Sharon Kendrick - The Sheikh's Christmas Conquest

His mouth hardened as he carried the tea tray to the room where the bare Christmas tree stood silhouetted against the window and watched as she sank down onto the silky rug. And suddenly the sweet wholesomeness of her made all his dark thoughts melt away.

The bulky sweater she was wearing emphasised her tiny frame and the slender legs that were tucked up neatly beneath her. The firelight had turned her titian ponytail into a stream of flaming red, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to see her naked...

So make it happen , he thought—as the pulse at his groin began to throb with anticipation. Just make it happen.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WE HAVE A long evening ahead of us, Livvy. Any idea of how you’d like to fill it?’

Livvy eyed Saladin warily as he drawled out his question, thinking that he was suddenly being almost too well behaved, and wondering why. She almost preferred him when he was being bossy and demanding, because that had infuriated her enough to create a natural barrier between them. A barrier behind which she felt safe.

But now?

Now he was being suspiciously compliant. He had drunk the tea she’d given him and eaten an accompanying mince pie—declaring it to be delicious and telling her he intended to take the recipe back for the palace chefs, so that his courtiers and guests could enjoy the English delicacy. He had even dragged a whole pile of logs back from the woodshed and heaped them into the big basket beside the fire.

Despite the thickness of her sweater, a shiver ran down her spine as she watched him. His body was hard and muscular and he moved with the grace of a natural athlete. He handled the logs as if they were no heavier than twigs and somehow made the task look effortless. Livvy was proud of her independence and her insistence on doing the kind of jobs that some of her married school friends turned up their noses at. She never baulked at taking out the rubbish or sweeping the gravel drive. She happily carried logs and weeded the garden whenever she had time, but she couldn’t deny that it felt like an unexpected luxury to be waited on like this. To lean back against the cushioned footstool sipping her tea, watching Saladin Al Mektala sort out the fire for her. He made her feel... pampered , and he made her feel feminine.

She considered his question.

‘We could always play a game,’ she suggested.

‘Good idea.’ His dark eyes assumed the natural glint of the predator. ‘I love playing games.’

Nobody had ever accused Livvy of sophistication, but neither was she stupid. She’d worked for a long time in the testosterone-filled industry of horse racing and had been engaged to a very tricky man. She’d learned the hard way how womanising men flirted and used innuendo. And the only way to keep it in check was to ignore it. So she ignored the flare of light that had made the sheikh’s eyes gleam like glowing coal and subjected him to a look of cool question. ‘Scrabble?’ she asked. ‘Or cards?’

‘Whichever you choose,’ he said. ‘Although I must warn you now that I shall beat you.’

‘Is that supposed to be a challenge I can’t resist?’

‘Let’s see, shall we?’

To Livvy’s fury, his arrogant prediction proved correct. He won every game they played and even beat her at Scrabble—something at which she normally excelled.

Trying not to be a bad sport, she dropped the pen onto the score sheet. ‘So how come you’ve managed to beat me at a word game that isn’t even in your native tongue?’ she said.

‘Because when I was a little boy I had an English tutor who taught me that a rich vocabulary was something within the grasp of all men. And I was taught to win. It’s what Al Mektala men do. We never like to fail. At anything.’

‘So you’re always triumphant?’

He turned his head to look at her and Livvy’s heart missed a beat as she saw something flickering within the dark blaze of his eyes that didn’t look like arrogance. Was she imagining the trace of sorrow she saw there—or the lines around his mouth, which suddenly seemed to have deepened?

‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘A long time ago I failed at something quite spectacularly.’

‘At what?’

‘Something better left in the past, where it belongs.’ His voice grew cold and distant as he threw another log onto the fire, and when he turned back Livvy saw that his features had become shuttered. ‘Tell me something about you instead,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘There’s not very much to tell. I’m twenty-nine and I run a bed and breakfast business from the house in which I was born. My love life you already seem well acquainted with. Anything else you want to know?’

‘Yes.’ His hawklike features were gilded by the flicker of the firelight as he leaned forward. ‘Why did he jilt you?’

She met the searching blaze of his black eyes. ‘You really think I’d tell you ?’

He raised his dark brows. ‘Why not? I’m curious. And after the snow clears, you’ll never see me again—that is, if you really are determined to turn down my offer of a job. Isn’t that what people do in circumstances such as these? They tell each other secrets.’

As she considered his words, Livvy wondered how he saw her. As some sad spinster who’d tucked herself away in the middle of nowhere, far away from the fast-paced world she’d once inhabited? And if that was the case, then wasn’t this an ideal opportunity to show him that she liked the life she’d chosen—to show him she was completely over Rupert?

But if you’re over him—then how come you still shut out men? How come you must be the only twenty-nine-year-old virgin on the planet?

The uncomfortable trajectory of her thoughts made her bold. So let it go , she told herself. Let the past go by setting it free. ‘Do you know Rupert de Vries?’ she asked slowly.

‘I met him a couple of times—back in the day, as they say.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I didn’t like him.’

‘You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.’

‘I can assure you that I never say things I don’t mean, Livvy.’ There was a pause. ‘What happened?’

She stared down at the rug, trying to concentrate on the symmetrical shapes that were woven into the silk. She pictured Rupert’s face—something she hadn’t done for a long time—fine boned and fair and the antithesis of the tawny sheikh in front of her. She remembered how she couldn’t believe that the powerful racing figure had taken an interest in her , the lowliest of grooms at the time. ‘I expect you know that he ran a very successful yard for a time.’

‘Until he got greedy,’ Saladin said, stretching his legs out in front of him. ‘He overextended himself and that was a big mistake. You should always keep something back when you’re dealing with horses, no matter how brilliant they are. Because ultimately they are flesh and blood—and flesh and blood is always vulnerable.’

She heard the sudden rawness in his voice and wondered if he was thinking about Burkaan. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘So how come it got as far as you standing at the altar before he got cold feet?’ Black eyes bored into her. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it? Didn’t he talk to you about it beforehand—let you know he was having doubts?’

Livvy shook her head as her mind raced back to that chaotic period. At the time she’d done that thing of trying to salvage her pride by telling everyone with a brisk cheerfulness that it was much better to find out before the wedding, rather than after it. That it would have been unbearable if Rupert had decided he wanted out a few years and a few children down the line. But those had been things she’d felt obliged to say, so that she wouldn’t come over as bitter. The truth was that the rejection had left her feeling hollow...and stupid. Not only had she been completely blind to her fiancé’s transgressions, but there had been all the practical considerations, too. Like paying the catering staff who were standing around in their aprons in the deserted marquee almost bursting with excitement at the drama of it all. And informing the driver of the limousine firm that they wouldn’t be needing a lift to the airport after all. And cancelling the honeymoon, which she’d paid for and for which Rupert had been supposed to settle up with her afterwards. He never had, of course, and the wedding that never was had ended up costing her a lot more than injured pride.