His Christmas Conquest. Maisey Yates

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      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 him about Rupert.

      He was arrogant and infuriating and dangerous and yet, when she closed her eyes, all she could remember was the sweet seduction of his kiss as he’d pulled her against his hard body.

      She ran downstairs and checked the phone but the lines were still down. Which meant...

      Meant...

      The front door slammed and Saladin walked in, looking as if the wintry wilds of the snowy English countryside were his natural habitat. His golden skin was glowing after the physical exertion of shovelling snow, and Livvy flushed a deep pink as embarrassment coursed through her. Because suddenly all she could think about was her dream and how vivid it had felt. And it was a dream, wasn’t it?

      ‘Where did you sleep?’ she questioned—and wasn’t part of her terrified he’d answer ‘in your bed’? That he would sardonically inform her that the reason the dreams had been so vivid was because they were real...

      ‘Aren’t you supposed to enquire how I slept, rather than where?’ he questioned coolly, removing a pair of leather gloves and dropping them on a table. ‘Isn’t that the usual role of the hostess?’

      She forced a smile. ‘Okay. Let’s start again. How did you sleep?’

      ‘For a time I slept the sleep of the just,’ he drawled, raking his fingers back through black hair that was damp with melting snow. ‘But that was before you woke me up.’

      Livvy’s throat dried as she stared at him in growing horror. ‘I woke you up?’

      ‘Indeed you did.’ He flicked her a glance from between the dark forest of his lashes. ‘You were shouting something in your sleep.’

      Her rosy flush was now a distant memory. She could feel all the colour leaching from her face and knew from past experience that her freckles would be standing out as if someone had spattered mud all over her skin. ‘What,’ she croaked, ‘was I shouting?’

      There was a split-second pause. ‘At first I thought it was my name until I decided I was probably mistaken—given the abrupt way you drew the evening to a conclusion,’ he said, his eyes sending out some sort of coded message she couldn’t decipher. ‘But I thought I’d better get up and investigate anyway.’

      Livvy’s heart pounded. ‘Right,’ she said breathlessly.

      ‘So I walked along the corridor to your room, and you shouted it again but this time there could be no mistake, because it was very definitely my name and you were saying it as if you were in some kind of pain. Or something.’ His eyes glittered. ‘So I turned the door handle and...’

      ‘And?’ she squeaked, hating the way he had deliberately paused for dramatic effect.

      He glimmered her a smile. ‘And I discovered that you’d locked yourself in.’

      ‘So I had,’ she remembered, breathing out a shaky sigh of relief.

      ‘Of course—’ his eyes narrowed but she couldn’t mistake the dangerous glint sparking from their ebony depths ‘—if there had been any real danger, no door would have kept me out—locked or otherwise. In the circumstances, I can’t quite decide whether you were being prudent or paranoid. What did you think was going to happen, Livvy—that I was going to force my way into your room in the middle of the night, all on the strength of one little kiss?’

      ‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly, wondering if her words sounded as unconvincing to him as they did to her. What if she had left her door unlocked and he’d come running when she’d called out his name? It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that she would have reached out for him, was it? Grabbed at him and kissed him as hungrily as before. It wouldn’t take much of a leap of the imagination to work out what would have happened next...

      She wanted to bury her face in her hands, or close her eyes and find that when she opened them he would be gone—taking with him all these confusing thoughts and this gnawing sense of frustration. But that wasn’t going to happen, and it was vital she acted as if it was no big deal. As if it had been just one little kiss—as he had said so dismissively.

      ‘I certainly didn’t mean to disrupt your night,’ she said.

      ‘I can live with it,’ he said softly. ‘Would you like some coffee? There’s a pot brewing in the kitchen.’

      ‘You’ve made coffee?’ she questioned.

      ‘Last night you told me to make myself at home. You also made it very clear that you weren’t going to wait on me, so it seems I shall have to fend for myself.’

      He turned on his heel and began walking towards the kitchen, and Livvy felt obliged to follow him, wondering indignantly how he had managed to assume such a powerful sense of ownership in her home.

      By daylight and without the mysterious glow of candles, the kitchen seemed a far less threatening environment than it had done last night. Livvy sat down at the table and watched as he poured coffee with the same dexterity as he’d demonstrated when removing her sweater. Oh, God—he’d taken off her sweater. And her shirt. Briefly, she shut her eyes. He would have taken off even more if she hadn’t stopped him.

      So stop letting him take control. Tell him he’s got to stop shovelling snow and making coffee and to concentrate on getting himself out of here as soon as possible. She needed to remember that the response he evoked in her was purely visceral, and it would soon pass. He’d kissed her and made her feel good, and so her body wanted him to do it СКАЧАТЬ