His Christmas Conquest: The Sheikh's Christmas Conquest / A Christmas Vow of Seduction / Claiming His Christmas Consequence

‘That’s the most outrageous boast I’ve ever heard!’

He smiled. ‘So? Logs?’

‘A man from the village chops them.’ She got up from the table. ‘But you can bring some through to the drawing room from the big pile in the storehouse if you like. That would be very helpful. And if you’d like to light the fire, that would also be helpful.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I’m decorating the Christmas tree.’

She flung the words out like a challenge.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Something at which I am a complete novice, which means you can order me round to your heart’s content. I’m sure that will give you immense pleasure, won’t it, Livvy? You seem to enjoy taking control.’

He watched as she appeared to bite back what she was about to say. She looked as if she wanted to tell him to go to hell.

‘I suppose you can hold the ladder for me,’ she said, and he almost laughed as she bit out the ungracious response.

Half an hour later he found himself gripping the sides of a ladder while she hauled dusty boxes from the loft and handed them to him. Saladin stared down at different labelled boxes bearing the words Baubles and Tinsel with the sense of a man entering uncharted territory. He had never decorated a Christmas tree in his life—it wasn’t a holiday they celebrated in Jazratan—and unexpectedly he found he was enjoying himself.

From his position at the foot of the stepladder, he was able to study the slender curves of Livvy’s body, and from this angle her jeans certainly looked a lot more flattering. Every step up the ladder hugged the denim against the curve of her buttocks and outlined each slender thigh. His gaze travelled up to the back of her neck, which was pale and dusted with a few freckles. He wondered if she had deliberately put her hair into that topknot, knowing he would want to remove the single clip that held it in place. So that it would tumble around her shoulders like a fall of flame, the way it had done last night...

Last night.

He swallowed as she leaned out to attach a sparkly silver ball to the end of a branch, his hands again gripping the sides of the ladder—not quite sure which of them he was keeping steady. He’d lied to her about sleeping well because the truth was that he’d barely slept at all—especially when he’d realised she’d meant what she said, and that she wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him. In the silence of his icy room, he’d kept reliving their fireside kiss—thinking how unexpectedly erotic it had been. His fierce hunger for her had taken him by surprise—because nobody could deny that she was a very unassuming creature—but just as surprising was her determination to resist him.

At first he’d thought she was joking. Or that she was playing the old, familiar game because women often believed that a man was more likely to commit if they played hard to get. He gave a cynical smile. But if that was her plan then she was wasting her time, because there would be no commitment from him other than the guarantee of pleasure. His mouth hardened and his heart clenched with pain. He had walked that path before and he would not be setting foot on it again.

‘Could you hand me that angel, please?’

Angel? Livvy’s voice broke into his uncomfortable thoughts and Saladin picked up the figure she was pointing to—a plastic doll wearing a crudely sewn dress. A tiny ring of tinsel wreathed the flaxen hair, and she was holding a foil-covered matchstick, which he assumed was meant to be a wand.

‘Homemade?’ he ventured wryly, as he held it out towards her.

She hesitated before giving a brief, sad smile. ‘I made it with my mum.’

That smile touched something deep inside him and he found himself wanting to kiss her again, but her rapid ascent up the ladder was clearly intended to terminate the conversation, and maybe that was best. Yes, definitely for the best, he told himself. Instead, he forced himself to concentrate on the way she brought the bare tree to life by heaping on the glittering baubles and tinsel while the fire crackled and spat. It was one of the most innocent ways he’d ever spent a morning, and Saladin was overcome by an unexpected wave of emotion, because wasn’t it captivating to find a woman whose main focus wasn’t sex? How long since he’d been in the company of a female who was behaving with restraint and with decorum? Not since Alya, he thought—and a wave of guilt washed over him as he made the comparison.

‘Be careful,’ he growled as she began to back her way down the ladder.

‘I am being careful.’

But suddenly, he was not. He was giving in to what he could no longer resist. He caught hold of her as she made that last step and his hand closed over hers, and to his surprise she didn’t pull away from him. She just stared at him as he turned her hand over and raised it slowly to his lips, his tongue snaking out over her palm to slowly lick at the salty flesh.

‘Saladin,’ she whispered, but he could see that her eyes had darkened.

‘Don’t talk anymore, because I’m going to kiss you,’ he said, his voice deepening with sudden urgency. ‘But you already know that, don’t you, Livvy? You know that’s what I have been longing to do since I got up this morning.’

As a stalling device it was pathetic, but Livvy said it all the same, lifting her gaze to the bare ceiling. ‘There’s supposed to be mistletoe,’ she whispered.

‘Damn the mistletoe,’ he ground out as his head came down towards hers.

