His Christmas Conquest: The Sheikh's Christmas Conquest / A Christmas Vow of Seduction / Claiming His Christmas Consequence

‘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

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.