The Sheikh's Christmas Conquest

by Sharon Kendrick

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  She licked her lips. ‘Aren’t you in danger of using your wife’s death as an excuse to stop you from living properly, in the here and now? She died when you were newlyweds...’ Her voice faltered for a moment as she met the angry glint in his black eyes, but she’d started now. She’d started and she had to finish. ‘She was young and beautiful and time hadn’t tarnished your perfect relationship in any way—’

  ‘And you’re saying it would have done?’ he demanded hotly. ‘That all relationships are doomed to end in failure or misery? Is that your Western view of marriage?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. Nobody knows what would have happened,’ she said fiercely. ‘Because nobody ever does. All I know is that you seem to be letting your unnecessary guilt hold you back.’

  ‘And what if I don’t think it’s unnecessary?’ he bit out. ‘What if I feel it is the burden I must carry until the end of my days?’

  ‘Then, that’s your choice, because nobody can change your mind for you, Saladin. Only you.’ She hesitated because this bit was harder. ‘Though maybe you prefer it this way. Your lovely wife was cut off in her prime and nobody else is ever going to be able to live up to her, are they? She was perfect in every way, and she always will be because you’ve put her on a pedestal. And no living woman can ever compare to Alya.’

  His eyes narrowed with sudden perception and slowly he nodded his head. ‘Ah,’ he said tightly. ‘Now I understand.’

  She was alerted to the dark note that had entered his voice, and her head jerked back. ‘Understand what?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Self-regard disguised as advice. Isn’t that what you’re doing?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me now. I was never very good at riddles.’

  His mouth hardened into a cynical line. ‘Oh, come on, Livvy. You must know what I’m saying. You seem to have settled very well here in Jazratan. Even my advisors have commented on how well you have fit in. Unobtrusive, modest, yet supremely hard-working—you put to shame our enduring stereotype of the Western woman as a hard-living party animal. Of course, nobody but us knows that our nights have become a feast of sensual delights. And that under cover of darkness you become someone quite different—a creature of pure pleasure.’ His black eyes became hooded as he looked at her. ‘Perhaps you are reluctant to walk away from all that you have found here. Did you look around at my palace and like what you saw—is that it? Did my pure little virgin see herself as the future queen of Jazratan?’

  Livvy stiffened as his words shot through her like tiny arrows. He had taken her well-meaning advice and twisted it, making it sound as if she’d been seeking her own happy-ever-after when all she’d been doing was trying to comfort him. He made her sound grabbing and self-serving and cheap.

  ‘You dare to accuse me of something so cynical?’ she demanded, hot breath clogging her throat.

  ‘Yes, I dare!’ he challenged. ‘What’s the matter, Livvy—have I touched a raw nerve?’

  Pushing her hair away from her hot face, she noticed the tremble of her fingers. ‘Actually, I find your arrogance and your assumption breathtaking, if you must know, but at least it’s made me see things more clearly.’ She drew in a deep breath as she wriggled away from him. ‘And I’m going back to England.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘It wasn’t a suggestion, Saladin—it was a statement. I’m going and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me.’

  He reached for her then, his hand moving underneath the sheet to slide around her waist, and Livvy despaired of how instantly her body reacted when he touched her. She bit her lip as he began to stroke her and wished he could carry on stroking her like that until the end of time.

  ‘Look, maybe I shouldn’t have said those things.’ A note of something like contrition entered his voice as he continued with his seductive caress. ‘Maybe I was lashing out because I’d told you so much. More than I’ve ever told anyone else.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you say to me now. My mind is made up and I’m going,’ she repeated, pushing away his hand. ‘Because there’s no reason for me to stay. You’re obviously suspicious of my motives, and that is your prerogative. But I don’t want to be hidden away like a dirty secret anymore. Do you understand?’

  His face darkened. ‘And what about Burkaan?’

  Livvy felt her heart plummet as his reaction confirmed what she already knew—that his racehorse meant more to him than anything. Of course it did. When would she ever learn that she was one of those women who fell for the kind of men who would never love her back?

  ‘Burkaan will be fine,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t need me anymore—we both know that. He’s got his appetite back and he’s no longer vicious with the grooms. The X-ray results are conclusive.’ She paused, suddenly realising how much she was going to miss the feisty black stallion. But not nearly as much as she was going to miss his judgemental master. ‘The vet told me this morning how pleased he is with his progress—and he’ll continue making good progress, as long as you take it slowly. So don’t rush him. A month walking, followed by a month trotting. After that, you can try cantering.’

  ‘Livvy—’

  ‘I mean, obviously there’s no guarantee he’ll ever race again,’ she rushed on, desperate to cut him off before he tried another of those appeals, which this time she might not be able to withstand. ‘But you should certainly be able to put him out to stud at some point in the future. And now I think it’s best if you leave. No. Please don’t try to touch me again, Saladin. It will only complicate things. We both know that.’

