’ he ground out as his head came down towards hers.
CHAPTER SIX (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
ONE KISS, LIVVY told herself as Saladin’s mouth claimed hers. One kiss and no more. Just like last night—it didn’t have to lead anywhere. She could call a halt to it any time she liked.
But deep down she knew she was fooling herself—because this felt different. Last night had been all about candlelight and firelight and a sense of other-worldliness that had descended on them as they’d sat around the sparking logs. Restaurants didn’t dim the lights for no reason and call it mood lighting, did they?
But today...
In the cold clear light of today, in the harsh and blinding reflection of newly fallen snow—there was nothing but rawness and reality. And hunger. Oh, yes. A fierce hunger that had been building all night—even while she slept—and that was being fed by the sweet seduction of Saladin’s kiss as he began to explore her mouth. He kissed her softly at first, and then he kissed hard and long and deep—with a warm urgency that was contagious. And she wanted him. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, because this was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
Wrapping her fingers around his neck, she kissed him back and, although he held her very tightly, it was almost as if she were floating free. She felt soft. Boneless. As if every point of her body was a pleasure point. As if every inch of her skin was an erogenous zone. Wherever Saladin touched her she felt on fire. With each kiss he dragged her deeper into the silken web he was weaving. At some point she thought she must have groaned because suddenly he pulled back, sucking in a ragged breath, his eyes as bright as a man with a fever.
‘Here?’ he questioned succinctly. ‘Or upstairs?’
It was a brutal question that killed off some of the romance she’d been feeling, but at least it was real and at least there could be no misinterpretation about his intentions. He wasn’t dressing it up to be something it wasn’t. This was sex, pure and simple. He wasn’t lying to her, was he?
‘Can’t decide?’ he murmured, and, when she didn’t answer, he began to nuzzle her neck.
She tipped her head back while she skated through the possibilities. The bed would be better. She could hide beneath the concealing weight of the duvet, couldn’t she? But this wasn’t supposed to be about hiding. This was about taking control of her own destiny. About taking something she really wanted for once, instead of being influenced by other people’s expectations.
She realised he was waiting for an answer, and her heart missed a beat as she stared into the blackness of his eyes. He was the wrong man on so many levels, but did that matter? Doing the right thing had never worked out for her, had it? Maybe it was time to run full tilt at glorious fantasy and forget all about reality for once, because this gorgeous man wanted to make love to her. And when some bone-deep instinct warned her that he was capable of inflicting pain—real emotional pain, far worse, she suspected, than any she’d suffered with Rupert—she reminded herself that she was a different person now. She was no longer that innocent bride who looked at the world through rose-tinted glasses. She was independent and she could handle this. So what the hell was she waiting for?
‘Here,’ she managed from between swollen lips. ‘I want to do it here.’
He brought his head down as if to seal her intention with another kiss, but she sensed his growing impatience as he led her over to the fire and pulled her close—close enough for her to feel every sinew of his powerful body. Pulling the pin from her hair, he watched as it tumbled around her shoulders.
‘Your hair is like fire,’ he murmured, letting silky strands slide through his fingers. ‘You should wear it down all the time.’
She opened her mouth to tell him it wouldn’t be practical but her words were forgotten as he removed her sweater, his eyebrows shooting upwards as a lacy bra of midnight-blue silk was revealed.
Tiptoeing his fingertip along the delicate edging of lace, he pushed her down onto the silken rug. ‘What’s this?’ he murmured.
‘It’s...a bra. What does it look like?’
‘Nothing like the one you had on last night, that’s for sure.’ Slowly, he expelled the air from his lungs as he flattened his palm over one peaking mound. ‘Did you wear it specially for me?’
Had she? She’d never worn it before. A friend had given her birthday vouchers to an upmarket lingerie shop that didn’t know the meaning of words like sensible or refund. The navy set had been the most practical thing on offer, but up until today it had seemed too delicate for everyday use. There had never been a reason to wear it before, yet something had made her put it on this morning...
‘Maybe subconsciously,’ she admitted.
He gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘A woman only wears underwear like this if she wants a man to take it off. Is that what you want me to do, Livvy? Is that what you’ve been longing for me to do ever since you got up this morning? To run my fingers over your beautiful pale skin and get you naked?’
She closed her eyes as his hand strayed to the bra’s front clasp. She wanted to tell him that his assumption was arrogant, but how could she protest when his fingers had loosened the clip and her breasts were spilling free? The cool air hit her skin and suddenly he was bending his lips to a nipple and he was sucking on it. Nipping at it and grazing his teeth all over the sensitised nub. She gave a little squeal of pleasure and he lifted his head.
‘You are very vocal in your approval, habibi,’ he observed softly. ‘Does that feel good?’
Her tongue snaked out to moisten her parched lips. ‘So good,’ she breathed.
‘And this? Does this feel good?’
Against the rug, Livvy writhed with pleasure as his hand moved between her legs, because her body suddenly felt as if was out of her control and words seemed to be beyond her. Did he really need her to tell him that she liked the way he was sucking her nipple? The way his finger was rubbing up and down the stiff seam of her jeans at the very point where she was acutely sensitive. The finger stilled.
‘Does it?’ he questioned silkily.
Did he want praise? Maybe she was expected to touch him. To reach out to where his crotch was straining so formidably against his trousers and to trickle her fingers over his hardness. Livvy’s heart began to pound. Her experience of foreplay was limited, because Rupert had known she was a virgin and had wanted to wait until they were married and had said he didn’t trust himself to touch her. It wasn’t until afterwards that she had discovered the reason why...
Her sex life was something she regarded as an arid area of failure, but instinct told her that Saladin Al Mektala could be the person to change all that. She suspected that what the sheikh didn’t know about pleasure wouldn’t be worth knowing. Yet surely it would be deceitful to let him make love to her without telling him her secret.
‘Does it?’ he repeated silkily, and Livvy circled her hips with frustration and guilt.
What if she told him and he rejected her—if he left her shivering and aching with frustration in front of the fire?
She had to tell him.
She stared straight into his black eyes. ‘It feels incredible,’ she said. ‘But maybe you ought to know that I’m—’
‘Driving me crazy with desire, that’s for sure,’ he said, moving over her to silence her words with another breathtaking kiss.
And Livvy let him. That was the shame of it. She just let him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back with a slow, exploratory hunger as he began to slide down the zipper of her jeans.
‘Mmm...’ was his only comment as he tugged the denim away to reveal the lacy blue knickers that matched her bra, before concentrating his attention on kissing her body. He whispered his lips over her breasts—his breath warm against her skin—before travelling down to her belly. She held her breath as his head travelled downwards until his dark head was positioned between her thighs. For a moment she tensed, but when he licked almost lazily at the moist panel of her panties a spasm of pleasure so intense shot through her that for a moment Livvy was scared she might faint.
Was it the half-broken cry she made in response to that intimacy that made him suddenly stop? Her nails dug hard into his shoulders in protest but he didn’t appear to care.
‘Don’t—’ she gasped.
Had he read her mind?
‘Don’t stop?’ He looked up from his decadent position between her thighs, and smiled. ‘I have no intention of stopping, but I am hungry to feel my skin next to yours, habibi. And while you are almost naked—I am not.’
She didn’t want him to move—terrified that any movement would shatter this precarious magic—but she had little choice except to lie there and watch as he stood up and began to strip off. His shirt was silk and so were his boxers and they floated to the ground like fine gossamer. Livvy’s mouth dried as his body was revealed. His dark skin glowed like richest gold and the deep shadows cast by the flickering firelight emphasised his physical perfection. A hard and rippling torso, with powerful arms and muscular legs that seemed to go on forever. Narrow hips and rock-hard buttocks. Even the powerful evidence of his arousal wasn’t as daunting as it should have been because by now Livvy was alive with a need that had been buried inside her for so long that she felt she would die if he didn’t make love to her.
Her heart was pounding as she stared at his erection, but when he reached down into the pocket of his trousers and drew out a condom, she felt a flutter of misgiving. Did he always carry protection with him? Did he take it for granted that there would always be a willing woman lying waiting for him like this? She thought about the women who sometimes used to accompany him to the stables—those models and actresses with their suede boots and miniskirts and real fur. For a moment she wondered how she could possibly compare to those glamorous creatures, until she forced the dark clouds of insecurity from her mind. Maybe there was always an accommodating female wherever he went—like a sailor having a woman in every port—but this wasn’t about convention, was it? She’d done all that stuff and look where it had got her.
She thought about the heartache of the past and the struggle her life had been for so long. She stared over Saladin’s shoulder as he slithered her panties off and moved over her. Outside the world was white and still and silent, apart from the distant ticking of a clock. Time was passing, but they were completely alone and this moment would never come again. And she had to seize it—to grab it—and to hell with the consequences.
Yet once before she had blinded herself to the truth. She’d buried her head in the sand and allowed herself to be treated like a fool by the man she’d been engaged to. Was she going to repeat that pattern of behaviour all her life—to run away from what she was afraid to face?
‘Saladin,’ she whispered as he rubbed his thumb over her clitoris. ‘There’s something you should know.’
‘The only thing I need to know is whether you like...this...’
She closed her eyes. Like it? She imagined that even a marble statue would have squirmed beneath his questing finger, but that wasn’t the point. The words came out in a bald rush—but what other way was there to say them? ‘I’m a virgin.’
His fingers—which had been working rhythmically against her heated flesh—now stilled. He raised his head to look at her, his eyes full of disbelief—but there was something else in their depths, too. Something she didn’t recognise. Something dark and tortured. Something that scared her.
