CHAPTER THREE

      AS THE CORRIDOR was plunged into darkness, Saladin’s hands automatically reached out to steady the stumbling Livvy. At least, that was what he told himself. He thought afterwards that if she’d been a man he wouldn’t have let his hands linger on her for quite so long, nor his fingers to grip her slender body quite so tightly. But Livvy Miller was a woman—and it had been a long time since he had touched a woman. It had recently been the anniversary of Alya’s death and he always shied away from intimacy on either side of that grim date, when pain and loss and regret overwhelmed him. Because to do so felt like a betrayal of his wife’s memory—a mechanical act that seemed like a pale version of the real thing. With other women it was just sex—something a man needed in order to function properly. A basic appetite to be fed—and nothing more. But with Alya it had been different. Something that had captured his heart as well as his body.

      But maybe for now a body would do...

      He felt himself tense with that first, sweet contact—that first touch that set your hormones firing, whether you wanted them to or not. He could feel Livvy’s heart beating hard as his hands curved around her ribcage. The soapy scent that perfumed her skin was both innocent and beguiling, and the tension inside him increased. He found himself wishing he could magic away their clothing and seek relief from the sudden unbearable aching deep inside him. An anonymous coupling in this darkened corridor would be perfect for his needs. It might even have the added benefit of making the stubborn Englishwoman reconsider his offer, because a sexually satisfied woman automatically became a compliant woman.

      For a moment he felt her relax against him and he sensed her welcoming softness—as if a split second more would be all the time he needed for her to open up to him. But then she pulled away. Actually, she snatched herself away. In the darkness he could hear her struggling to control her breathing and, although he couldn’t see the expression on her face, he could hear the panic in her voice.

      ‘What’s happened?’ she gasped.

      It interested him that she’d chosen to ignore that brief but undeniable embrace. He wondered what she would say if he answered truthfully. I am big enough to explode and I want to put myself inside you and spill my seed. In his fantasy he knew exactly what he would like her response to be. She would nod and then tear at his clothing with impatient fingers while he dealt swiftly with hers. No need even to undress. Access was all that was required. He would press her up against that wood panelling, and then slide his fingers between her legs while he freed himself. He would kiss her until she was begging him for more, and then he would guide himself to where she was wet and ready, and push deep inside her. It would be quick and it would be meaningless, but he doubted there would be any objections from her.

      She was flicking a light switch on and off, but nothing was happening. ‘What’s happened?’ she repeated, only now her voice sounded accusatory.

      With a monumental effort he severed his erotic fantasy and let it drift away, concentrating instead on the dense darkness that surrounded them, but his mouth was so dry and his groin so hard that it was several seconds before he was able to answer her question.

      ‘There’s been a power cut,’ he said.

      ‘I know that,’ she howled illogically. ‘But how did it happen?’

      ‘I have no idea,’ he answered steadily. ‘And the how isn’t important. We have to deal with it. Do you have your own emergency generator?’

      ‘Are you insane?’ Her panicked question came shooting at him through the darkness. ‘Of course I don’t!’

      ‘Well, then,’ he said impatiently. ‘Where do you keep your candles?’

      Livvy couldn’t think straight. He might as well have asked her where the planet Jupiter was in the night sky. Because the sudden loss of light and heating were eclipsed by the realisation that she had been on the brink of losing control. She’d nearly gone to pieces in his arms, because his touch had felt dangerous. And inviting. It had only been the briefest of embraces, but it had been mind-blowing. She hadn’t imagined feeling the unmistakable power of his arousal pressing firmly against her. And the amazing thing was that it hadn’t shocked her. On the contrary—she’d wanted him to carry on holding her like that. Hadn’t she been tempted to turn around and stretch up on tiptoe, to see whether he would kiss her as she sensed he had wanted to? And then to carry on kissing her.

      ‘Candles?’ he prompted impatiently.

      She swallowed. ‘They’re...in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘I’ll get them.’

      ‘I’ll come with you.’

      ‘You don’t think I’m capable of finding my way around my own house?’

      ‘It’s dark,’ he ground out. ‘And we’re sticking together.’

      Saladin caught hold of her wrist and closed his fingers over it, thinking that if only he had been accompanied by his usual bodyguards and envoys, then someone would now be attempting to fix whatever the problem was.

      But he had undertaken this journey alone— instinct telling him that he would have a better chance of success with the Englishwoman without all the dazzle of royal life that inevitably accompanied him. Because some people were intimidated by all the trappings that surrounded a royal sheikh—and, in truth, he liked to shrug off those trappings whenever possible.

      When travelling in Europe or the United States, he sometimes got his envoy Zane to act as a decoy sheikh. The two men were remarkably similar in appearance and they had long ago discovered that one powerful robed figure wearing a headdress in the back of a speeding car was interchangeable with another, to all but the most perceptive eye.

      In Jazratan he sometimes took solo trips