His Christmas Conquest: The Sheikh's Christmas Conquest / A Christmas Vow of Seduction / Claiming His Christmas Consequence. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
the truth? And now he was reaching behind her head to tug the elastic band from her ponytail—and she was letting him. Sitting there perfectly still as her hair spilled down over her shoulders and his eyes narrowed with appreciation.
‘You could probably come up with a whole stack of reasons why we shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘But there’s one thing that cancels out every one of your objections.’
She knew she shouldn’t, but Livvy asked it all the same. ‘Which is?’
‘Because we want to. Very, very badly. At least, I do. How about you?’
Livvy shut her eyes, afraid that she would be swayed by the desire that burned so blackly from his eyes. Because we want to. How simple that sounded to someone who hadn’t followed her own desires for so long that she’d forgotten how. But maybe that was because she hadn’t ever been tempted before—at least, not like this. After she had behaved so circumspectly with Rupert, his betrayal had come as a complete shock and had made her question her own judgement. She’d been cautious of men—and wary. After she’d packed up her wedding dress and sent it off to raise money for charity, she had felt empty inside—as if there were a space there that could never be filled. She had begun to think there was something wrong with her. That she wasn’t like other women.
But now...
Now there was a hot storm of need within her and she felt anything was possible. That the powerful sheikh had all the knowledge required to give her pleasure. And was it such a terrible thing to want pleasure when it had been denied to her for so long?
She tipped her head back to expose her neck to him and instantly he covered it with a path of tiny kisses. Beneath the sweater, she could feel the increasing weight of her breasts and the denim of her jeans scraping against her newly sensitive thighs as sexual hunger began to pulse through her.
‘Saladin,’ she said again, her voice a throaty invitation as she felt his hand move slowly down her ribcage towards her waist.
‘You are very overdressed, habibi,’ he observed, peeling the sweater over her head with effortless dexterity.
Livvy held her breath with trepidation as he began to unbutton the shirt underneath and she wondered if he would be turned off by her boring white bra, because a man like this would surely be used to fine underwear. But he didn’t appear to notice any obvious deficiencies in the lingerie department as he peeled away her shirt—he seemed too intent on bending his dark head to her exposed skin and she shivered again as she felt his tongue slide over her breastbone, leaving a moist trail behind.
‘Your body is so tiny,’ he said as he edged his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman who is so small.’
And that was when reality hit her like an invisible punch to the solar plexus. She was making out with a man she barely knew. A ruthless sheikh who exuded a dark and dangerous sensuality—and she was seconds away from succumbing to him. Heart pounding, she wrenched herself away, grabbing at her scattered clothes and scrambling to her feet as he stared up at her with dazed disbelief.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
She began to button up her shirt with shaking fingers. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m stopping this before it goes any further.’
He raked his fingers through his hair, his expression one of impatience and frustration. ‘I thought we’d already had this conversation,’ he growled.
‘It’s an ongoing conversation,’ she said, sucking in an unsteady breath. ‘On every level, this would be a mistake and it’s not going to happen. We’re two people from completely different worlds, who won’t ever see one another again once the snow melts. It seems you’re stuck here until help arrives, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ll just have to make the best of a bad situation. Just so you know—there are seven bedrooms in this house and you’re welcome to sleep in any of them.’ She glared at him. ‘Just stay out of mine.’
SALADIN WAS CUPPING her breast again, only this time it was completely bare. His palm was massaging the peaking nipple and Livvy made a mewing little sound of pleasure.
‘Please,’ she moaned softly. ‘Oh, Saladin. Please.’
He didn’t answer, but now his hand was circling her belly—slowly and rhythmically—before drifting down towards the soft tangle of curls at her thighs and coming to a tantalising halt. Her throat dried as the molten heat continued to build and she felt her thighs part in silent invitation. Just do it, she prayed silently. Forget all those stupid objections I put in your way. I was stupid and uptight and life is too short. I don’t care whether it’s right or wrong, I just want you.
She opened her mouth to call his name again when she heard the loud bang of a door somewhere in the distance and she woke with a start, blinking in horror as she looked around, her heart banging against her ribcage like a frenzied drum. Disorientated and bewildered, she tried to work out what had happened, before the truth hit her. She was in her bedroom at Wightwick Manor with her hand between her legs, about to call out Saladin’s name—and she’d never felt so sexually excited in her life.
Whipping the duvet away, she was relieved to see that the other side of the bed was smooth and unslept in—although her pyjama bottoms were uncharacteristically bunched up into a small bundle at the bottom of the bed. Heart still racing, she grabbed them and slithered them on, still trying to make sense of the warm lethargy and pervading sense of arousal that was threatening to overwhelm her. So don’t let it, she told herself fiercely. Just calm down and try to work out what’s going on.
Jumping out of bed, she scooted over to the windows and pulled back the heavy curtains—her heart performing a complicated kind of somersault as she looked outside. Because there, on the snow-laden lawns, was her sweetest dream and worst nightmare all rolled into one. Saladin Al Mektala knee-deep in snow. The man she’d dreamed about so vividly that she’d woken up believing he was in bed with her was outside, shovelling snow like a labourer.
He’d managed to find a spade from somewhere and had cleared the path leading to the front door, although the rest of the landscape was still banked with white. More snow must have fallen overnight and the beautiful gardens were unrecognisable—blotted out by a mantle that was so bright it hurt the eyes. Livvy blinked against the cold whiteness of the light. And once again, that sense of unreality washed over her, because it was beyond weird to see the desert-dwelling king standing in the middle of the snowy English countryside.
He must have found himself a pair of the wellingtons she always kept for the guests in case they wanted to go walking—because, in her experience, nobody ever brought the correct footwear with them. She wondered why he hadn’t put on one of the waterproof jackets, because surely it was insane to be shovelling snow in a cashmere coat that must have cost as much as her monthly heating bill.
She was about to duck away from the window when he looked up, as if her presence had alerted him to the fact he was being watched. He was too far away for her to be able to read his expression correctly—and Livvy told herself she was imagining the glint of mischief in his eyes. Was she? With a small howl of rage, she turned away and headed for the freezing bathroom just along the corridor—only to discover that the lights still weren’t working.
After a brief and icy shower, her worried thoughts ran round and round, like a hamster on a wheel. It had just been a dream, hadn’t it? The aching breasts and heavy pelvis and the hazy memories of him in bed with her were all just the legacy of an overworked imagination, weren’t they? Probably her subconscious reacting to the way he’d kissed her by the fire.
Pulling on a black sweater over her jeans, she piled up her hair into a topknot, wondering why he’d made a pass at her in the first place. Maybe she looked like someone who was crying out for a little affection. Or maybe he’d just felt sorry for her when she’d told