‘Is this some sort of joke?’ he demanded in a strangled kind of voice.
Wondering what had made him look so bleak, Livvy shook her head. ‘It’s no joke,’ she said. ‘Why would I joke about something like that? It’s the truth. I might not be very proud of it—but it’s the truth.’
He rolled away from her and she noticed that his erection had diminished. ‘How can this be?’ he bit out. ‘You are nearly thirty years old. You were engaged to be married. I know what Western women are like. They lose their innocence early and they take many lovers!’
His crass generalisations dispelled some of her insecurity and made Livvy start to claw back some dignity—something that wasn’t particularly easy when she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Did she dare walk over to the sofa where the soft woollen throw she kept for cold winter nights was folded? Too right she did—because staying here completely naked was making her feel even more vulnerable than she already did. On shaky legs she rose to stand, aware of his heated gaze following her as she walked over to get the blanket and brought it back to the fireside. But as she wrapped it around herself and sat at the other end of the rug, she became aware that his erection was back. And how. Hastily averting her eyes, she turned to throw a log into the neglected fire.
‘I hate to ruin your prejudices, but not all women conform to the stereotypes you’ve just described,’ she said. ‘The law of averages suggests that there will be some older virgins as well as young ones.’
Saladin’s mouth thinned with displeasure, thinking that there couldn’t have been a more inappropriate moment for her to try to dazzle him with statistics, and he was amazed she should even dare try. He felt the heavy throb of his heart. He had wanted sex. Simple, uncomplicated sex with a willing woman. He didn’t want someone with issues or baggage. He didn’t want someone who, with her purity, had stirred up memories he had locked away a long time ago. For he had only ever slept with one virgin before, and that virgin had been his beautiful wife. Pain and guilt clenched at his heart as he stared at her.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said coldly.
‘You don’t have to. I’m...’ And suddenly he saw the uncertainty that flickered across her pale and freckled face. ‘I’m sorry if I led you on.’
An unwanted but persistent point of principle made him shake his head. ‘We led each other on,’ he said heavily. ‘But it is true that you have left it a little late to drop this particular bombshell.’
Awkwardly, she shrugged. ‘Do you want to get dressed?’
Saladin shook his head. What he wanted was to be back where he’d been less than five minutes ago, not stuck in the middle of some damned conversation! ‘I don’t believe it,’ he breathed. ‘I thought it was the custom in the West to have sex before marriage—and you were on the very brink of marriage. So what happened?’
‘It’s difficult to put into words.’
‘You don’t seem to have had much problem with words so far.’
She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. ‘I think I was born in the wrong age,’ she said slowly. ‘I was a tomboy who loved messing around in the countryside. I climbed trees and used to make dens with the boys from the village. I never had posters of pop stars on my walls like all the other girls in my class. I was more interested in horses—horses were my life. In fact, everything was just like one of those old-fashioned children’s stories, until my mum died.’
‘That must have been hard,’ he said.
She shrugged again and suddenly he thought she looked much younger than nearly thirty.
‘Lots of children lose their mothers,’ she said. ‘But not so many have a father who was left feeling very vulnerable. A rich widower who became perfect marriage fodder for the kind of woman commonly known as a gold-digger.’
‘I have some experience of that breed myself,’ he observed wryly. ‘So what happened?’
She shrugged. ‘He fell for a busty blonde with a penchant for diamonds and couture and then he married her. My father was a country gentleman and this house had been in his family for generations, but his new wife preferred luxury travel and sailing in sunny waters on a lavish yacht. She was the kind of woman who would buy an entire new wardrobe before every trip—and we weren’t the sort of family who had a lot of ready cash. Most of it was tied up in the house. Would you...?’ Again, she licked her lips. ‘Would you like a blanket, or something?’
He would like something, but he suspected he wasn’t going to get it right then. ‘Why, is my nakedness bothering you?’
‘A little.’
‘Just a little?’ He let his gaze slide down to his groin before raising his eyes to her flaming cheeks. ‘I must be slipping. Very well, bring me a blanket if it makes you feel better.’
He wondered if she was aware that he was being treated to a tantalising glimpse of her bare bottom as she walked over to a second sofa and grabbed another blanket, though he noticed that she averted her gaze again as she thrust it at him before resuming her position at the other end of the rug.
‘So what happened?’ he questioned, watching as she huddled herself in a cocoon of soft wool. ‘Or can I guess? Did she grow bored with marriage to an older man? Did she demand more and more money, until she’d bled him dry?’
Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because I know what women are like,’ he said. ‘And your stepmother was conforming to a pattern that isn’t exactly ground-breaking.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And ironically, you met your own male version of the gold-digger in de Vries.’
She nodded before staring down at the pattern on the rug as if completely absorbed by it, but when she lifted her face he noted that her expression was calm—as if she had practised very hard to look that way.
‘That’s right. I can’t believe that I didn’t see it for myself, my only defence being that I was very young,’ she said. ‘His stables were in trouble—everyone knew that—but nobody realised quite how bad the problem was. He knew I was an only child and he saw this house and made the assumption we were rolling in money. Which, of course, we weren’t. My father was quite an old man by then and he was ill. We had a lot of carers who were coming in and helping me look after him, and they cost an absolute fortune.’
‘And I suppose that was also occupying a lot of your time and energy?’ he said grimly.
She nodded again. ‘He was very frail by then, and Rupert seemed so understanding about it all. He didn’t seem to mind when I had to cancel dinner because one of the carers hadn’t shown up. And because he was my first real boyfriend, I had nothing to compare him with. I just thought he was being kind. When he said...’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘When he said that he wanted to wait until we were married before we had sex, I found that somehow reassuring.’
Saladin nodded. Yes, he could see that. A horse-mad, motherless tomboy whose only role models had been an old man who should have known better and an avaricious stepmother who was out for all she could get. No wonder Livvy hadn’t known the rules about relationships, or men, or sex. Nobody had bothered to explain them to her, had they?
‘Don’t you realise that it reflects badly on him, not you?’ he questioned savagely. ‘That a man who dumps a woman on her wedding day because she has less money than he thought is not a real man. We have a name for that kind of man in Jazratan, but I will not sully your ears with it.’
‘But it wasn’t just the money. There was something else.’ She twisted some of the blanket’s tassels between her fingers. ‘It turned out that he was sleeping with one of the female grooms and had been for some time, which was why he hadn’t tried harder to get into bed with me. Not just any groom, either—but my best friend. And there was me thinking that he was displaying old-fashioned values of chivalry designed to win a woman’s heart, not realising that I was being betrayed by the two people I considered closest to me.’ She gave a short and bitter laugh. ‘What a fool I was.’
‘You shouldn’t beat yourself up for wanting to believe the best in people,’ he said, his voice growing hard. ‘Though I hope you’ve learned your lesson now. It’s always better to think the worst. That way you don’t get disappointed.’
She stared at him. ‘You’ve been very...’ Her voice tailed off.
‘Very what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I think it does.’
‘Understanding.’ She gave an embarrassed kind of shrug.
‘What did you think I was going to do?’ he questioned roughly. ‘Carry on as if nothing had happened—kiss away your protests and ignore your obvious reservations? Or maybe you wanted me to fulfil the fantasy of the exotic stranger who ravishes the willing but innocent woman. Who takes away the responsibility so you didn’t have to make the decision for yourself. Is that what you would have liked? It’s a common enough fantasy, especially where desert sheikhs are concerned. Would that have made it easier for you, Livvy?’
She licked her lips. ‘I wasn’t even going to tell you.’
‘No, I gathered that,’ he said drily. ‘So what changed your mind?’
She shrugged again and the blanket slipped down over her shoulders, before she hauled it back up again. ‘I thought it was dishonest not to. I thought you might be one of those men for whom virginity is a big deal.’
Saladin was silent as he considered her words. Was it? Her eyes were wide as she looked at him and he could read the faint anxiety in their depths. He supposed it was. For a man in his position, virginity was an essential requirement of any future queen. But he was not looking for a queen. He had been there, done that. What was it they said in the West? Bought the T-shirt.
His mouth hardened as she held his gaze with those startling amber eyes. Was she seeking reassurance? Holding out for an impossible dream? He felt the hard throb of desire at his groin and shifted his weight. This was a unique situation, but despite his undeniable lust—lust was interchangeable, because there was always another female eager enough to open her legs for him. If it were anyone else, he would get dressed, make a quick phone call and get the hell out of there—no matter how many damned snow ploughs it took.
And that was what he should do—he knew that. Because purity was something he always associated with just one woman—and wouldn’t it dishonour Alya’s memory if he were to take the innocence of another? Every instinct he possessed—except for the sexual instinct—told him to leave now and get away while he still could.
But Livvy Miller still had something he wanted. Something that only she could provide. And maybe he had something she wanted, because surely she didn’t want to carry on like this. Was now the time for a little adult negotiation? If he fulfilled a need in her—then wouldn’t she feel morally obliged to do the same for him?
On her face he could read trepidation warring with desire, and a genuine sense of injustice washed over him. How crazy was it that she had never known the joy of sex? That a woman who was known for her physicality and skill on a horse should have neglected her own body for so long?
He didn’t move—he didn’t dare—because it was vital he didn’t influence her decision, even though he knew that another kiss and she would be melting beneath him. But it had to be her decision, not his. His gaze was unwavering as he looked at her.
‘So,’ he questioned silkily. ‘Do you want me to take your virginity, Livvy?’
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
LIVVY DIDN’T ANSWER straight away. It seemed like something out of a dream—the powerful sheikh asking if she wanted him to take her virginity, with all the impartiality of someone enquiring whether she’d like a spoonful of sugar in her coffee.
