His Christmas Conquest

‘Saladin,’ she whispered as he rubbed his thumb over her clitoris. ‘There’s something you should know.’

‘The only thing I need to know is whether you like...this...’

She closed her eyes. Like it? She imagined that even a marble statue would have squirmed beneath his questing finger, but that wasn’t the point. The words came out in a bald rush—but what other way was there to say them? ‘I’m a virgin.’

His fingers—which had been working rhythmically against her heated flesh—now stilled. He raised his head to look at her, his eyes full of disbelief—but there was something else in their depths, too. Something she didn’t recognise. Something dark and tortured. Something that scared her.

‘Is this some sort of joke?’ he demanded in a strangled kind of voice.

Wondering what had made him look so bleak, Livvy shook her head. ‘It’s no joke,’ she said. ‘Why would I joke about something like that? It’s the truth. I might not be very proud of it—but it’s the truth.’

He rolled away from her and she noticed that his erection had diminished. ‘How can this be?’ he bit out. ‘You are nearly thirty years old. You were engaged to be married. I know what Western women are like. They lose their innocence early and they take many lovers!’

His crass generalisations dispelled some of her insecurity and made Livvy start to claw back some dignity—something that wasn’t particularly easy when she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Did she dare walk over to the sofa where the soft woollen throw she kept for cold winter nights was folded? Too right she did—because staying here completely naked was making her feel even more vulnerable than she already did. On shaky legs she rose to stand, aware of his heated gaze following her as she walked over to get the blanket and brought it back to the fireside. But as she wrapped it around herself and sat at the other end of the rug, she became aware that his erection was back. And how. Hastily averting her eyes, she turned to throw a log into the neglected fire.

‘I hate to ruin your prejudices, but not all women conform to the stereotypes you’ve just described,’ she said. ‘The law of averages suggests that there will be some older virgins as well as young ones.’

Saladin’s mouth thinned with displeasure, thinking that there couldn’t have been a more inappropriate moment for her to try to dazzle him with statistics, and he was amazed she should even dare try. He felt the heavy throb of his heart. He had wanted sex. Simple, uncomplicated sex with a willing woman. He didn’t want someone with issues or baggage. He didn’t want someone who, with her purity, had stirred up memories he had locked away a long time ago. For he had only ever slept with one virgin before, and that virgin had been his beautiful wife. Pain and guilt clenched at his heart as he stared at her.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said coldly.

‘You don’t have to. I’m...’ And suddenly he saw the uncertainty that flickered across her pale and freckled face. ‘I’m sorry if I led you on.’

An unwanted but persistent point of principle made him shake his head. ‘We led each other on,’ he said heavily. ‘But it is true that you have left it a little late to drop this particular bombshell.’

Awkwardly, she shrugged. ‘Do you want to get dressed?’

Saladin shook his head. What he wanted was to be back where he’d been less than five minutes ago, not stuck in the middle of some damned conversation! ‘I don’t believe it,’ he breathed. ‘I thought it was the custom in the West to have sex before marriage—and you were on the very brink of marriage. So what happened?’

‘It’s difficult to put into words.’

‘You don’t seem to have had much problem with words so far.’

She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. ‘I think I was born in the wrong age,’ she said slowly. ‘I was a tomboy who loved messing around in the countryside. I climbed trees and used to make dens with the boys from the village. I never had posters of pop stars on my walls like all the other girls in my class. I was more interested in horses—horses were my life. In fact, everything was just like one of those old-fashioned children’s stories, until my mum died.’

‘That must have been hard,’ he said.

She shrugged again and suddenly he thought she looked much younger than nearly thirty.

‘Lots of children lose their mothers,’ she said. ‘But not so many have a father who was left feeling very vulnerable. A rich widower who became perfect marriage fodder for the kind of woman commonly known as a gold-digger.’

‘I have some experience of that breed myself,’ he observed wryly. ‘So what happened?’

She shrugged. ‘He fell for a busty blonde with a penchant for diamonds and couture and then he married her. My father was a country gentleman and this house had been in his family for generations, but his new wife preferred luxury travel and sailing in sunny waters on a lavish yacht. She was the kind of woman who would buy an entire new wardrobe before every trip—and we weren’t the sort of family who had a lot of ready cash. Most of it was tied up in the house. Would you...?’ Again, she licked her lips. ‘Would you like a blanket, or something?’

