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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIVVY WATCHED AS Saladin walked across the room to answer his phone, not seeming to care that away from the fierce blaze of the fire the unheated room was icy cold on his naked body. Or maybe his careless, almost sauntering journey was deliberate. Perhaps he thought that the sight of him without any clothes would set her heart racing and cast some kind of erotic spell on her. And if that was the case, he was right.
Beside her Peppa gave a plaintive meow, but for once Livvy’s stroking of the cat’s abundant fur was distracted, because how could she concentrate on anything other than the sight of the magnificent sheikh?
She found herself watching him hungrily in the way that Peppa sometimes watched a beautiful bird as it hopped around the garden. The powerful shafts of his thighs rose to greet the paler globes of buttocks, leading to the narrow taper of his hips and waist. Livvy swallowed. The proud way he held his head and broad line of his shoulders reminded her of a statue she’d once seen in a museum. It seemed impossible that moments before he’d been deep inside her, making her cry out with pleasure.
A man she barely knew—yet one who ironically knew her m
ore intimately than anyone. She’d told him about still being a virgin and then, very slowly—he had made love to her.
She wrapped the blanket round her as he picked up the vibrating phone and, after clicking the connection, began speaking rapidly in an unknown language she assumed was his native tongue. She noticed that he listened for some—not much—of the time, but mostly he seemed to be barking out commands. She gave a wry smile as she lay back on the rug. She guessed that was what sheikhs did.
Resting her head against her folded arms, she waited—her newfound sense of torpor making her aware of her glowing skin and her sense of satisfaction. And Saladin was responsible for that. For all his arrogance and sense of entitlement, he had proved the most considerate and exciting first lover a woman could wish for.
Lazily, she turned her head and looked out of the window. The snow had stopped falling but there were no signs of a thaw. The landscape looked as pretty as a Christmas card—unreal and somehow impenetrable, as if they were in their own private little bubble and nobody else could get in. Inside, the lack of electricity was beginning to bite and it was starting to get cold. The decorated tree looked strange without the rainbow glow of fairy lights, and despite the blaze of the fire the room had taken a distinct drop in temperature. She dreaded to think how icy it must be upstairs. Some of her euphoria began to leave her as Livvy started to consider the more practical concerns of the power cut. Eight guests were due to arrive the day after tomorrow and she had no electricity!
Her torpor forgotten, she jumped up and grabbed the silky knickers that were lying in a heap on the floor, and had just slithered them on when she felt a light but proprietorial hand on her bottom.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She turned round and steeled herself against the glint of displeasure in Saladin’s dark eyes.
‘I’m getting dressed.’
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