As she stared into the provocative gleam of Saladin’s black eyes, she thought about everything that had brought her to this moment. The public shame of being jilted that had hit her so hard, even though she’d done her best to hold her head up high afterwards. She’d walked away from the world of horses without a backward glance and had started a new life.
Out of a sense of loyalty to her father’s memory and a determination that Rupert’s rejection wouldn’t destroy her completely, she’d done her best to keep Wightwick Manor going. On a shoestring budget she’d worked hard to make her bed and breakfast business a success. But now she could see that she had neglected her own needs in the process. She’d put her emotional life on a back burner, letting her twenties trickle away beneath the hard work of maintaining an old house like this. She hadn’t done dates or parties or make-up—she’d spent any spare money on roof tiles, or getting the windows painted. She hadn’t gone off for minibreaks or enjoyed sunny vacations with girlfriends, drinking lurid-coloured cocktails while they were chatted up by waiters. She hadn’t even tried to find herself a new boyfriend. She’d told herself she didn’t need the potential pain of another relationship.
Yet here she was—naked underneath a blanket while a similarly naked Saladin surveyed her from the other end of the rug. She stared into the dark smoulder of his eyes and wondered how best to respond to his question. She supposed she could say no. Act prim and outraged—and tell him that she wasn’t interested in giving her virginity to him, like some kind of medieval sacrifice. He was certainly sophisticated enough to take it on the chin. She doubted he would feel more than a moment of regret, and she would probably be knocked down by the rush of women eager to take her place.
But it wasn’t quite that straightforward, because she still wanted him. He’d kissed her passionately and made her feel she was part of something magical. He’d made her feel things she didn’t think she was capable of feeling—a powerful passion that had overwhelmed her and a need that had flooded hotly through her veins. He’d set her body on fire. She thought about the way he’d touched her—whispering his mouth over each breast in turn, grazing them with his teeth and making her urge him on with writhing hips. She remembered the way his head had slid down between her thighs and something molten and sweet had begun to tug at the very core of her—something that was making refusal seem like a crazy idea. And she knew something else—that she would never get another chance like this. Desert sheikhs promising untold pleasure didn’t come along more than once in a lifetime.
She stared at him.
‘Yes,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Yes, I want you to take my virginity.’
His face showed no immediate reaction. The hawklike features displayed no hint of triumph although his lips curved in the briefest of smiles.
‘Come here,’ he instructed softly.
She wondered briefly why he couldn’t come to her, but his words were compelling and masterful and Livvy stood up and began to walk towards him, clutching the blanket against her skin like a makeshift dress. She could feel his eyes burning into her—as if that piercing black gaze was capable of scorching through the wool to the body beneath. Her footsteps faltered as she reached him, uncertain about what to do next, but he reached out and slid his thumb over her ankle, massaging briefly against the jut of bone there, before beginning to stroke his way up her calf. Livvy swallowed as pleasure began to ripple over her skin. It seemed such a light, innocuous movement to such an innocent part of the body and yet...yet...
‘Saladin,’ she whispered.
‘Shh.’
The back of her knee was next—a tiny circular movement that must have made her loosen her grip on the blanket because he gave it a single tug and it slid to the ground, leaving her standing naked in front of him. Automatically, her hands flew up to conceal her breasts, before he shook his head.
‘Do not cover yourself, Livvy,’ he instructed softly. ‘Your body is very beautiful. It is small and neat, yet strong and supple. It pleases me very much and I wish to look at it.’
She kept her hands exactly where they were, even though his words were making her nipples peak against her fingers. ‘You’re making me feel like an object.’
‘Not an object,’ he demurred, reaching up and pulling her down into his arms, so that her flesh met the comforting warmth of his. He pushed the mussed hair away from her face and used the edge of his thumb to trace the outline of her lips. ‘Not even a subject, since I do not rule over you. So stop looking at me with those anxious eyes and relax, because I am going to give you pleasure such as you have never dreamed of.’
‘But I don’t have a clue what to do,’ she whispered.
‘And that,’ he said unevenly, ‘is part of your attraction.’
Only part of it, she wondered dazedly as his mouth came down towards her. What was the other part?
But his kiss was powerful enough to send any last doubts skittering from her mind, and the slow caress of his lips made further deliberations impossible. All she could think about was what he was doing. He was holding her close—so close—making her feel as if every cell in her body were sensitive to each seeking caress.
At first his touch wasn’t overtly sexual. The hands that were cupping her face seemed more interested in exploring the thickness of her hair and the outline of her face. And when that innocent exploration made her relax, he started stroking his hands down the sides of her body—until she was moving restlessly against him.
He must have known that her impatience was growing, but he paid no attention to her squirming movements. He just took his time—drawing out the exquisite torture as his fingers slowly acquainted themselves with her skin. Inch by tantalising inch, he touched her. First her breasts and then her ribcage and the undulation of her waist. She held her breath as he turned his attention to her belly and teased her by brushing his fingers farther down to delve inside the soft fuzz of hair. Yet his hawklike features remained impassive even though she could feel the tension building in his powerful body. She could sense his restraint—as if he was battling his own desire in order to feed hers.
‘Saladin,’ she breathed, looking into his eyes to find herself ensnared by a smoky black gaze.
‘Want me?’ His thumb brushed against the moist and engorged bud hidden by the soft curls, and she let out a little murmur of assent as she nodded.
‘I...I think so.’
‘I think so, too,’ he said, his voice suddenly growing harsh.
He moved over her, his hardness nudging against her wet heat as she opened her legs for him with an instinct that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. She became aware of so many things—his weight and his strength and the subtle scent of sandalwood and salt that clung to his skin.
‘Look at me,’ he urged softly.
Until he spoke, she hadn’t even realised her eyes had closed again. She let the lids flutter open to meet his heated gaze as he made that first thrust deep inside her—a long, slow thrust that made her gasp and instantly he stilled, his eyes narrowing.
‘It hurts?’
Breathlessly, she shook her head. ‘Not really. It just feels...’
‘What?’
‘Big.’
Saladin smiled—he couldn’t help himself. But her unintentional boost to his masculine ego only increased his hunger—if that was possible—and it was a moment before he could trust himself to move again. Already he felt close to a tipping point that had been reached the moment he had entered her. He could feel her flesh enclosing him as sweetly as an oyster clamped its shell around the glistening pearl. She was so tight. So wet. So...unexpected. But he reined back his sudden urgent desire to ride her as fiercely as he would ride one of his horses. Because this was her first time, he reminded himself. This was the touchstone by which she would measure all the men who would follow. And he must make it a good experience—the very best experience—for all kinds of reasons.
So he concentrated on kissing and fondling her. On doing all the things that women liked best and on holding back his own desire. And even though his sexual hunger was at a high that was almost unendurable, it felt exquisite. Maybe because it was the first time in a long time that he had put a woman’s needs before his own. Usually he didn’t have to, because he prided himself on being able to make a woman orgasm within moments of touching her, but this was different. Virgins were different...
The pain of memory shot through him like a dark streak of lightning and for a moment he screwed his eyes tightly shut, cursing the thoughts that crowded into his mind—and slamming down the barriers before they could take root there.
He drew in a deep breath and began to objectify what was happening, in order to distract himself. He concentrated on Livvy’s reaction rather than his own—watching as her eyes grew dark and her cheeks flushed. He felt the tension in her fingers as they kneaded against his sweat-sheened back. He could feel the urgency in her thighs, which were digging hard against his hips, and the way she instinctively angled her pelvis to encourage him to go deeper. He tipped his head back as she covered his shoulder with a flurry of frantic little kisses that seemed to grow in crescendo as he drove her towards her climax.
He knew when she was about to come. He could sense the change in her body—the unmistakable quiver of expectation and excitement edged with the sense of disbelief that heralded any orgasm. And that was when he kissed her again. Gripped her hips hard as he drove into her. Imprisoned her against his exquisitely aroused length as her back began to arch and he waited for the split second of stillness before she started spasming against his flesh. He thought she called out his name as he gave into his own release, which he could hold back no longer—his own pleasure increased by the sensation of her still quivering helplessly in his arms.
It took him a long time to come down and, unusually, he stayed where he was for a long time—withdrawing only when he felt the returning stir of an erection. He rolled away from her, pulling the discarded blanket over her, unable to resist a glance at her flushed face and the bright, honey-coloured eyes, before her eyelids fluttered sleepily down. But for once he did not want sleep—something his body habitually demanded after sex, which helped emphasise the distance he craved and lessened the chances of being asked pointless questions about the possibility of a long-term relationship.
For once he was wide awake and more alive than he could remember feeling in a long, long time. He wanted to hear what the feisty little redhead had to say about her first experience of sex, although he told himself that his interest was simply academic. He was not looking for praise because he knew how good he was—but he needed her to be satisfied with what had just happened. He needed to keep her sweet.
Stroking a slow finger over one flushed breast, he smiled. ‘No need to ask whether you enjoyed that.’
His murmured words dissolved the clouds of contentment that had settled on her and, with an effort, Livvy blinked herself awake. Her eyes felt so heavy, it was as if someone had crept in and placed two tiny pebbles on them while she hadn’t been looking. She met Saladin’s dark gaze. His skin was flushed and his eyes were smoky, yet he sounded more concerned with his own performance rating than with anything else. She told herself that his arrogance didn’t matter because nothing had felt this good in a long time—maybe ever—and she’d be a fool not to hold on to it while she could. She felt...warm. Complete. As if she were floating on a pink cloud that she never wanted to get off.