CHAPTER SIX (#ua7c22495-9805-5256-9714-bcc5b14d0ddb)

ONE KISS, LIVVY told herself as Saladin’s mouth claimed hers. One kiss and no more. Just like last night—it didn’t have to lead anywhere. She could call a halt to it any time she liked.

But deep down she knew she was fooling herself—because this felt different. Last night had been all about candlelight and firelight and a sense of other-worldliness that had descended on them as they’d sat around the sparking logs. Restaurants didn’t dim the lights for no reason and call it mood lighting, did they?

But today...

In the cold clear light of today, in the harsh and blinding reflection of newly fallen snow—there was nothing but rawness and reality. And hunger. Oh, yes. A fierce hunger that had been building all night—even while she slept—and that was being fed by the sweet seduction of Saladin’s kiss as he began to explore her mouth. He kissed her softly at first, and then he kissed hard and long and deep—with a warm urgency that was contagious. And she wanted him. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, because this was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Wrapping her fingers around his neck, she kissed him back and, although he held her very tightly, it was almost as if she were floating free. She felt soft. Boneless. As if every point of her body was a pleasure point. As if every inch of her skin was an erogenous zone. Wherever Saladin touched her she felt on fire. With each kiss he dragged her deeper into the silken web he was weaving. At some point she thought she must have groaned because suddenly he pulled back, sucking in a ragged breath, his eyes as bright as a man with a fever.

‘Here?’ he questioned succinctly. ‘Or upstairs?’

It was a brutal question that killed off some of the romance she’d been feeling, but at least it was real and at least there could be no misinterpretation about his intentions. He wasn’t dressing it up to be something it wasn’t. This was sex, pure and simple. He wasn’t lying to her, was he?

‘Can’t decide?’ he murmured, and, when she didn’t answer, he began to nuzzle her neck.

She tipped her head back while she skated through the possibilities. The bed would be better. She could hide beneath the concealing weight of the duvet, couldn’t she? But this wasn’t supposed to be about hiding. This was about taking control of her own destiny. About taking something she really wanted for once, instead of being influenced by other people’s expectations.

She realised he was waiting for an answer, and her heart missed a beat as she stared into the blackness of his eyes. He was the wrong man on so many levels, but did that matter? Doing the right thing had never worked out for her, had it? Maybe it was time to run full tilt at glorious fantasy and forget all about reality for once, because this gorgeous man wanted to make love to her. And when some bone-deep instinct warned her that he was capable of inflicting pain—real emotional pain, far worse, she suspected, than any she’d suffered with Rupert—she reminded herself that she was a different person now. She was no longer that innocent bride who looked at the world through rose-tinted glasses. She was independent and she could handle this. So what the hell was she waiting for?

‘Here,’ she managed from between swollen lips. ‘I want to do it here.’

He brought his head down as if to seal her intention with another kiss, but she sensed his growing impatience as he led her over to the fire and pulled her close—close enough for her to feel every sinew of his powerful body. Pulling the pin from her hair, he watched as it tumbled around her shoulders.

‘Your hair is like fire,’ he murmured, letting silky strands slide through his fingers. ‘You should wear it down all the time.’

She opened her mouth to tell him it wouldn’t be practical but her words were forgotten as he removed her sweater, his eyebrows shooting upwards as a lacy bra of midnight-blue silk was revealed.

Tiptoeing his fingertip along the delicate edging of lace, he pushed her down onto the silken rug. ‘What’s this?’ he murmured.

‘It’s...a bra. What does it look like?’

‘Nothing like the one you had on last night, that’s for sure.’ Slowly, he expelled the air from his lungs as he flattened his palm over one peaking mound. ‘Did you wear it specially for me?’

Had she? She’d never worn it before. A friend had given her birthday vouchers to an upmarket lingerie shop that didn’t know the meaning of words like sensible or refund. The navy set had been the most practical thing on offer, but up until today it had seemed too delicate for everyday use. There had never been a reason to wear it before, yet something had made her put it on this morning...

‘Maybe subconsciously,’ she admitted.

He gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘A woman only wears underwear like this if she wants a man to take it off. Is that what you want me to do, Livvy? Is that what you’ve been longing for me to do ever since you got up this morning? To run my fingers over your beautiful pale skin and get you naked?’

She closed her eyes as his hand strayed to the bra’s front clasp. She wanted to tell him that his assumption was arrogant, but how could she protest when his fingers had loosened the clip and her breasts were spilling free? The cool air hit her skin and suddenly he was bending his lips to a nipple and he was sucking on it. Nipping at it and grazing his teeth all over the sensitised nub. She gave a little squeal of pleasure and he lifted his head.

‘You are very vocal in your approval, habibi,’ he observed softly. ‘Does that feel good?’

Her tongue snaked out to moisten her parched lips. ‘So good,’ she breathed.