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

‘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

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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