She studied his hawklike features and sensual lips and she wanted him all over again. All she had to do was to lean forward to kiss him, and she had to fight the longing to do just that because something warned her to tread carefully. She needed to remember that the sheikh was unlike other men—and her own track record was hopeless. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself and, more important, she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to reject her. Because hadn’t she vowed that she would never get rejected for a second time?
She must not make the mistake of falling in love with him.
What would such a seasoned lover as Saladin normally require in such circumstances? she wondered, and something told her to play it straight. Just because her system was flooded with hormones that were making her want to do inappropriate things like stroke his face and be all tender—didn’t mean she was going to listen to them.
‘I don’t think you’d need me to be wired up to a machine to register my heart-rate to realise that it was a very satisfying experience,’ she said.
He looked surprised, there was no denying that—and neither could she deny the little rush of pleasure that gave her.
‘So you don’t regret it?’
Livvy chewed on her lip. Did she? She thought about the vow she had made to herself a long time ago.
‘I don’t do regrets,’ she said quietly. ‘Not anymore.’
Saladin’s eyes narrowed. It was not the glowing endorsement he had expected, nor the compliancy of a woman who was eager for more. If he had been on territory he could call his own—a hotel suite, perhaps—then he might have taken himself off for a long shower and left her lying there to think about the wisdom of her words. But he wasn’t. He was in her house on her rug—and she was still in possession of something he wanted. He gave a slow smile as he drew a thoughtful finger down over her breast and felt her shiver. Did she really think she would be able to deny him now that she had tasted the pleasure he could give her?
‘I’m going to make love to you again,’ he said.
But instead of being captured by his gaze, she was looking across the room at a radiating blue-white light.
‘Your phone’s vibrating,’ she said.
And her damned cat chose that precise moment to stalk into the room and hiss at him.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
LIVVY WATCHED AS Saladin walked across the room to answer his phone, not seeming to care that away from the fierce blaze of the fire the unheated room was icy cold on his naked body. Or maybe his careless, almost sauntering journey was deliberate. Perhaps he thought that the sight of him without any clothes would set her heart racing and cast some kind of erotic spell on her. And if that was the case, he was right.
Beside her Peppa gave a plaintive meow, but for once Livvy’s stroking of the cat’s abundant fur was distracted, because how could she concentrate on anything other than the sight of the magnificent sheikh?
She found herself watching him hungrily in the way that Peppa sometimes watched a beautiful bird as it hopped around the garden. The powerful shafts of his thighs rose to greet the paler globes of buttocks, leading to the narrow taper of his hips and waist. Livvy swallowed. The proud way he held his head and broad line of his shoulders reminded her of a statue she’d once seen in a museum. It seemed impossible that moments before he’d been deep inside her, making her cry out with pleasure.
A man she barely knew—yet one who ironically knew her more intimately than anyone. She’d told him about still being a virgin and then, very slowly—he had made love to her.
She wrapped the blanket round her as he picked up the vibrating phone and, after clicking the connection, began speaking rapidly in an unknown language she assumed was his native tongue. She noticed that he listened for some—not much—of the time, but mostly he seemed to be barking out commands. She gave a wry smile as she lay back on the rug. She guessed that was what sheikhs did.
Resting her head against her folded arms, she waited—her newfound sense of torpor making her aware of her glowing skin and her sense of satisfaction. And Saladin was responsible for that. For all his arrogance and sense of entitlement, he had proved the most considerate and exciting first lover a woman could wish for.
Lazily, she turned her head and looked out of the window. The snow had stopped falling but there were no signs of a thaw. The landscape looked as pretty as a Christmas card—unreal and somehow impenetrable, as if they were in their own private little bubble and nobody else could get in. Inside, the lack of electricity was beginning to bite and it was starting to get cold. The decorated tree looked strange without the rainbow glow of fairy lights, and despite the blaze of the fire the room had taken a distinct drop in temperature. She dreaded to think how icy it must be upstairs. Some of her euphoria began to leave her as Livvy started to consider the more practical concerns of the power cut. Eight guests were due to arrive the day after tomorrow and she had no electricity!
Her torpor forgotten, she jumped up and grabbed the silky knickers that were lying in a heap on the floor, and had just slithered them on when she felt a light but proprietorial hand on her bottom.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She turned round and steeled herself against the glint of displeasure in Saladin’s dark eyes.
‘I’m getting dressed.’
‘Why?’ With possessive intimacy, he trailed his finger down over the silk-covered crack between her buttocks. ‘When I want to make love to you again.’
‘Because...’ Furious at the way her concerns about the electricity should have morphed into concerns about the very different kind of electricity that was sparking from her skin where he touched her, Livvy tried to pull away. ‘Because there’s no power and my freezer will be defrosting, and the roads might be cleared at any time. And there are eight guests who will be arriving for Christmas who won’t have any croissants for breakfast if the freezer defrosts!’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘And while these might not be the kind of problems that would normally enter your radar, this is the real world, Saladin—and it’s a world in which I have to live!’
‘And how does getting dressed solve anything when your guests aren’t due today?’
She met the mocking expression in his eyes. It stops me from getting too close to you again. It stops me from feeling any more vulnerable than I’m currently feeling.
Livvy never knew how she would have answered his question because suddenly the electricity came on in a flurry of light and sound. The tree lights blazed into life and three small lamps began to glow. Somewhere in another part of the house a distant radio began playing and Peppa jumped to her feet and gave a growling little purr.
‘The power’s back on,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she answered, in a strange flat voice.
And then the landline started to ring—its piercing sound shattering the silence of their haven. Livvy stared at Saladin, aware of a sinking sensation that felt awfully like disappointment. The outside world was about to intrude and, right then, she didn’t want it to.
‘Better answer it,’ he said.
Clad in just her knickers, Livvy scooted across the room to pick up the phone and nodded her head as she listened to the voice on the other end.
‘No, no. That’s quite all right, Alison,’ she said, aware that Saladin was putting a guard in front of the fire. ‘Honestly, it really doesn’t matter. I quite understand. I would have done exactly the same in your position. Yes. Yes, I hope so. Okay. I will. Yes. Of course. And a merry Christmas to you, too. Goodbye.’
Slowly, she replaced the receiver as Saladin straightened up and suddenly a part of his anatomy was looking like no museum statue she’d ever seen, and it was all still so new to her that she didn’t know whether it was rude to stare—even though she was finding it very difficult not to stare.
‘Who was it?’ he questioned and Livvy wondered whether she’d imagined that faint note of amusement in his voice, as if he was perfectly aware of her dilemma.
She shrugged. ‘My guests. Someone called Alison Clark who was due to arrive with a load of her polo friends. They rang to say that the weather forecast is too dodgy and they’re not coming after all. They’ve decided to spend Christmas at some fancy hotel in London instead.’
‘And are you disappointed?’ he questioned smoothly.
‘I don’t know if disappointed is the word I’d use,’ she said, aware that a long and empty Christmas now loomed ahead of her. And wasn’t that one of the reasons why she always stayed open during the holiday? Because being busy meant she didn’t have to look at all the things that were missing in her own life. ‘It means I won’t get paid, of course.’
There was a pause as he glittered her a smile. ‘But that is where you are wrong, Livvy,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t you see that fate has played right into our hands? You are now free to take up my offer and return to Jazratan with me. You can forget about niggling domestic duties over the holidays and use your neglected healing powers on my horse, for which I will reward you handsomely.’
The sum he mentioned was so large that for a moment Livvy thought he was joking, and for a moment she was seriously tempted. Yet some stubborn sense of pride made her shake her head. ‘That’s far too much.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘First time I’ve ever heard anyone complain about being paid too much.’
‘It should be a fair price,’ she persisted stubbornly. ‘Not one that sounds like winning the national lottery.’
‘What is fair is what I am prepared to pay for your services,’ he argued. ‘If your gift was more widely distributed, then obviously the price would be a lot lower. But it isn’t, and what you have is rare, Livvy—we both know that.’
She knew what he was doing. He was manipulating her and he was doing it very effectively. He was making her an offer too good to refuse and she was scared. Scared to try. Scared of failing. Scared of his reaction if she did fail. And scared of so much else besides.
‘But what if this so-called gift no longer exists?’ she said. ‘There’s no guarantee that my intervention will work. Burkaan may not respond to my treatment, we both know that.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ he said. ‘But at least I will have tried. I will have done all that is in my power to help my horse.’
She wasn’t imagining the sudden hollowness in his voice, or the accompanying bleakness in his eyes, and it was that that made up Livvy’s mind for her. Yes, Saladin Al Mektala had the kind of unimaginable riches and influence that other people could only dream of, but when it boiled down to it he was just a man who was desperate to save his beloved horse.
‘Very well.’ She bent down and picked up her bra. ‘I’ll come to Jazratan with you.’
‘Now what are you doing?’
She straightened up. ‘I’m getting dressed, of course. There’s a lot I have to sort out. I need to organise someone to feed the cat, for a start.’
‘I’m sure you do, but there is something of much greater urgency.’ His voice had grown silky. ‘And don’t look at me with those big honey-coloured eyes and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
Taking the bra from her unprotesting fingers, he dropped it to the floor and wrapped his arms around her waist, securing her to the spot, so that he could kiss her. And once he had started kissing her, she was hungry for more. She rose up on tiptoe to curl her hands possessively around his neck and he gave a low laugh of triumph.
But this time he didn’t push her to the rug and slowly thrust himself inside her. Instead, he bent and slid his arm underneath her knees, lifting her up so that she was cradled effortlessly in front of his chest.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she whispered as he headed for the door.
‘To bed.’