  She saw the incredulity that had narrowed his dark eyes and wondered if anyone had ever ordered him from their bed before, or tried to oppose his wishes. Probably not. But she needed to do this. She needed to put distance between them and she needed to find an inner strength. Because, despite her furious denial that she was hoping for some kind of future with him, wasn’t there a part of her that was doing exactly that? A part that had grown closer to this complex and compelling man and wanted to grow closer still, if only he would let her. A part that badly wanted to love him, as she suspected he needed to be loved.

  And she couldn’t afford to think that way. Because falling for a desert sheikh who was still in love with his dead wife was asking for trouble.

  He sat up in bed, the sheet falling away from him. ‘You’re really asking me to leave?’ he demanded.

  ‘I really am.’ She forced a smile. ‘Think of it as character-building.’

  Saladin felt a fury and a frustration racing through his blood as he stared into her stubborn face. Who the hell did she think she was, trying to take control like this? She would leave his employment when he was good and ready and not a moment before. Yet she enjoyed taking control, didn’t she? She had laid down her rules right from the start—not seeming to realise what kind of man she was dealing with—and had expected him meekly to accept them. Well, maybe it was time she realised that he’d had enough of her rules and her control.

  Yes, he had enjoyed her time here—who wouldn’t have done? She had entranced and pleased him on so many levels and cared so beautifully for his beloved stallion. But that was all pretty much academic. Because where could this relationship go? Absolutely nowhere—no matter how much he liked her. And wouldn’t her infernal refusal to be sublimated by his power and position irritate him after a while?

  ‘You want to go?’ he snapped, getting out of bed and picking up his discarded robe. ‘Then, go!’

  He saw the brief look of alarm in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide.

  ‘Right,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘I’ll arrange transport for you tomorrow. You can leave first thing.’

  With a sinking feeling of dread, Livvy watched as he pulled the robe on over hi
s naked body and jammed his headdress into place and then stormed across the room. He didn’t slam the door behind him, though he looked as if he would have liked to have done.

  And she was left in the empty room with the dread growing heavier inside her and all she could think was, what had she done?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS ICY cold back in England after the seductive warmth of the Jazratian sun. Livvy returned to a stack of unopened mail, a cat determined to ignore her and the realisation that she didn’t have a clue what she wanted to do with the rest of her life—except that deep down she knew it no longer involved making beds and cooking breakfasts.

  She had left Jazratan with a heavy heart—without even a final kiss from Saladin—knowing she had only herself to blame. She had kicked him out of her bed and told him she was returning to England and he had retaliated by angrily telling her to go ahead. Had she really expected the proud sheikh to mount some sort of campaign to get her to change her mind? She kept telling herself that he’d been offering sex, not security or love. And anyone with half a brain could see it was better to get out now, while her heart was still intact.

  Unless it was already too late. Hadn’t her heart felt crushed when she’d left Jazratan on Saladin’s private jet? When, earlier that same morning, she’d crept along to the stables to rub her cheek against Burkaan’s thick mane and the stallion had stamped one of his hooves—almost as if he had shared her grief at parting and had known the reason why salty tears were flowing down her face.

  Saladin had been courteous when she’d been granted an audience to say a formal farewell to him—in the throne room, where he was surrounded by his powerful advisors and bodyguards. Had he correctly interpreted the silent plea in her eyes that had asked for a moment alone with him—and simply chosen to ignore it? Or had his mind already been on other things?

  Either way, he had given her nothing but a brief handshake and a flicker of a smile, accompanied by a few words of thanks—which had only added to her feelings of misery as one of his staff had presented her with a cheque. And she felt as if she’d sold herself somewhere along the way.

  But she hadn’t, she told herself fiercely. She wasn’t a victim—not anymore. She’d been sexually awoken by a man who had turned out to be an amazing lover. She had been persuaded back onto a horse and had realised just how much she loved riding, and she must be grateful to him for that. If she had learned anything it was that you couldn’t let yourself live in the past and be dominated by it. Not like Saladin and the beautiful young wife he was unable to forget. And that was the irony of it all—that he didn’t follow the same advice he’d so eagerly given her. He could dish it out, but he couldn’t take it.

  And if she now believed herself to be in love with him, well—she would have to wait for it to pass.

  At least Stella—her part-time help—had disposed of the Christmas tree, and the decorations had been returned to the loft. The snow was all melted and the holiday was nothing but a distant memory when Livvy arrived home. All that remained were a few stray mistletoe berries, which had rolled underneath a bureau in the hall and somehow escaped being swept up.

  Livvy wrote an email to Alison Clark and her friends saying what a shame it was they’d had to cancel their visit and expressing her hope that they’d enjoyed their Christmas in the London hotel. Unenthusiastically, she looked down at the blank pages of her diary. Could she really face trying to drum up more business for the year ahead? To wipe out most of her summer by clearing up after people, when she’d been doing it for so long? All to maintain a house that just didn’t feel the same any more. Her inherited home now seemed like nothing but a pile of bricks and mortar, not something she was tied to by blood. She found herself looking around the rooms with a critical eye. It was just a too-big house that needed redecoration and a family to bring it alive, not some aging spinster who rattled around in the rooms.

  ‘So what was it like?’ questioned Stella as they were cleaning one of the bedrooms a few days after Livvy had returned from Jazratan.

