His Christmas Conquest. Maisey Yates
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and significant?
Yet maybe that wasn’t so surprising when sex with Saladin had seemed so easy. It had happened so naturally. It had felt as if she’d been waiting all her life for the desert sheikh to make love to her. As if she hadn’t been complete until he had completed her.
And wasn’t that the way it was supposed to feel?
Blocking out the disturbing thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm her, she focused her attention on the splendour of her surroundings instead. The temperature dropped as they passed through the shaded portico into the main palace, where the polished floors were deliciously cool and smooth.
They crossed a courtyard and, on the far side, Livvy saw a shining silver bower, festooned with tumbling roses of scarlet and orange and pink. Glittering brightly in the midday sun, it was topped with an intricate silver structure of filigree metal flowers and leaves and Livvy’s footsteps came to a halt. ‘Wow,’ she said slowly. ‘What is that place?’
By her side Saladin stiffened as he followed the direction of her eyes. ‘That is the Faddi gate, leading to the palace rose garden,’ he said abruptly.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful. Could we go that way?’
But suddenly he seemed to be having difficulty controlling his emotions and Livvy looked up to see a tiny nerve working frantically at his temple and that his mouth had hardened with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom. He shook his head.
‘The gardeners are working there,’ he said abruptly. ‘And they do not like to be observed. Come, I will take you a different way.’
He remained tense for a minute or two, but as they walked towards her rooms he began to recount some of the history of Jazratan and of the palace itself. And somehow the change of subject was enough to make him relax—and Livvy relaxed, too, so that after a while she found herself engrossed in the things he was telling her. He talked about battles that had been fought and won by his ancestors, of sheikhs whose lifeblood had seeped like rust onto the desert sands. He told her about the brave mount who had led one particular victorious battle—a forerunner to his own, beloved Burkaan.
She realised then why his horse was so important to him, and it had nothing to do with money, or even a close bond that transcended his royal status. Because Burkaan was a link between the past and the future. If the stallion was put out to stud, then his illustrious line would continue. And continuity was the lifeblood of a ruling monarch.
He’s so different from you, Livvy thought. So don’t ever make the mistake of thinking it could be any other way than this.
They had just reached her door when Saladin suddenly reached out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, and the unexpected gesture shocked Livvy into stillness. She wondered if he could feel the sudden hammering of her pulse. He must do. It sounded so thunderous to her own ears she was surprised it hadn’t brought the servants running.
‘Thank you for what you did today,’ he said.
‘I did very little.’
‘On the contrary. You calmed a horse who has been nothing but vicious since his accident. It was the first time I’ve seen a fleeting moment of peace in his eyes.’
And Livvy found herself looking into his eyes, helplessly snared by their ebony light. She’d seen many emotions in them since that snowy afternoon when he had first walked into her life. She’d seen them harden with irritation and determination. She’d seen them soften with desire and lust. And she’d seen them cloud over with something that had looked very like sorrow as they had stared at the Faddi gate leading to the rose garden. Did Saladin have his own dark demons raging within him? she wondered.
Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from his—even though deep down she wanted to curl her fingers into his palm, like a cat settling down for the evening. But that way lay danger. He’d already set out the boundaries and, even though her body wanted to push at those boundaries, she recognised that distance from Saladin made perfect sense.
‘You really must excuse me,’ she said, bringing a note of formality into her voice. ‘I need to call England to check that Peppa is okay and that the snow hasn’t caused any lasting damage.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll see you at lunch—presumably you will send someone to collect me?’
And with that, she walked into her suite, quietly closing the door—not caring that he was still standing there looking darkly displeased by her dismissal. Not caring about anything other than a need to put some distance between them before she did something crazy like fling herself against that hard and virile body and beg him to make love to her again.
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