She looked up at him. ‘Why?’
‘Are you serious? You know exactly why. Because I want sex with you again, and once on a hard floor is quite enough when there is the promise of a soft mattress.’
‘Actually, my mattress happens to be very firm.’
‘That’s good.’ He slid his hand over her bottom and gave it a squeeze. ‘I like firm.’
Her cheeks hot with embarrassment and excitement, Livvy turned her face into his chest. He was taking control and she was letting him. I want sex with you again, he’d said—in a way that could almost be described as abrupt. There were no euphemisms tripping off his tongue, were there? No tender words of affection to feed her romantic fantasies. He’s being truthful, she reminded herself. He’s telling it as it is.
Yet it was difficult to keep fantasy totally at bay when a naked sheikh was in the process of kicking open her bedroom door and depositing her on her bed.
‘Now,’ he said as he straddled her, his fingers hooking into the soft silk of her knickers.
She thought he was about to slide them down as he’d done before, but the sudden sound of delicate fabric being ripped made her eyes widen in astonishment and, yes, in excitement, too.
‘I can’t...’ Her heart began to hammer against her ribcage. ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’
‘Well, I did—and here’s the proof,’ he drawled, dangling the tattered fragments from his index finger like a trophy.
‘Those are my best knickers,’ she protested.
‘Were,’ he corrected. ‘But they were an obstruction to my desire, and I don’t do obstruction. Ever. You shouldn’t have put them back on, Livvy.’
‘That is...outrageous,’ she spluttered.
‘Perhaps it is,’ he agreed unsteadily. ‘But you like me being outrageous, don’t you, habibi? You like the sense that I am now free to do this...’ With a light and teasing movement, he began to brush his finger over her searing heat. Back and forth it went in a relentless rhythm so delicious that she almost leaped off the bed.
‘Oh,’ she breathed.
‘And, of course, I shall make sure you have new panties,’ he said unsteadily.
She felt his warm breath heating her face as he lowered his lips towards her. ‘What, just so that you can rip them off again?’ she managed indistinctly.
‘Of course. Because I think we’re both discovering what we like. You like me being masterful, don’t you, my beauty?’ His finger was continuing with its insistent, stroking movement. ‘Which is very convenient, since being masterful comes very easily to me.’
Livvy was so aroused by this stage that she barely noticed he must have been in possession of another condom all the while he’d been carrying her upstairs, because he was now stroking it on with practised fingers and easing himself inside her, and she gasped—her cry catching in her throat like a crumb. But this time there was nothing but glorious anticipation coursing around her veins like thick, sweet honey as he entered her. Because this time she knew what was coming.
‘Oh, Saladin,’ she said, the tender words tumbling out of her mouth—driven by her sheer delight in the moment and wanting him to know how special this felt. ‘You are...’
But her breathless words died on her lips as she felt him tense inside her, as if she’d wronged him in some way. She looked up to see that his face had become a mask—stony and forbidding.
‘Don’t say soft words to me, because I don’t want to hear them,’ he instructed harshly. ‘I don’t do tenderness, Livvy. Do you understand?’
‘S-sure,’ she said uncertainly, and closed her eyes so he wouldn’t see her hurt and confusion.
But something had changed—although maybe it was just her own perception of what was happening. He seemed like a man on a mission. As if he was intent on demonstrating his sexual superiority—or demonstrating something. Why else did he seem to set about showcasing how many times he could have her orgasm? Of having her plead with him not to stop? Over and over again he made love to her in different ways, as if he intended to make up for all the sex she’d missed out on in her twenty-nine years. Or was it all about power? About showing her who was really the boss?
CHAPTER NINE (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
SALADIN HEARD THE whir of helicopter blades long before the craft entered the immediate airspace of the house. Moving his wrist carefully so as not to wake Livvy, he glanced at his watch and gave a small nod of satisfaction. Exactly on time and exactly as he had instructed.
He glanced over at the head that was lying next to him—Livvy’s bright hair spread out over the pillow. Her lips were parted as she breathed and there was a rosy flush on her freckled cheeks. He felt another stir of desire and contemplated moving his fingertip down over one silken thigh as he thought back to the previous night and most of the subsequent day that he’d spent in her bed. They had taken short breaks for food and for a shared and very erotic shower, and at one point they’d even scrambled into their clothes and gone out tramping through the snowy countryside. But for the most part they had been shut in her bedroom, making love so often that he should have been exhausted, when all he felt was a delicious kind of high.
Because Olivia Miller had proved an exciting lover—more exciting than she should have been, given her lack of experience. Her light, strong body had bent beneath his with the suppleness of a young sapling as he’d driven into her over and over again. She had embraced sex with a passion and athleticism that had taken his sometimes jaded breath away. And if at one point she had made the mistake of going all tender on him, it was a mistake she would not be repeating, for he had warned her off starting to care for him—and royal protocol would ensure that the message was slammed home to her. For this was the last time they would lie together like this...
He felt a stir of something else and acknowledged the uncomfortable stab of his conscience, knowing he had manipulated her in a particularly ruthless fashion. He had taken her virginity because it seemed wrong that a relatively young woman should be living such a celibate existence. And because he had wanted her very badly. But there had been another reason why he had made love to her...knowing that a woman rarely refused a man something if he gave her enough pleasure. And it had worked, hadn’t it? She would now be accompanying him to his homeland, as he had intended she would all along.
He felt another stab of conscience. His own doubts hadn’t stayed around for long, had they? His guilt about taking her virginity and the symbolic betrayal of his wife hadn’t lasted beyond that first, sweet thrust.
He felt the returning throb of an erection and wondered if there was time for another swift coupling prior to their flight before deciding against it. She was going to need to wash and brush up before the trip to his homeland, and he was going to have to deal with his advisors and bodyguards who would doubtless be angry about this solo trip, though they would never dare show it. And although they would invariably guess that he had been doing more than taking tea with the fiery-headed horse expert, there was no need to flaunt his affairs openly in front of such a notoriously conservative group of men. And besides, this would be the end of it. His conscience would trouble him no longer, for there would be no sexual relationship once they were in Jazratan. His mouth hardened. He never brought his lovers to his homeland for reasons that were practical and reasons that were painful.
The clatter of the helicopter blades interrupted his introspection and, gently, he shook Livvy awake. Her lashes fluttered open and he could see the momentary confusion that clouded her amber eyes as she looked around and realised she was naked in bed with him.
Much less shy than after their first encounter, she sat up, the duvet tumbling to her waist and highlighting the pert thrust of her breasts, and Saladin cursed the powerful wave of desire that shot through him.
‘What’s that noise?’
‘My helicopter.’
She blinked at him. ‘It’s here?’
‘It’s about to land.’
‘It’s dark outside,’ she said sleepily.
‘That’s because we’ve been in bed most of the day and it’s late. You’ll need to get showered, changed and packed,’ he added. ‘Because we have to leave—and as quickly as possible.’
Livvy felt disorientated as she brushed her untidy hair away from her face and wondered why Saladin was suddenly being so cool towards her. Because she’d obeyed his curt instructions to the letter, hadn’t she? She certainly hadn’t been in any way tender towards him after he’d warned her off. She’d responded to his lovemaking with nothing more controversial than a newfound passion and enjoyment. She waited for him to touch her again—or to kiss her, or something—but he was already picking up his cell phone and tapping out a number, and she told herself not to make a big deal out of it. Because hadn’t she been firm in her resolve last night that she wasn’t going to do anything stupid like falling in love with him?
Sliding out of bed, she went along the corridor to the shower, grateful that the boiler was working again and there was plenty of hot water. She remembered the shower they’d shared some time after lunch, and her cheeks burned as she tipped shampoo into the palm of her hand and relived the memory of what had happened.
Because despite his emotional detachment, it had been amazing. Every single second of it. Better than she’d ever imagined, even in her wildest dreams. Suddenly she was glad that Rupert had never consummated their relationship. Glad that it had been Saladin who had been her first lover, because instinct told her that no other man could make her feel the way the desert sheikh had done.
She tried to envisage someone other than Saladin touching her, but the thought of another man’s hands on her body made her stomach clench with distaste. She turned her face towards the hot jets of water, knowing she mustn’t read anything into what had just happened, because that would be setting herself up to be a victim. And hadn’t she sworn she would never be a victim again? It was sex, that was all. Nothing but sex— beautiful and empowering, but ultimately meaningless. So why not just enjoy it while she could?
Back in her bedroom, she stuffed her ripped panties into the bin, dressed in jeans and a sweater and then found her old jodhpurs at the back of the wardrobe and began packing a suitcase. Layering in casual clothes and T-shirts plus a couple of smarter dresses, she went over to the bookcase and picked out a couple of long-neglected books. By the time she got downstairs, the helicopter had landed on the back field and Saladin was standing beside the Christmas tree, still talking into his cell phone.
He cut the connection immediately, but his eyes didn’t seem particularly warm as he turned to look at her, and he made no attempt to touch her as she walked over to him. There was no lingering kiss acknowledging their shared intimacy. No arm placed casually around her shoulder. Anyone observing them would have assumed that they were simply boss and employee, not two people who, a short time ago, had been writhing around in ecstasy together upstairs.
Boss and employee.
Which was exactly what they were.
‘Your hair is still wet,’ he observed. ‘You’ll get cold.’
Trying to ignore his critical stare, Livvy forced a smile. ‘I have a woolly hat I can wear.’
‘As you wish.’ He glanced around. ‘Do you need to lock up the house?’
‘No, I thought I’d leave the doors open to see if any seasonal burglar fancies taking their chances,’ she replied sarcastically. ‘Of course I need to lock the house up!’
