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

CHAPTER EIGHT

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

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.’