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

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Claimed for Christmas!The snow is falling, the fire is roaring, the mince pies are in the oven when Olivia Miller finds a handsome man on her doorstep… Sheikh Saladin Al Mekta-la, is here to whisk her off to his kingdom for the perfect Christmas.*With one band of gold Prince Andres of Petras can erase all of his past sins. But his prospective bride is untameable Princess Zara. So the plaboy prince must seduce her her by Christmas!*Catalina’s stolen Christmas night of irresistible passion with billionaire Natha-nial changed her life forever. Now, she is determined to protect the small life growing within her. Even if she has to defy the husband she so desperately craves!

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She wished Saladin would stop looking at her like that—his black eyes capturing her in their dark and hypnotic spotlight. She wasn’t a vain woman by any definition of the word, but she would have taken a bit more trouble with her appearance if she’d known that a desert sheikh was going to come calling. Suddenly her scalp felt itchy and her face hot, and her shirt still felt as if it had shrunk in the wash.

‘Is that your answer to everything?’ she questioned. ‘To write a cheque and to hell with anything else?’

He shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t it be—when I have the capability to do exactly that, and money talks louder than anything else?’

‘You cynic,’ she breathed.

‘I’m not denying that.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Or maybe you’re just naive. Money talks, Livvy—it talks louder than anything else. It’s about the only thing in life you can rely on—which is why you should do yourself a favour and come with me to Jazratan. My stable complex is the finest in the world and it would be interesting for you to see it.’

He smiled at her, but Livvy sensed it was a calculating smile. As if he had only produced it because it would add a touch of lightness to conversation that wasn’t going the way he intended.

‘Come and work with my horse and I’ll give you whatever you want, within reason,’ he continued. ‘And if you cure Burkaan—if you ensure that a gun will not be held to his head while I am forced to stare into his trusting and bewildered eyes as the life bleeds out of him, you will walk away knowing that you need never worry about money again.’

The heartfelt bit about the horse got to her much more than the financial incentive he was offering. In fact, she hated the mercenary progression of his words. As if everything had a price—even people. As if you could wear them down just by increasing the amount of money on the table. Maybe in his world, that was what happened.

But despite her determination not to be tempted, she was tempted. For a minute she allowed herself to think what she could do with the money. Where would she even start? By tackling the ancient wiring in some of the bedrooms, or sorting out the antiquated boiler that badly needed replacing? She thought about the icy corridors upstairs and the lack of insulation in the roof. Most of the heat was pumped into the guest bedrooms, leaving her own windows coated with a thin layer of ice each morning. She shivered. It had been a bitter winter and they were still only a third of the way through it, and she was getting fed up with having to wear thick socks to bed at night.

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I have guests who are due to spend the holidays here who are arriving in a couple of days. I can’t just cancel their Christmas and New Year when they’ve spent months looking forward to it. You’ll just have to find someone else.’

Saladin’s mouth tightened, but still he wasn’t done. Didn’t she realise that he would get what he wanted in the end, no matter how he had to go about it? That if it came to a battle of wills, he would win. Spurred on by the almost imperceptible note of hesitation he’d heard in her voice, he got up from his chair and walked over to the window. It was almost dark, but the heavy clouds had already leached the sky of all colour and all you could see was snow. It had highlighted all the leafless trees with ghostly white fingers. It had blanketed his parked car so that all that was visible was a snowy mound.

His eyes narrowed as fat flakes swirled down, transformed into tumbling gold feathers by the light streaming from the window. He ran through the possibilities of what he should do next, knowing his choices were limited. He could go and get his car started before the snow came down any harder. He could drive off and come back again tomorrow. Give her time to think about his offer and realise that she would be a fool to reject it. Or he could have his people deal with it, using rather more ruthless back-room tactics.

He turned back to see her unsmiling face and he was irritated by his inability to get through to her. Logic told him to leave, yet for some reason he was reluctant to do so, even though she had started walking towards the door, making it clear that she expected him to trail after her. A woman who wanted him gone? Unbelievable! When had any woman ever turned him away?

He followed her out into the wood-lined corridor, which was lit by lamps on either side, realising that she was close enough to touch. And bizarrely, he thought about kissing her. About claiming those stubborn and unpainted lips with his own and waiting to see how long it would take before she was breathlessly agreeing to anything he asked of her.

But his choices were suddenly taken away from him by a dramatic intervention as the lights went out and the corridor was plunged into darkness. From just ahead of him, he heard Livvy gasp and then he felt the softness of her body as she stumbled back against him.

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.

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