She wanted him to stop talking to her as if he were a robot and to kiss her again. To convince her that what had happened last night hadn’t been some crazy kind of dream that was fading by the second.
But he didn’t. He seemed suddenly distant. As if he had retreated behind an invisible barrier she couldn’t access. Instead of being her cajoling and vital lover, he had effortlessly morphed into his real role of lofty and exalted sheikh.
Like a scene from an adventure movie, she found herself following him across the dark and snowy grass towards the helicopter, beside which stood a couple of burly men who bowed deeply before the sheikh before speaking in a fast and foreign tongue. Briefly, she wondered how Saladin was explaining the presence of a pale-faced woman in a woolly hat who was accompanying him.
With the helicopter lights flickering they flew over the night-time countryside to an airstrip, where a private jet was waiting. Aware of the veiled glances of his advisors, Livvy boarded the sleek plane, whose sides were adorned with the royal crest, startled to discover that she and the sheikh would be sitting separately during the flight.
She wondered if he saw her look of surprise just before one of the stewards ushered her through a door at the rear, to a much smaller section of the plane—though, admittedly, one that contained its own bed. Pulling out her books and music from her holdall, she looked around. Actually, there was a TV screen—and a neat little bathroom offering a tempting display of soaps and perfume. But even so...
Moments later, Saladin came to find her—all quietly brooding power as he stood in the doorway with his cool black eyes surveying her.
‘You are satisfied with your seat, I hope?’ he questioned.
She was trying hard not to show she was hurt—but suddenly it wasn’t easy to bite back the feelings that were bubbling up inside her. ‘I wasn’t expecting us to be sitting apart. Not after...’ She clamped her lips shut, aware of having said too much. Did expressing vulnerability count as tenderness? she wondered.
He glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. ‘Not after having had sex with you—is that what you mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she mumbled.
‘It does,’ he said, suddenly breaking into an angry torrent of Jazratian, which was directed at the hapless steward who had appeared at the doorway behind him, but who now beat a hasty retreat. ‘It matters because I’m afraid this is how things are going to be from now on.’
She stared at him, not quite understanding what he meant until his stony expression told her more clearly than any words could have done. ‘You mean—?’
‘What happened in England must stay in England, for we cannot be intimate in Jazratan,’ he said. ‘The laws of my country are very strict on such matters—and it would offend my people deeply if it was discovered that I was having sex with an unmarried woman. Particularly an unmarried foreigner.’ He shrugged, as if to take some of the heat from his words. ‘For I am the sheikh and you are my employee, Livvy, and from now on we will not be stepping outside the boundaries of those roles.’
It was several moments before Livvy could trust herself to speak, and if the giant plane hadn’t already been taxiing down the runway, she honestly thought she might have run up to the steward and demanded they let her out.
But she couldn’t. She had agreed to take the job and she was going to have to behave like a professional. And anyway—mightn’t this strategy be the best strategy for keeping her emotions protected? If she and Saladin were to be segregated, it would be very difficult to foster any kind of attachment to him. So even though his words hurt, somehow she found the strength to force a careless smile onto her lips.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said.
His black eyes narrowed. ‘A relief?’
‘Sure. I’ve got a lot of reading I want to get through before we land. I told you it was a long time since I’d worked with horses.’ With a wave of her hand, she gestured towards the books she’d just unpacked. ‘So I’d better have a browse through these. Reacquaint myself with the species, even if it’s only theoretical—until I get to meet Burkaan. So please don’t let me keep you,’ she added. ‘I’ll be perfectly happy here on my own.’
His face was a picture—as if he’d just realised that in effect she was dismissing him—yet he could hardly object to her demand for privacy after what he’d just said.
But once he’d gone, and she was left with the opened but unread pages of Healing Horses Naturally, Livvy found herself staring out of the window at the black sky as England receded, unable to deny the sudden pain that clenched like a vice around her heart.
He’d made her sound...
Like a cliché.
An unmarried foreign woman he was forbidden to have sex with.
She closed her eyes. He had come to the house determined to employ her, and for a while she had resisted him. Had he looked at her and wondered whether seduction was a price he was prepared to pay in order to guarantee her services? She bit her lip.
Even when she’d told him that she was a virgin—and a twenty-nine-year-old virgin, to boot... A lot of men might have stopped at that point. But not Saladin. Had he guessed that sex would make her eager to do his bidding? Did he realise that she would find it very difficult to refuse to work for him after what had taken place between them?
Damn him.
So stop letting him take control, she thought. Be grateful that he’s shown you are capable of sexual pleasure but also be grateful that he has put this barrier between you, because there is no future with Saladin and there never can be.
She picked up the cup of jasmine tea that had just been put on the table by a slightly nervous-looking steward.
She was going to have to start being rational. She was here on a life-changing salary to help his horse, and she would do her utmost to accomplish that. The sex she must forget. She had to.
She slept for almost six hours and, when she awoke, discovered that the little shower was much better than the one at home. Afterwards she felt a million times better and was just tucking into a bowl of delicious porridge topped with iced mango when the curtain between the two sections of the plane was drawn back, and she looked up to see Saladin standing there.
It was slightly disconcerting that he’d changed from his Western clothes into an outfit more befitting a desert sheikh, because it only seemed to emphasise the vast gulf between them. Gone were the trousers, sweater and cashmere coat, and in their place were flowing robes of pure silk that completely covered him, yet hinted at the hard body beneath. His ebony hair was now hidden by a headdress, held in place by a circlet of knotted scarlet cord—and against the pale material his golden-dark features looked forbidding.
He looked like a fantasy.
Like a stranger.
And that was exactly what he was, Livvy reminded herself grimly.
His eyes fixed on her, he waited, and she was sure he expected her to scramble to her feet, but she simply finished her mouthful of porridge and gave him a faint smile.
‘Morning,’ she said.
He frowned before slowly inclining his head, as if forcing himself to respond civilly to her casual greeting. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well during the flight?’
‘Like a dormouse, as they say in France.’ Again, she smiled. ‘Did you?’
Saladin felt the pounding of a pulse at his temple, her glib response only adding to his growing annoyance and frustration. No, he had not slept well, for the night had seemed endless. He had tossed and turned and eventually had drawn up one of the blinds to stare out at the jewelled and inky sky as the plane travelled through the night towards Jazratan. It had been a long time since he’d endured such restlessness. Not since...
But the realisation that he was comparing simple sexual frustration to the worst time of his life filled him with an angry guilt. Pushing aside the turmoil of his thoughts, he acknowledged the insolent way in which Livvy Miller was leaning back on her elbows, watching him. Her amber eyes were hooded and her lips gleamed from the mouthful of jasmine tea she had just drunk. How dared she continue to drink and eat in his presence?
He had told her there would be no more intimacy, but he certainly hadn’t given her permission to abandon all protocol. Didn’t she realise that there was an etiquette that needed to be adhered to whenever he entered the room? You did not greet the king of Jazratan with such blatant carelessness, and this was something she needed to be aware of before she arrived at the palace.
‘You are supposed to stand when I enter the room,’ he said coolly.
‘Am I?’ She fixed him with a deliberate look of challenge. ‘As I recall, you seemed to prefer it when I was lying down.’
‘Livvy!’ He glanced behind him as he ground out his protest, feeling the instant rush of heat to his groin. ‘You mustn’t—’
‘Mustn’t what?’ she interrupted in a low tone. ‘Tell it like it is? Well, I’m sorry, Saladin, but I don’t intend to be a hypocrite. I accept the intimacy ban you’ve imposed because, now I’ve had time to think about it, I can understand it and I think it’s a good idea. But if you think I’m going to be sinking to the ground into a curtsy and lowering my eyes demurely whenever you appear, then you are very much mistaken.’
Her passionate insolence wasn’t something Saladin was used to, and he was shocked into a momentary silence. He wanted to do a number of things—all of which seemed to contradict themselves. He wanted to kiss her and to simultaneously push her as far away from him as possible. He wanted never to see her again and yet he wanted to feast his eyes on her in a leisurely visual feast. Suddenly he realised that here was one person—one woman—who would not be moulded to his will, and with a shock it suddenly dawned on him why that was. Because he needed her more than she needed him.
He could not expel her for insubordination—well, he could, but his stallion would only suffer as a result. And even though he was paying way over the odds for an expertise she had warned him herself might not work, he suspected that the money didn’t mean as much to her as it might to someone else.
Did it? Or had her initial reluctance to take the job simply been the work of a clever negotiator? Perhaps he should test her out.
‘Surely a little civility wouldn’t go amiss since I am rewarding you so handsomely for your work.’
‘You’re paying me, Saladin—not rewarding me,’ she contradicted. ‘You were the one who made the over-inflated offer in the first place, so please don’t start reneging on it now. And if you want me to show you respect, I’m afraid you will have to earn it.’
‘Earn it?’ he echoed incredulously.
‘Yes. Is that such an extraordinary proposition?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘It is certainly one that has never been put to me before.’
She stood up then, clenching her hands into two small fists and sucking in an unsteady breath as she looked at him. ‘I’m not a complete fool, Saladin,’ she hissed. ‘I’m fully aware that you seduced me for a purpose. And it worked.’
He looked into the amber eyes that blazed as brightly as her fiery hair. He thought how magnificent she looked when she was berating him, and suddenly he felt a lump rise in his throat. ‘Believe me when I tell you this,’ he said huskily. ‘I seduced you because I wanted you.’
Livvy heard the sudden passion that had deepened his words and something inside her melted. Stupid how she’d almost forgotten what they’d just been arguing about. Stupid how her body was just craving for him to touch her.
