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