His Christmas Conquest: The Sheikh's Christmas Conquest / A Christmas Vow of Seduction / Claiming His Christmas Consequence. Maisey Yates
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when an equestrian magazine had never been far from her hand—but had never imagined herself actually working in one.
Fine sand paddocks were edged with lines of palm trees, which provided welcome shade, but plenty of areas had been laid to grass and it was curiously restful—if a little bizarre—to see large patches of green set against the harsh backdrop of the desert landscape. There were plush air-conditioned boxes for the horses and even a dappled and cool pool in which they could swim. Grooms, physiotherapists and jockeys—all clad in the distinctive Al Mektala livery of indigo and silver—swarmed around the place as efficiently as ants working in harmony together.
After arriving at the palace Livvy had been shown to a large suite of rooms, where she’d changed into jodhpurs and a shirt and then followed the servant who had been dispatched to take her to the stables. She hadn’t been expecting to find Saladin waiting for her—and she certainly wasn’t expecting to see him similarly attired in riding clothes, his fingers curving rather distractingly around a riding whip.
She had to force her thoughts away from how lusciously the jodhpurs were clinging to his narrow hips and hugging the powerful shafts of his long legs. It was difficult not to let her gaze linger on the way his billowing silk shirt gave definition to the rock-like torso beneath, making him resemble the kind of buccaneering hero you might find on some Sunday-night TV drama. She told herself that she wasn’t going to remember the way he had held her when he’d been making love to her, or the way it had felt to have him deep inside her. She wasn’t going to think about how good it had felt to be kissed by him—or the way she’d cried out as she had reached her climax, over and over again. She was here to see if she could help his horse—and that was the only reason she was here.
But it was hard to stand so close to him and to resist the desire to reach out and touch him, even though she was doing her best to keep her smile cool and professional.
‘So what do you think of my stables, Livvy?’
She smiled. ‘As you predicted—it’s very interesting to see what you’ve done in such an extreme climate. And it’s all very impressive—just as I would have expected,’ she observed as she glanced around. ‘Perhaps I could see Burkaan now?’
Once again Saladin felt that inexplicable conflict within him. He was irritated by her lack of desire to make small talk with him—yet couldn’t help but admire her cool professionalism. Just as he was irritated with himself for having almost reached out to her on the plane, when temptation had wrapped itself around his skin like a silken snare. But he had stopped himself just in time, and that was a good thing, although it hadn’t felt particularly easy at the time. Because he’d forced himself to remember that he was back in Jazratan where expectations were different and where the memory of Alya was at its strongest. Here, his role was rigidly defined, and casual sex with foreigners simply was not on the agenda. He needed to put that delicious interlude out of his mind and to see whether or not she could live up to her reputation.
Raising his hand, he indicated to the waiting groom that his horse should be brought outside, and he felt his heart quicken in anticipation, as if hoping that some miracle had happened while he’d been away and that Burkaan would come trotting out into the yard with his former vitality.
But the reality shocked and saddened him. The sight of his beloved stallion being led from his stable, looking like a shadow of his former self, made Saladin’s heart clench painfully in his chest. The magnificent racehorse’s frame seemed even more diminished, and his normally glossy black coat looked lacklustre and dull. The stallion was usually happy, but he was not happy now. Saladin could almost read the anguish and the pain in his eyes as he bared his teeth at his master.
‘Don’t go near him yet,’ he warned Livvy. ‘He’s been very vicious. Few people can get close to him. Even me.’
But to his annoyance and a concern he couldn’t quite hide, she completely ignored his words, moving so quietly towards the horse that she could have been a ghost as she held out her hand in a gesture of peace.
‘It’s okay,’ she said to the animal, in the softest, most musical voice he had ever heard. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay, Burkaan. It’s going to be fine.’
Burkaan was more used to being spoken to in Jazratian, and even before his accident had been known for his intolerance of strangers, but Saladin watched in amazement as Livvy moved closer to the powerful animal. There was a split second when he expected the horse to lash out at her and braced himself in readiness to snatch the stubborn woman out of harm’s way. But the moment did not come. Instead, she slowly reached out and began to stroke his neck. And Burkaan let her!
‘It’s all right,’ she was crooning quietly. ‘I’ve come to help you. Do you know that, Burkaan? Do you?’
The horse gave a little whinny, and Saladin felt his throat constrict with something that felt uncomfortably like hope. But he knew better than anyone that misplaced hope was the most painful emotion of all, and he drove it from his heart with a ruthlessness he’d learned a long time ago. Just because the horse was prepared to allow the Englishwoman to approach and to touch him didn’t mean a thing.
‘I wonder, could you ask the groom to walk him around the yard a little?’ she said. ‘Just so I can see how badly he’s injured?’
Saladin nodded and spoke to the groom, and the stricken stallion was led forward and began to hobble around the yard.
‘You will note that he has injured his—’
‘His near foreleg,’ Livvy interrupted crisply, her gaze following the horse as it slowly made its way to the other side of the yard. ‘Yes, I can see that. He’s clearly in a lot of pain and he’s hopping to try to compensate. Okay. I’ve seen everything I need to see. Please ask the groom to bring him back now, and put him in his box.’
Feeling like her tame linguist, Saladin relayed her instructions to the groom, and once Burkaan had been led back into his box, Livvy turned to face him. He thought her smile looked forced, and he wondered if she was aware that the bright Jazratian sunshine was making her hair look like liquid fire. And, oh, how he would love to feel the burn of it against his fingers again.
‘I’m just going to try a few things out,’ she said. ‘So I’d prefer it if you and everyone else would leave now.’
Disbelief warred with a grudging admiration as she spoke to him, because Saladin realised that once again she was dismissing him. She really was fond of taking control, wasn’t she? He had never been dominated by a woman before, and he was finding it more exciting than he could ever have anticipated—but he would not tolerate it. No way. Surely she must realise that this was his stable and his horse, and of course he would wish to observe her. He fixed her with a steady look. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Livvy,’ he said. ‘I want to be here.’
She sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but I prefer to work alone.’
‘I don’t care. I want to be here,’ he repeated.
She narrowed her eyes as if trying to weigh up whether there was any point in further argument, before obviously coming to the most sensible conclusion. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want any distractions. You must keep very quiet and not interfere. I want you to stand over there out of the way, to keep very still and not say a word. Do you understand?’
Saladin’s mouth thinned into a grim smile as her cool words washed over him. One thing he did understand was that nobody else had ever spoken to him like this before, not even Alya—especially not Alya, who had been the most agreeable woman ever made.
Instinct made him want to march over to Livvy and pull rank and ask her who the hell she thought she was talking to. To remind her that he was the sheikh and he would damned well do as he pleased. Yet what alternative did he have but to accede to her demands, when the welfare of his beloved horse was of far greater importance than his own sense of pride and position?
‘Yes, Livvy,’ he said drily. ‘I think I get the general idea.’
Afterwards