Did he feel that, too? Was she imagining the slight move he made towards her, when suddenly the plaintive lament of what sounded like bagpipes broke into her thoughts and shattered the tense atmosphere. Disorientated, she met Saladin’s gaze and it was as if the noise had brought him to his senses, too, because he stiffened and stepped away from her, and in his eyes flared something cold and bleak.
‘What the hell is that?’ she whispered.
Her question seemed to shake him out of his sombre reverie, though it took a moment before his eyes cleared and he answered. ‘A hangover from my great-grandfather’s holidays at your own royal family’s Scottish residence,’ he said. ‘He was very impressed by the bagpipes that were used to wake everyone in the morning. After that he decided that they would become a permanent feature of Jazratian life. Thus a returning sheikh is always greeted on his arrival by the unmistakable sound of Scotland.’
‘It’s certainly very novel.’
‘You will find much about my country that surprises you, Livvy,’ he replied. ‘In a moment I will leave the aircraft and one of the stewards will indicate when it is appropriate for you to do the same. There will be transport waiting to take you to my palace.’
She screwed up her eyes as she looked at him. ‘So I won’t even be travelling with you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. My homecoming is always greeted with a certain amount of celebration. There will be crowds lining the route, and it would not sit well with my people were I to return to the palace in the company of a foreign female, no matter how skilled she might be in her particular field.’
‘Right,’ she said.
‘You will be given your own very comfortable suite of rooms. Once you have settled in, I will send one of my advisors to take you to the stable complex, so that you can meet the vets and the grooms, and get to work on Burkaan straight away. You will, however, take meals with me.’
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away with a swish of his silken robes. And if Livvy felt momentarily frustrated by his sudden indifference, that wasn’t what was currently occupying her thoughts. It was the way he had looked during those few moments when she’d thought he was going to reach out and touch her.
Because when the smoky passion had cleared from his eyes, it had left behind a flicker of something haunting. The trace of an emotion that she wouldn’t necessarily have associated with a man like Saladin.
Something that looked awfully like guilt.
CHAPTER TEN (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
LIVVY STOOD BENEATH the bright Jazratian sunshine and looked around her with a sense of awe and a slight sense of feeling displaced—as if she couldn’t quite believe she was here in Saladin’s homeland, and that it was Christmas Eve.
The Al Mektala stable complex was lavish, and no expense had been spared in providing for the needs and comfort of over a hundred horses. She’d read about places like this, in those long-ago days when an equestrian magazine had never been far from her hand—but had never imagined herself actually working in one.
Fine sand paddocks were edged with lines of palm trees, which provided welcome shade, but plenty of areas had been laid to grass and it was curiously restful—if a little bizarre—to see large patches of green set against the harsh backdrop of the desert landscape. There were plush air-conditioned boxes for the horses and even a dappled and cool pool in which they could swim. Grooms, physiotherapists and jockeys—all clad in the distinctive Al Mektala livery of indigo and silver—swarmed around the place as efficiently as ants working in harmony together.
After arriving at the palace Livvy had been shown to a large suite of rooms, where she’d changed into jodhpurs and a shirt and then followed the servant who had been dispatched to take her to the stables. She hadn’t been expecting to find Saladin waiting for her—and she certainly wasn’t expecting to see him similarly attired in riding clothes, his fingers curving rather distractingly around a riding whip.
She had to force her thoughts away from how lusciously the jodhpurs were clinging to his narrow hips and hugging the powerful shafts of his long legs. It was difficult not to let her gaze linger on the way his billowing silk shirt gave definition to the rock-like torso beneath, making him resemble the kind of buccaneering hero you might find on some Sunday-night TV drama. She told herself that she wasn’t going to remember the way he had held her when he’d been making love to her, or the way it had felt to have him deep inside her. She wasn’t going to think about how good it had felt to be kissed by him—or the way she’d cried out as she had reached her climax, over and over again. She was here to see if she could help his horse—and that was the only reason she was here.
But it was hard to stand so close to him and to resist the desire to reach out and touch him, even though she was doing her best to keep her smile cool and professional.
‘So what do you think of my stables, Livvy?’
She smiled. ‘As you predicted—it’s very interesting to see what you’ve done in such an extreme climate. And it’s all very impressive—just as I would have expected,’ she observed as she glanced around. ‘Perhaps I could see Burkaan now?’
Once again Saladin felt that inexplicable conflict within him. He was irritated by her lack of desire to make small talk with him—yet couldn’t help but admire her cool professionalism. Just as he was irritated with himself for having almost reached out to her on the plane, when temptation had wrapped itself around his skin like a silken snare. But he had stopped himself just in time, and that was a good thing, although it hadn’t felt particularly easy at the time. Because he’d forced himself to remember that he was back in Jazratan where expectations were different and where the memory of Alya was at its strongest. Here, his role was rigidly defined, and casual sex with foreigners simply was not on the agenda. He needed to put that delicious interlude out of his mind and to see whether or not she could live up to her reputation.
Raising his hand, he indicated to the waiting groom that his horse should be brought outside, and he felt his heart quicken in anticipation, as if hoping that some miracle had happened while he’d been away and that Burkaan would come trotting out into the yard with his former vitality.
But the reality shocked and saddened him. The sight of his beloved stallion being led from his stable, looking like a shadow of his former self, made Saladin’s heart clench painfully in his chest. The magnificent racehorse’s frame seemed even more diminished, and his normally glossy black coat looked lacklustre and dull. The stallion was usually happy, but he was not happy now. Saladin could almost read the anguish and the pain in his eyes as he bared his teeth at his master.
‘Don’t go near him yet,’ he warned Livvy. ‘He’s been very vicious. Few people can get close to him. Even me.’
But to his annoyance and a concern he couldn’t quite hide, she completely ignored his words, moving so quietly towards the horse that she could have been a ghost as she held out her hand in a gesture of peace.
‘It’s okay,’ she said to the animal, in the softest, most musical voice he had ever heard. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay, Burkaan. It’s going to be fine.’
Burkaan was more used to being spoken to in Jazratian, and even before his accident had been known for his intolerance of strangers, but Saladin watched in amazement as Livvy moved closer to the powerful animal. There was a split second when he expected the horse to lash out at her and braced himself in readiness to snatch the stubborn woman out of harm’s way. But the moment did not come. Instead, she slowly reached out and began to stroke his neck. And Burkaan let her!
‘It’s all right,’ she was crooning quietly. ‘I’ve come to help you. Do you know that, Burkaan? Do you?’
The horse gave a little whinny, and Saladin felt his throat constrict with something that felt uncomfortably like hope. But he knew better than anyone that misplaced hope was the most painful emotion of all, and he drove it from his heart with a ruthlessness he’d learned a long time ago. Just because the horse was prepared to allow the Englishwoman to approach and to touch him didn’t mean a thing.
‘I wonder, could you ask the groom to walk him around the yard a little?’ she said. ‘Just so I can see how badly he’s injured?’
Saladin nodded and spoke to the groom, and the stricken stallion was led forward and began to hobble around the yard.
‘You will note that he has injured his—’
‘His near foreleg,’ Livvy interrupted crisply, her gaze following the horse as it slowly made its way to the other side of the yard. ‘Yes, I can see that. He’s clearly in a lot of pain and he’s hopping to try to compensate. Okay. I’ve seen everything I need to see. Please ask the groom to bring him back now, and put him in his box.’
Feeling like her tame linguist, Saladin relayed her instructions to the groom, and once Burkaan had been led back into his box, Livvy turned to face him. He thought her smile looked forced, and he wondered if she was aware that the bright Jazratian sunshine was making her hair look like liquid fire. And, oh, how he would love to feel the burn of it against his fingers again.
‘I’m just going to try a few things out,’ she said. ‘So I’d prefer it if you and everyone else would leave now.’
Disbelief warred with a grudging admiration as she spoke to him, because Saladin realised that once again she was dismissing him. She really was fond of taking control, wasn’t she? He had never been dominated by a woman before, and he was finding it more exciting than he could ever have anticipated—but he would not tolerate it. No way. Surely she must realise that this was his stable and his horse, and of course he would wish to observe her. He fixed her with a steady look. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Livvy,’ he said. ‘I want to be here.’
She sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but I prefer to work alone.’
‘I don’t care. I want to be here,’ he repeated.
She narrowed her eyes as if trying to weigh up whether there was any point in further argument, before obviously coming to the most sensible conclusion. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want any distractions. You must keep very quiet and not interfere. I want you to stand over there out of the way, to keep very still and not say a word. Do you understand?’
Saladin’s mouth thinned into a grim smile as her cool words washed over him. One thing he did understand was that nobody else had ever spoken to him like this before, not even Alya—especially not Alya, who had been the most agreeable woman ever made.
Instinct made him want to march over to Livvy and pull rank and ask her who the hell she thought she was talking to. To remind her that he was the sheikh and he would damned well do as he pleased. Yet what alternative did he have but to accede to her demands, when the welfare of his beloved horse was of far greater importance than his own sense of pride and position?
‘Yes, Livvy,’ he said drily. ‘I think I get the general idea.’
Afterwards he would try to work out exactly what she had done to Burkaan, but, apart from a vague impression of her laying her palms on the animal’s injured foreleg, her time with the horse seemed to pass in a blur. Maybe it was because for once Saladin got the distinct impression that her words had been true. She really didn’t want him there, and would have preferred it if he had gone back to the palace as she’d requested. It was certainly the first time in his life that he had been completely ignored.