He would like something, but he suspected he wasn’t going to get it right then. ‘Why, is my nakedness bothering you?’

‘A little.’

‘Just a little?’ He let his gaze slide down to his groin before raising his eyes to her flaming cheeks. ‘I must be slipping. Very well, bring me a blanket if it makes you feel better.’

He wondered if she was aware that he was being treated to a tantalising glimpse of her bare bottom as she walked over to a second sofa and grabbed another blanket, though he noticed that she averted her gaze again as she thrust it at him before resuming her position at the other end of the rug.

‘So what happened?’ he questioned, watching as she huddled herself in a cocoon of soft wool. ‘Or can I guess? Did she grow bored with marriage to an older man? Did she demand more and more money, until she’d bled him dry?’

Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because I know what women are like,’ he said. ‘And your stepmother was conforming to a pattern that isn’t exactly ground-breaking.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And ironically, you met your own male version of the gold-digger in de Vries.’

She nodded before staring down at the pattern on the rug as if completely absorbed by it, but when she lifted her face he noted that her expression was calm—as if she had practised very hard to look that way.

‘That’s right. I can’t believe that I didn’t see it for myself, my only defence being that I was very young,’ she said. ‘His stables were in trouble—everyone knew that—but nobody realised quite how bad the problem was. He knew I was an only child and he saw this house and made the assumption we were rolling in money. Which, of course, we weren’t. My father was quite an old man by then and he was ill. We had a lot of carers who were coming in and helping me look after him, and they cost an absolute fortune.’

‘And I suppose that was also occupying a lot of your time and energy?’ he said grimly.

She nodded again. ‘He was very frail by then, and Rupert seemed so understanding about it all. He didn’t seem to mind when I had to cancel dinner because one of the carers hadn’t shown up. And because he was my first real boyfriend, I had nothing to compare him with. I just thought he was being kind. When he said...’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘When he said that he wanted to wait until we were married before we had sex, I found that somehow reassuring.’

Saladin nodded. Yes, he could see that. A horse-mad, motherless tomboy whose only role models had been an old man who should have known better and an avaricious stepmother who was out for all she could get. No wonder Livvy hadn’t known the rules about relationships, or men, or sex. Nobody had bothered to explain them to her, had they?

‘Don’t you realise that it reflects badly on him, not you?’ he questioned savagely. ‘That a man who dumps a woman on her wedding day because she has less money than he thought is not a real man. We have a name for that kind of man in Jazratan, but I will not sully your ears with it.’

‘But it wasn’t just the money. There was something else.’ She twisted some of the blanket’s tassels between her fingers. ‘It turned out that he was sleeping with one of the female grooms and had been for some time, which was why he hadn’t tried harder to get into bed with me. Not just any groom, either—but my best friend. And there was me thinking that he was displaying old-fashioned values of chivalry designed to win a woman’s heart, not realising that I was being betrayed by the two people I considered closest to me.’ She gave a short and bitter laugh. ‘What a fool I was.’

‘You shouldn’t beat yourself up for wanting to believe the best in people,’ he said, his voice growing hard. ‘Though I hope you’ve learned your lesson now. It’s always better to think the worst. That way you don’t get disappointed.’

She stared at him. ‘You’ve been very...’ Her voice tailed off.

‘Very what?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘I think it does.’

‘Understanding.’ She gave an embarrassed kind of shrug.

‘What did you think I was going to do?’ he questioned roughly. ‘Carry on as if nothing had happened—kiss away your protests and ignore your obvious reservations? Or maybe you wanted me to fulfil the fantasy of the exotic stranger who ravishes the willing but innocent woman. Who takes away the responsibility so you didn’t have to make the decision for yourself. Is that what you would have liked? It’s a common enough fantasy, especially where desert sheikhs are concerned. Would that have made it easier for you, Livvy?’

She licked her lips. ‘I wasn’t even going to tell you.’

‘No, I gathered that,’ he said drily. ‘So what changed your mind?’

She shrugged again and the blanket slipped down over her shoulders, before she hauled it back up again. ‘I thought it was dishonest not to. I thought you might be one of those men for whom virginity is a big deal.’

Saladin was silent as he considered her words. Was it? Her eyes were wide as she looked at him and he could read the faint anxiety in their depths. He supposed it was. For a man in his position, virginity was an essential requirement of any future queen. But he was not looking for a queen. He had been there, done that. What was it they said in the West? Bought the T-shirt.

