Читать книгу The Mills & Boon Ultimate Christmas Collection - Мишель Смарт, Kate Hardy - Страница 95

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?