Читать книгу The Mills & Boon Ultimate Christmas Collection - Мишель Смарт, Kate Hardy - Страница 91

CHAPTER FOUR

‘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.’