His mouth hardened as she held his gaze with those startling amber eyes. Was she seeking reassurance? Holding out for an impossible dream? He felt the hard throb of desire at his groin and shifted his weight. This was a unique situation, but despite his undeniable lust—lust was interchangeable, because there was always another female eager enough to open her legs for him. If it were anyone else, he would get dressed, make a quick phone call and get the hell out of there—no matter how many damned snow ploughs it took.

And that was what he should do—he knew that. Because purity was something he always associated with just one woman—and wouldn’t it dishonour Alya’s memory if he were to take the innocence of another? Every instinct he possessed—except for the sexual instinct—told him to leave now and get away while he still could.

But Livvy Miller still had something he wanted. Something that only she could provide. And maybe he had something she wanted, because surely she didn’t want to carry on like this. Was now the time for a little adult negotiation? If he fulfilled a need in her—then wouldn’t she feel morally obliged to do the same for him?

On her face he could read trepidation warring with desire, and a genuine sense of injustice washed over him. How crazy was it that she had never known the joy of sex? That a woman who was known for her physicality and skill on a horse should have neglected her own body for so long?

He didn’t move—he didn’t dare—because it was vital he didn’t influence her decision, even though he knew that another kiss and she would be melting beneath him. But it had to be her decision, not his. His gaze was unwavering as he looked at her.

‘So,’ he questioned silkily. ‘Do you want me to take your virginity, Livvy?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

LIVVY DIDN’T ANSWER straight away. It seemed like something out of a dream—the powerful sheikh asking if she wanted him to take her virginity, with all the impartiality of someone enquiring whether she’d like a spoonful of sugar in her coffee.

As she stared into the provocative gleam of Saladin’s black eyes, she thought about everything that had brought her to this moment. The public shame of being jilted that had hit her so hard, even though she’d done her best to hold her head up high afterwards. She’d walked away from the world of horses without a backward glance and had started a new life.

Out of a sense of loyalty to her father’s memory and a determination that Rupert’s rejection wouldn’t destroy her completely, she’d done her best to keep Wightwick Manor going. On a shoestring budget she’d worked hard to make her bed and breakfast business a success. But now she could see that she had neglected her own needs in the process. She’d put her emotional life on a back burner, letting her twenties trickle away beneath the hard work of maintaining an old house like this. She hadn’t done dates or parties or make-up—she’d spent any spare money on roof tiles, or getting the windows painted. She hadn’t gone off for minibreaks or enjoyed sunny vacations with girlfriends, drinking lurid-coloured cocktails while they were chatted up by waiters. She hadn’t even tried to find herself a new boyfriend. She’d told herself she didn’t need the potential pain of another relationship.

Yet here she was—naked underneath a blanket while a similarly naked Saladin surveyed her from the other end of the rug. She stared into the dark smoulder of his eyes and wondered how best to respond to his question. She supposed she could say no. Act prim and outraged—and tell him that she wasn’t interested in giving her virginity to him, like some kind of medieval sacrifice. He was certainly sophisticated enough to take it on the chin. She doubted he would feel more than a moment of regret, and she would probably be knocked down by the rush of women eager to take her place.

But it wasn’t quite that straightforward, because she still wanted him. He’d kissed her passionately and made her feel she was part of something magical. He’d made her feel things she didn’t think she was capable of feeling—a powerful passion that had overwhelmed her and a need that had flooded hotly through her veins. He’d set her body on fire. She thought about the way he’d touched her—whispering his mouth over each breast in turn, grazing them with his teeth and making her urge him on with writhing hips. She remembered the way his head had slid down between her thighs and something molten and sweet had begun to tug at the very core of her—something that was making refusal seem like a crazy idea. And she knew something else—that she would never get another chance like this. Desert sheikhs promising untold pleasure didn’t come along more than once in a lifetime.

She stared at him.

‘Yes,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Yes, I want you to take my virginity.’

His face showed no immediate reaction. The hawklike features displayed no hint of triumph although his lips curved in the briefest of smiles.

‘Come here,’ he instructed softly.

She wondered briefly why he couldn’t come to her, but his words were compelling and masterful and Livvy stood up and began to walk towards him, clutching the blanket against her skin like a makeshift dress. She could feel his eyes burning into her—as if that piercing black gaze was capable of scorching through the wool to the body beneath. Her footsteps faltered as she reached him, uncertain about what to do next, but he reached out and slid his thumb over her ankle, massaging briefly against the jut of bone there, before beginning to stroke his way up her calf. Livvy swallowed as pleasure began to ripple over her skin. It seemed such a light, innocuous movement to such an innocent part of the body and yet...yet...

