Читать книгу The Mills & Boon Ultimate Christmas Collection - Мишель Смарт, Kate Hardy - Страница 92

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.

‘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.