  Livvy gave the bedspread another tug. ‘What, specifically?’

  Stella shrugged her generous shoulders. ‘You know. Living in the desert.’

  Livvy puffed out her cheeks and sighed as she straightened up. ‘It was...different.’ She hesitated, trying to be objective. Trying to forget the man who was the very heart of the place. The man who made her own heart ache whenever she thought about him. ‘It was lovely, actually. Really lovely. The palace itself is unbelievable—and so are the gardens. There’s a kind of beauty in all that heat and starkness, and the stars are the brightest I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘And didn’t they feed you?’ asked Stella critically. ‘You’ve lost weight.’

  ‘Of course they did. It’s just that—’ Livvy gave a wan smile ‘—I didn’t seem to have a lot of appetite. It was very...hot.’

  No, not because it was hot. Because she’d been so obsessed with Saladin that she’d barely been able to think about anything else. She still couldn’t and it was driving her crazy. There was her future to decide, and she was busy obsessing about a man with black eyes and a hard body, who had taken her to those bright stars and back.

  And she would never see him again.

  ‘Well, there’s a pipe leaking in the red bathroom. Better get it seen to before it brings the roof down,’ added Stella, with her customary love of domestic drama.

  The plumbing problems distracted her for a while, and then Livvy burned off a load of frustration by picking up the leaves that had gathered in a sodden heap by the front door.

  It was after lunch, when Peppa had finally decided to forgive Livvy for going away and had started winding her furry body around her legs at every opportunity, that the telephone rang. Stella bustled along the corridor to answer it, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she listened to the voice at the other end.

  ‘It’s him,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Who?’ Livvy mimed back.

  ‘The sheikh.’

  With a tight smile Livvy took the phone and carried it through to her little study, trying to control her suddenly unsteady breathing as she gazed out at the garden where water was dripping from the bare branches of the trees and the grass resembled a sea of mud. As a reflection of the way she felt, it was perfect. You need to stay calm, she told herself. You need to be strong. For all she knew, Saladin might just be phoning for a chat to check she’d got home safely. This was probably normal for people who’d briefly been lovers. He might even be wanting to ask her advice about Burkaan. Yes, that was probably it. But she could do nothing about the wild thunder of her heart.

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  ‘Livvy?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’ But as the silken caress of his voice washed over her, some of her forced calm began to trickle away and Livvy realised that she wasn’t any good at playing games, or pretending to be friends. Not when she wanted to blurt out how much she missed him. Not when she wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her very tight. She heard the ping of an email entering her inbox. ‘What can I do for you, Saladin?’

  ‘Which isn’t the friendliest greeting I’ve ever heard,’ he observed drily.

  ‘But I thought that’s the way you wanted it. Formal and polite. I thought we’d concluded our business together. I thought we’d said everything that needed to be said. That was certainly the impression I got when I left.’ She paused. ‘Which makes me wonder why you’re ringing?’

  At the other end of the line, Saladin stared out at the sky. Why was he ringing? It was a question he hadn’t wanted to confront and one that instinctively he shied away from answering. He wondered if he could persuade her to return to Jazratan by telling her that his horse was pining for her, which was true.

  He suspected not. He sensed that financial inducements would no longer sway her, no matter how much more ge
nerous he made his offer. Just as he sensed that pride wouldn’t allow her to accept something that could only ever be second best. He sighed. He realised that, for all her newly awoken sexual liberation, Livvy Miller remained a fiercely traditional woman who would not look kindly on the sort of relationship he usually offered his lovers. And the pain in his heart was very real, wasn’t it? The question was how far he was prepared to go to be with her.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Talk away. I’m not stopping you.’

  ‘I’m not having this conversation over the phone.’

  ‘And I’m not offering you an alternative,’ she answered coolly. ‘What do you want, Saladin?’

  ‘To see you.’

  ‘Sorry. No can do.’

  ‘Livvy,’ he growled. ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘And so am I,’ she said. ‘You said some pretty tough things to me that last night. You were suspicious and hostile and accused me of all kinds of devious motivations—’

  ‘For which I apologised.’

  Only because you had to, thought Livvy. Only because you had to. ‘Yes, you did. So surely we’ve said everything that needs to be said. It was a fantastic affair and I’m sorry it had to end that way—but the point is that it had to end some time.’ She cleared her throat. ‘How’s Burkaan?’

  ‘He’s fine. Livvy—’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ she said desperately as she heard another email ping into her inbox. ‘Someone’s trying to contact me. Goodbye, Saladin, and...take care of yourself.’

  She cut the call before she had the chance to change her mind, or to be lulled by a seductive voice into doing something that would only bring her pain.

  After Livvy had put the phone down, she sat down at her desk. She wasn’t going to make a fuss about it, she thought, even though her heart was crashing painfully against her ribcage, because the pain would go. It might take time, but it would definitely go. She would answer her emails and carry on as normal and rejoice that she’d had the strength to resist him. Her hand hovered over the mouse and her whole body stiffened as she clicked on the first email and began to read...