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

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 deep into the heart of the desert. At other times he had been known to dress as a merchant and to blend into the thronging crowds of the marketplace in the capital city of Janubwardi. It gave him a certain kick to listen to what his people were saying about him when they thought they were free to do so. His advisors didn’t like it, but that was tough. He refused to be treated with kid gloves, especially here in England—a country he knew well. And he knew that the dangers in life were the ones where obvious risk was involved, but the ones that hit you totally out of the blue...

He could feel her pulse slamming wildly beneath his fingers.

‘Let me go,’ she whispered.

‘No. You’re not going anywhere,’ he snapped. ‘Stick close to me—I’m going first. And be careful.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me to be careful. Don’t you have a phone? We could use it as a torch instead of stumbling around in the dark.’

‘It’s in my car,’ he said as they edged along a corridor that seemed less dense now that his eyes had started to accustom themselves to the lack of light. ‘Where’s yours?’

‘In my bedroom.’

‘Handy,’ he said sarcastically.

‘I wasn’t expecting to be marooned in the darkness with a total stranger.’

‘Spare me the melodrama, Livvy. And let’s just concentrate on getting there without falling over.’

Cautiously, they moved along the ancient passage. The flagged floors echoed as she led him down a narrow flight of stairs, into a large windowless kitchen that was as dark as pitch. She wriggled her hand free and felt her way towards a cupboard, where he could hear her scrabbling around—before uttering a little cry of triumph as she located the candles. He found himself admiring her efficiency, but noticed that her fingers were trembling as she struck a match and her pale face was illuminated as the flame grew steady.

Wordlessly, he took the matches from her and lit several more candles while she melted wax and positioned them carefully in tarnished silver holders. The room grew lighter and the flames cast out strange shadows that flickered over the walls. He could see the results of what must have been a pretty intensive baking session, because on the table were plates of biscuits and a platter of those sweet things the English always ate at Christmastime. He frowned as he tried to remember what they were called. Mince pies, that was it.

‘What do you think has happened?’ she questioned.

He shrugged. ‘A power line down? It can sometimes happen if there’s a significant weight of snow.’

‘But it can’t!’ She looked around, a touch of desperation in her voice. ‘I’ve still got so much to do before my guests arrive.’

He sent her a wry look. ‘Looks as though it’s going to have to wait.’

A sudden silence fell and he noticed that her hand was trembling even more now.

‘Hadn’t you better go, before the snow gets much worse?’ she said, in a casual tone that didn’t quite come off. ‘There must be someone waiting for you. Someone who’s wondering where you are.’

Incredulously, he stared at her. ‘And leave you here, on your own? Without electricity?’ He walked over to one of the old-fashioned radiators and laid the flat of his hand on it. ‘Or heating.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own,’ she said stubbornly.

‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. What kind of man would walk out and leave a woman to fend for herself in conditions like these?’

‘So you’re staying in order to ease your own conscience?’

There was a pause, and when he spoke his voice had a bitter note to it. ‘Something like that.’

Livvy’s heart thundered as she tried to work out what to do next. ‘Don’t panic’ should have been top of her list, while the second should be to stop allowing Saladin to take control. Maybe where he came from, men dealt with emergencies while the women just hung around looking decorative. Well, perhaps it might do him good to realise that she didn’t need a man to fix things for her. She didn’t need a man for anything. She’d learned to change a fuse and fix a leaking tap. She’d managed alone for long enough and that was the way she liked it.

She walked over to the phone, which hung on a neat cradle on the wall, but was greeted with nothing but an empty silence as she placed it against her ear.

‘Dead?’ he questioned.

‘Completely.’ She replaced it and looked at him but, despite her best intentions, she was starting to panic. Had she, in the rush to buy the tree and hang the mistletoe and bake the mince pies, remembered to charge her cell phone? ‘I’ll go upstairs and get my phone.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Were you born to be bossy?’

‘I think I was. Why, does it bother you?’