His Christmas Conquest. Maisey Yates

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘WE HAVE A long evening ahead of us, Livvy. Any idea of how you’d like to fill it?’

      Livvy eyed Saladin warily as he drawled out his question, thinking that he was suddenly being almost too well behaved, and wondering why. She almost preferred him when he was being bossy and demanding, because that had infuriated her enough to create a natural barrier between them. A barrier behind which she felt safe.

      But now?

      Now he was being suspiciously compliant. He had drunk the tea she’d given him and eaten an accompanying mince pie—declaring it to be delicious and telling her he intended to take the recipe back for the palace chefs, so that his courtiers and guests could enjoy the English delicacy. He had even dragged a whole pile of logs back from the woodshed and heaped them into the big basket beside the fire.

      Despite the thickness of her sweater, a shiver ran down her spine as she watched him. His body was hard and muscular and he moved with the grace of a natural athlete. He handled the logs as if they were no heavier than twigs and somehow made the task look effortless. Livvy was proud of her independence and her insistence on doing the kind of jobs that some of her married school friends turned up their noses at. She never baulked at taking out the rubbish or sweeping the gravel drive. She happily carried logs and weeded the garden whenever she had time, but she couldn’t deny that it felt like an unexpected luxury to be waited on like this. To lean back against the cushioned footstool sipping her tea, watching Saladin Al Mektala sort out the fire for her. He made her feel...pampered, and he made her feel feminine.

      She considered his question.

      ‘We could always play a game,’ she suggested.

      ‘Good idea.’ His dark eyes assumed the natural glint of the predator. ‘I love playing games.’

      Nobody had ever accused Livvy of sophistication, but neither was she stupid. She’d worked for a long time in the testosterone-filled industry of horse racing and had been engaged to a very tricky man. She’d learned the hard way how womanising men flirted and used innuendo. And the only way to keep it in check was to ignore it. So she ignored the flare of light that had made the sheikh’s eyes gleam like glowing coal and subjected him to a look of cool question. ‘Scrabble?’ she asked. ‘Or cards?’

      ‘Whichever you choose,’ he said. ‘Although I must warn you now that I shall beat you.’

      ‘Is that supposed to be a challenge I can’t resist?’

      ‘Let’s see, shall we?’

      To Livvy’s fury, his arrogant prediction proved correct. He won every game they played and even beat her at Scrabble—something at which she normally excelled.

      Trying not to be a bad sport, she dropped the pen onto the score sheet. ‘So how come you’ve managed to beat me at a word game that isn’t even in your native tongue?’ she said.

      ‘Because when I was a little boy I had an English tutor who taught me that a rich vocabulary was something within the grasp of all men. And I was taught to win. It’s what Al Mektala men do. We never like to fail. At anything.’

      ‘So you’re always triumphant?’

      He turned his head to look at her and Livvy’s heart missed a beat as she saw something flickering within the dark blaze of his eyes that didn’t look like arrogance. Was she imagining the trace of sorrow she saw there—or the lines around his mouth, which suddenly seemed to have deepened?

      ‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘A long time ago I failed at something quite spectacularly.’

      ‘At what?’

      ‘Something better left in the past, where it belongs.’ His voice grew cold and distant as he threw another log onto the fire, and when he turned back Livvy saw that his features had become shuttered. ‘Tell me something about you instead,’ he said.

      She shrugged. ‘There’s not very much to tell. I’m twenty-nine and I run a bed and breakfast business from the house in which I was born. My love life you already seem well acquainted with. Anything else you want to know?’

      ‘Yes.’ His hawklike features were gilded by the flicker of the firelight as he leaned forward. ‘Why did he jilt you?’

      She met the searching blaze of his black eyes. ‘You really think I’d tell you?’

      He СКАЧАТЬ