Because sheikhs were never ignored and people were always conscious of his presence. No matter how large an official function or social gathering, everyone always knew exactly where he was situated, although they often pretended not to. Nobody ever left a room while he remained in it, and nobody ever turned their back on him.
But none of this seemed relevant as he watched Livvy whispering into Burkaan’s ear and running feather-light fingertips over the horse’s injured limb and then stroking their way over his back. To his surprise, the stallion seemed to tolerate almost every touch she made—only jerking back his head and showing his teeth on two occasions. Eventually, she straightened up and wiped the palms of her hands down over her jodhpurs, and he could see sweat beading her pale brow.
‘I’ve finished now,’ she said. ‘I’ll see him later. Make sure he gets some rest and is undisturbed until I do.’
He saw her glance at her watch and realised that he had effectively backed himself into a corner. He had told her—quite correctly—that they would be occupying separate sections of the palace. He had told her that their lives would cross only at mealtimes and when she was hands-on with Burkaan. Yet now the thought of that did not please him—on the contrary, it positively rankled. He had found it necessary to lay out his boundaries during the flight over, in order to emphasise to her that the sex had meant nothing—and he had been expecting a host of objections from her, or maybe even a petulant sulk. Because women always tried to cling on to him when he rejected them—as reject them he inevitably did.
But Livvy was showing no signs of clinging—or sulking. She had travelled separately to the palace without protest, and, on arriving at her suite of rooms, had apparently made some complimentary comment to one of the servants about the ancient tiled floors and the beauty of the palace gardens. And ironically, he had found himself curiously unsettled by her apparent acceptance of the situation in which she now found herself.
‘We have plenty of time before lunch,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would care to ride with me?’
For a moment, Livvy felt temptation wash over her as his suggestion brought back echoes of a life she had left far behind. She thought of being in the saddle again and the feeling of having all that impressive horse power beneath her. She thought of the warm, desert breeze against her skin and the incomparable sense of freedom that riding always gave her, but, resolutely, she shook her head. ‘I don’t ride anymore.’
‘Why not?’
She met the question in his narrowed eyes. ‘Because riding demands time and commitment and money—and I’ve been too busy running my business to have any of those things.’
‘But you have time now,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘And money isn’t a consideration.’
‘It’s out of the question,’ she said. ‘I’m completely out of practice.’
There was a pause. ‘And maybe you’re scared of getting back on a horse after so long away?’
His unexpected insight caught her off guard. Was that why she answered him so truthfully?
‘Maybe a little,’ she agreed. But it wasn’t fear of the horse that frightened her. It was the thought of re-entering a world that had brought her pain and that now seemed so long ago it might have happened to another person.
‘Then, why not get back in the saddle?’ His voice deepened. ‘Kill your fear by confronting it. Don’t they say that the more you practise, the better you get?’
And suddenly there was an undeniable sexual innuendo whispering in the air around them and whipping up an unspoken need inside her. She could feel sudden tension heating her skin, and the tips of her breasts had grown suddenly sensitive. She could feel it in the way her lips parted, as if silently inviting him to kiss them—and, oh, how she wanted him to kiss her.
Livvy stared at Saladin as she tried to dampen down the rising tide of desire. To remind herself of the way he’d treated her since she had agreed to treat his horse. He had kept her away from him during the flight and ordered separate journeys to the palace, where she had been allocated quarters in the staff section. She didn’t have a problem with that—because she was staff. What she did have a problem with was his assumption that he could treat her like some kind of plaything. Act icy one minute and then flirt with her the next. Well, he had better learn that it didn’t work like that. She didn’t dare let it.
‘I don’t want it to come back,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
She glanced down at the tips of her riding boots, which were covered in fine dust, before lifting her gaze to meet the jet-dark gleam of his eyes. ‘Because when I split with Rupert I walked away from riding. I bolted—and I shut the stable door behind me. I left my job, realising that I had no appetite to face the knowing looks and the knowledge that he’d been sleeping with my best friend.’
‘You could have found different stables.’
‘I could. But horse riding is a very small world, and gossip always follows you around. I wanted to be known as more than the woman who’d been involved in a spicy scandal. I wanted a clean break and that’s what I got. The old Livvy has gone and so has the world she lived in. I’m not looking to recapture something from the past—I’m here because I’m trying to take care of my future. So if you’ve finished with the interrogation, I’d like someone to show me back to my room because this palace is so big, I don’t trust myself not to get lost.’
With a thoughtful look, he inclined his head. ‘Certainly. I will show you to your suite myself.’
‘There’s really no need. A servant will do.’
‘My servants don’t speak English.’
‘I’m quite happy to forego conversation.’
‘I will show you to your room, Livvy,’ he said, with silky insistence. ‘And please don’t oppose me just for the sake of it, or you will discover how quickly my tolerance limit can be reached.’
His reprimand was stern and maybe it was justified, but as Livvy fell into step beside him she realised that even opposing him was making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. Desire was throbbing through her body and making her want to squirm with frustration. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch him—to whisper her fingers possessively over his riding shirt and feel the hard torso beneath. Was it because he’d been her only lover that she was feeling this way? Was she building it up in her head because he’d taken her virginity so that what had happened seemed powerful and significant?
Yet maybe that wasn’t so surprising when sex with Saladin had seemed so easy. It had happened so naturally. It had felt as if she’d been waiting all her life for the desert sheikh to make love to her. As if she hadn’t been complete until he had completed her.
And wasn’t that the way it was supposed to feel?
Blocking out the disturbing thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm her, she focused her attention on the splendour of her surroundings instead. The temperature dropped as they passed through the shaded portico into the main palace, where the polished floors were deliciously cool and smooth.
They crossed a courtyard and, on the far side, Livvy saw a shining silver bower, festooned with tumbling roses of scarlet and orange and pink. Glittering brightly in the midday sun, it was topped with an intricate silver structure of filigree metal flowers and leaves and Livvy’s footsteps came to a halt. ‘Wow,’ she said slowly. ‘What is that place?’
By her side Saladin stiffened as he followed the direction of her eyes. ‘That is the Faddi gate, leading to the palace rose garden,’ he said abruptly.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful. Could we go that way?’
But suddenly he seemed to be having difficulty controlling his emotions and Livvy looked up to see a tiny nerve working frantically at his temple and that his mouth had hardened with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom. He shook his head.
‘The gardeners are working there,’ he said abruptly. ‘And they do not like to be observed. Come, I will take you a different way.’
He remained tense for a minute or two, but as they walked towards her rooms he began to recount some of the history of Jazratan and of the palace itself. And somehow the change of subject was enough to make him relax—and Livvy relaxed, too, so that after a while she found herself engrossed in the things he was telling her. He talked about battles that had been fought and won by his ancestors, of sheikhs whose lifeblood had seeped like rust onto the desert sands. He told her about the brave mount who had led one particular victorious battle—a forerunner to his own, beloved Burkaan.
She realised then why his horse was so important to him, and it had nothing to do with money, or even a close bond that transcended his royal status. Because Burkaan was a link between the past and the future. If the stallion was put out to stud, then his illustrious line would continue. And continuity was the lifeblood of a ruling monarch.
He’s so different from you, Livvy thought. So don’t ever make the mistake of thinking it could be any other way than this.
They had just reached her door when Saladin suddenly reached out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, and the unexpected gesture shocked Livvy into stillness. She wondered if he could feel the sudden hammering of her pulse. He must do. It sounded so thunderous to her own ears she was surprised it hadn’t brought the servants running.
‘Thank you for what you did today,’ he said.
‘I did very little.’
‘On the contrary. You calmed a horse who has been nothing but vicious since his accident. It was the first time I’ve seen a fleeting moment of peace in his eyes.’
And Livvy found herself looking into his eyes, helplessly snared by their ebony light. She’d seen many emotions in them since that snowy afternoon when he had first walked into her life. She’d seen them harden with irritation and determination. She’d seen them soften with desire and lust. And she’d seen them cloud over with something that had looked very like sorrow as they had stared at the Faddi gate leading to the rose garden. Did Saladin have his own dark demons raging within him? she wondered.
Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from his—even though deep down she wanted to curl her fingers into his palm, like a cat settling down for the evening. But that way lay danger. He’d already set out the boundaries and, even though her body wanted to push at those boundaries, she recognised that distance from Saladin made perfect sense.
‘You really must excuse me,’ she said, bringing a note of formality into her voice. ‘I need to call England to check that Peppa is okay and that the snow hasn’t caused any lasting damage.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll see you at lunch—presumably you will send someone to collect me?’
And with that, she walked into her suite, quietly closing the door—not caring that he was still standing there looking darkly displeased by her dismissal. Not caring about anything other than a need to put some distance between them before she did something crazy like fling herself against that hard and virile body and beg him to make love to her again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)
IT WASN’T AS easy as he had thought it would be.
It wasn’t easy at all.
With an impatient flick of his hand, Saladin waved the servant away and lowered his body into the deep tub of steaming water. How was it possible to feel exhausted when you had only just risen from your bed? Could it have anything to do with the fact that he’d spent yet another sleepless night frustratedly recalling that erotic fireside encounter when the innocent Livvy Miller had cried out her passion in his arms?
Maybe he’d been naive to think it would be easy to adhere to his self-imposed sex ban when she was living here at the palace. When thoughts of her kept drifting into his mind at the most inconvenient times—usually without warning or provocation. Sometimes he found himself sitting through meetings of state and thinking about her pale skin and fiery hair. About the way he had cupped her narrow hips and driven into that slender body. He would sit uncomfortably with a massive erection hidden by his flowing robes, and wonder why he had insisted that she remain totally off limits.

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