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