‘Saladin,’ she whispered.

‘Shh.’

The back of her knee was next—a tiny circular movement that must have made her loosen her grip on the blanket because he gave it a single tug and it slid to the ground, leaving her standing naked in front of him. Automatically, her hands flew up to conceal her breasts, before he shook his head.

‘Do not cover yourself, Livvy,’ he instructed softly. ‘Your body is very beautiful. It is small and neat, yet strong and supple. It pleases me very much and I wish to look at it.’

She kept her hands exactly where they were, even though his words were making her nipples peak against her fingers. ‘You’re making me feel like an object.’

‘Not an object,’ he demurred, reaching up and pulling her down into his arms, so that her flesh met the comforting warmth of his. He pushed the mussed hair away from her face and used the edge of his thumb to trace the outline of her lips. ‘Not even a subject, since I do not rule over you. So stop looking at me with those anxious eyes and relax, because I am going to give you pleasure such as you have never dreamed of.’

‘But I don’t have a clue what to do,’ she whispered.

‘And that,’ he said unevenly, ‘is part of your attraction.’

Only part of it, she wondered dazedly as his mouth came down towards her. What was the other part?

But his kiss was powerful enough to send any last doubts skittering from her mind, and the slow caress of his lips made further deliberations impossible. All she could think about was what he was doing. He was holding her close—so close—making her feel as if every cell in her body were sensitive to each seeking caress.

At first his touch wasn’t overtly sexual. The hands that were cupping her face seemed more interested in exploring the thickness of her hair and the outline of her face. And when that innocent exploration made her relax, he started stroking his hands down the sides of her body—until she was moving restlessly against him.

He must have known that her impatience was growing, but he paid no attention to her squirming movements. He just took his time—drawing out the exquisite torture as his fingers slowly acquainted themselves with her skin. Inch by tantalising inch, he touched her. First her breasts and then her ribcage and the undulation of her waist. She held her breath as he turned his attention to her belly and teased her by brushing his fingers farther down to delve inside the soft fuzz of hair. Yet his hawklike features remained impassive even though she could feel the tension building in his powerful body. She could sense his restraint—as if he was battling his own desire in order to feed hers.

‘Saladin,’ she breathed, looking into his eyes to find herself ensnared by a smoky black gaze.

‘Want me?’ His thumb brushed against the moist and engorged bud hidden by the soft curls, and she let out a little murmur of assent as she nodded.

‘I...I think so.’

‘I think so, too,’ he said, his voice suddenly growing harsh.

He moved over her, his hardness nudging against her wet heat as she opened her legs for him with an instinct that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. She became aware of so many things—his weight and his strength and the subtle scent of sandalwood and salt that clung to his skin.

‘Look at me,’ he urged softly.

Until he spoke, she hadn’t even realised her eyes had closed again. She let the lids flutter open to meet his heated gaze as he made that first thrust deep inside her—a long, slow thrust that made her gasp and instantly he stilled, his eyes narrowing.

‘It hurts?’

Breathlessly, she shook her head. ‘Not really. It just feels...’

‘What?’

‘Big.’

Saladin smiled—he couldn’t help himself. But her unintentional boost to his masculine ego only increased his hunger—if that was possible—and it was a moment before he could trust himself to move again. Already he felt close to a tipping point that had been reached the moment he had entered her. He could feel her flesh enclosing him as sweetly as an oyster clamped its shell around the glistening pearl. She was so tight. So wet. So...unexpected. But he reined back his sudden urgent desire to ride her as fiercely as he would ride one of his horses. Because this was her first time, he reminded himself. This was the touchstone by which she would measure all the men who would follow. And he must make it a good experience—the very best experience—for all kinds of reasons.

So he concentrated on kissing and fondling her. On doing all the things that women liked best and on holding back his own desire. And even though his sexual hunger was at a high that was almost unendurable, it felt exquisite. Maybe because it was the first time in a long time that he had put a woman’s needs before his own. Usually he didn’t have to, because he prided himself on being able to make a woman orgasm within moments of touching her, but this was different. Virgins were different...

The pain of memory shot through him like a dark streak of lightning and for a moment he screwed his eyes tightly shut, cursing the thoughts that crowded into his mind—and slamming down the barriers before they could take root there.

He drew in a deep breath and began to objectify what was happening, in order to distract himself. He concentrated on Livvy’s reaction rather than his own—watching as her eyes grew dark and her cheeks flushed. He felt the tension in her fingers as they kneaded against his sweat-sheened back. He could feel the urgency in her thighs, which were digging hard against his hips, and the way she instinctively angled her pelvis to encourage him to go deeper. He tipped his head back as she covered his shoulder with a flurry of frantic little kisses that seemed to grow in crescendo as he drove her towards her climax.

He knew when she was about to come. He could sense the change in her body—the unmistakable quiver of expectation and excitement edged with the sense of disbelief that heralded any orgasm. And that was when he kissed her again. Gripped her hips hard as he drove into her. Imprisoned her against his exquisitely aroused length as her back began to arch and he waited for the split second of stillness before she started spasming against his flesh. He thought she called out his name as he gave into his own release, which he could hold back no longer—his own pleasure increased by the sensation of her still quivering helplessly in his arms.

It took him a long time to come down and, unusually, he stayed where he was for a long time—withdrawing only when he felt the returning stir of an erection. He rolled away from her, pulling the discarded blanket over her, unable to resist a glance at her flushed face and the bright, honey-coloured eyes, before her eyelids fluttered sleepily down. But for once he did not want sleep—something his body habitually demanded after sex, which helped emphasise the distance he craved and lessened the chances of being asked pointless questions about the possibility of a long-term relationship.

For once he was wide awake and more alive than he could remember feeling in a long, long time. He wanted to hear what the feisty little redhead had to say about her first experience of sex, although he told himself that his interest was simply academic. He was not looking for praise because he knew how good he was—but he needed her to be satisfied with what had just happened. He needed to keep her sweet.

Stroking a slow finger over one flushed breast, he smiled. ‘No need to ask whether you enjoyed that.’

His murmured words dissolved the clouds of contentment that had settled on her and, with an effort, Livvy blinked herself awake. Her eyes felt so heavy, it was as if someone had crept in and placed two tiny pebbles on them while she hadn’t been looking. She met Saladin’s dark gaze. His skin was flushed and his eyes were smoky, yet he sounded more concerned with his own performance rating than with anything else. She told herself that his arrogance didn’t matter because nothing had felt this good in a long time—maybe ever—and she’d be a fool not to hold on to it while she could. She felt...warm. Complete. As if she were floating on a pink cloud that she never wanted to get off.

She studied his hawklike features and sensual lips and she wanted him all over again. All she had to do was to lean forward to kiss him, and she had to fight the longing to do just that because something warned her to tread carefully. She needed to remember that the sheikh was unlike other men—and her own track record was hopeless. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself and, more important, she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to reject her. Because hadn’t she vowed that she would never get rejected for a second time?

She must not make the mistake of falling in love with him.

What would such a seasoned lover as Saladin normally require in such circumstances? she wondered, and something told her to play it straight. Just because her system was flooded with hormones that were making her want to do inappropriate things like stroke his face and be all tender—didn’t mean she was going to listen to them.

‘I don’t think you’d need me to be wired up to a machine to register my heart-rate to realise that it was a very satisfying experience,’ she said.

He looked surprised, there was no denying that—and neither could she deny the little rush of pleasure that gave her.

‘So you don’t regret it?’

Livvy chewed on her lip. Did she? She thought about the vow she had made to herself a long time ago.

‘I don’t do regrets,’ she said quietly. ‘Not anymore.’

Saladin’s eyes narrowed. It was not the glowing endorsement he had expected, nor the compliancy of a woman who was eager for more. If he had been on territory he could call his own—a hotel suite, perhaps—then he might have taken himself off for a long shower and left her lying there to think about the wisdom of her words. But he wasn’t. He was in her house on her rug—and she was still in possession of something he wanted. He gave a slow smile as he drew a thoughtful finger down over her breast and felt her shiver. Did she really think she would be able to deny him now that she had tasted the pleasure he could give her?

‘I’m going to make love to you again,’ he said.

But instead of being captured by his gaze, she was looking across the room at a radiating blue-white light.

‘Your phone’s vibrating,’ she said.

And her damned cat chose that precise moment to stalk into the room and hiss at him.