She wanted him to stop talking to her as if he were a robot and to kiss her again. To convince her that what had happened last night hadn’t been some crazy kind of dream that was fading by the second.
But he didn’t. He seemed suddenly distant. As if he had retreated behind an invisible barrier she couldn’t access. Instead of being her cajoling and vital lover, he had effortlessly morphed into his real role of lofty and exalted sheikh.
Like a scene from an adventure movie, she found herself following him across the dark and snowy grass towards the helicopter, beside which stood a couple of burly men who bowed deeply before the sheikh before speaking in a fast and foreign tongue. Briefly, she wondered how Saladin was explaining the presence of a pale-faced woman in a woolly hat who was accompanying him.
With the helicopter lights flickering they flew over the night-time countryside to an airstrip, where a private jet was waiting. Aware of the veiled glances of his advisors, Livvy boarded the sleek plane, whose sides were adorned with the royal crest, startled to discover that she and the sheikh would be sitting separately during the flight.
She wondered if he saw her look of surprise just before one of the stewards ushered her through a door at the rear, to a much smaller section of the plane—though, admittedly, one that contained its own bed. Pulling out her books and music from her holdall, she looked around. Actually, there was a TV screen—and a neat little bathroom offering a tempting display of soaps and perfume. But even so...
Moments later, Saladin came to find her—all quietly brooding power as he stood in the doorway with his cool black eyes surveying her.
‘You are satisfied with your seat, I hope?’ he questioned.
She was trying hard not to show she was hurt—but suddenly it wasn’t easy to bite back the feelings that were bubbling up inside her. ‘I wasn’t expecting us to be sitting apart. Not after...’ She clamped her lips shut, aware of having said too much. Did expressing vulnerability count as tenderness? she wondered.
He glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. ‘Not after having had sex with you—is that what you mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she mumbled.
‘It does,’ he said, suddenly breaking into an angry torrent of Jazratian, which was directed at the hapless steward who had appeared at the doorway behind him, but who now beat a hasty retreat. ‘It matters because I’m afraid this is how things are going to be from now on.’
She stared at him, not quite understanding what he meant until his stony expression told her more clearly than any words could have done. ‘You mean—?’
‘What happened in England must stay in England, for we cannot be intimate in Jazratan,’ he said. ‘The laws of my country are very strict on such matters—and it would offend my people deeply if it was discovered that I was having sex with an unmarried woman. Particularly an unmarried foreigner.’ He shrugged, as if to take some of the heat from his words. ‘For I am the sheikh and you are my employee, Livvy, and from now on we will not be stepping outside the boundaries of those roles.’
It was several moments before Livvy could trust herself to speak, and if the giant plane hadn’t already been taxiing down the runway, she honestly thought she might have run up to the steward and demanded they let her out.
But she couldn’t. She had agreed to take the job and she was going to have to behave like a professional. And anyway—mightn’t this strategy be the best strategy for keeping her emotions protected? If she and Saladin were to be segregated, it would be very difficult to foster any kind of attachment to him. So even though his words hurt, somehow she found the strength to force a careless smile onto her lips.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said.
His black eyes narrowed. ‘A relief?’
‘Sure. I’ve got a lot of reading I want to get through before we land. I told you it was a long time since I’d worked with horses.’ With a wave of her hand, she gestured towards the books she’d just unpacked. ‘So I’d better have a browse through these. Reacquaint myself with the species, even if it’s only theoretical—until I get to meet Burkaan. So please don’t let me keep you,’ she added. ‘I’ll be perfectly happy here on my own.’
His face was a picture—as if he’d just realised that in effect she was dismissing him—yet he could hardly object to her demand for privacy after what he’d just said.
But once he’d gone, and she was left with the opened but unread pages of Healing Horses Naturally, Livvy found herself staring out of the window at the black sky as England receded, unable to deny the sudden pain that clenched like a vice around her heart.
He’d made her sound...
Like a cliché.
An unmarried foreign woman he was forbidden to have sex with.
She closed her eyes. He had come to the house determined to employ her, and for a while she had resisted him. Had he looked at her and wondered whether seduction was a price he was prepared to pay in order to guarantee her services? She bit her lip.
Even when she’d told him that she was a virgin—and a twenty-nine-year-old virgin, to boot... A lot of men might have stopped at that point. But not Saladin. Had he guessed that sex would make her eager to do his bidding? Did he realise that she would find it very difficult to refuse to work for him after what had taken place between them?
Damn him.
So stop letting him take control, she thought. Be grateful that he’s shown you are capable of sexual pleasure but also be grateful that he has put this barrier between you, because there is no future with Saladin and there never can be.
She picked up the cup of jasmine tea that had just been put on the table by a slightly nervous-looking steward.
She was going to have to start being rational. She was here on a life-changing salary to help his horse, and she would do her utmost to accomplish that. The sex she must forget. She had to.
She slept for almost six hours and, when she awoke, discovered that the little shower was much better than the one at home. Afterwards she felt a million times better and was just tucking into a bowl of delicious porridge topped with iced mango when the curtain between the two sections of the plane was drawn back, and she looked up to see Saladin standing there.
It was slightly disconcerting that he’d changed from his Western clothes into an outfit more befitting a desert sheikh, because it only seemed to emphasise the vast gulf between them. Gone were the trousers, sweater and cashmere coat, and in their place were flowing robes of pure silk that completely covered him, yet hinted at the hard body beneath. His ebony hair was now hidden by a headdress, held in place by a circlet of knotted scarlet cord—and against the pale material his golden-dark features looked forbidding.
He looked like a fantasy.
Like a stranger.
And that was exactly what he was, Livvy reminded herself grimly.
His eyes fixed on her, he waited, and she was sure he expected her to scramble to her feet, but she simply finished her mouthful of porridge and gave him a faint smile.
‘Morning,’ she said.
He frowned before slowly inclining his head, as if forcing himself to respond civilly to her casual greeting. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well during the flight?’
‘Like a dormouse, as they say in France.’ Again, she smiled. ‘Did you?’
Saladin felt the pounding of a pulse at his temple, her glib response only adding to his growing annoyance and frustration. No, he had not slept well, for the night had seemed endless. He had tossed and turned and eventually had drawn up one of the blinds to stare out at the jewelled and inky sky as the plane travelled through the night towards Jazratan. It had been a long time since he’d endured such restlessness. Not since...
But the realisation that he was comparing simple sexual frustration to the worst time of his life filled him with an angry guilt. Pushing asi
de the turmoil of his thoughts, he acknowledged the insolent way in which Livvy Miller was leaning back on her elbows, watching him. Her amber eyes were hooded and her lips gleamed from the mouthful of jasmine tea she had just drunk. How dared she continue to drink and eat in his presence?
He had told her there would be no more intimacy, but he certainly hadn’t given her permission to abandon all protocol. Didn’t she realise that there was an etiquette that needed to be adhered to whenever he entered the room? You did not greet the king of Jazratan with such blatant carelessness, and this was something she needed to be aware of before she arrived at the palace.
‘You are supposed to stand when I enter the room,’ he said coolly.
‘Am I?’ She fixed him with a deliberate look of challenge. ‘As I recall, you seemed to prefer it when I was lying down.’
‘Livvy!’ He glanced behind him as he ground out his protest, feeling the instant rush of heat to his groin. ‘You mustn’t—’
‘Mustn’t what?’ she interrupted in a low tone. ‘Tell it like it is? Well, I’m sorry, Saladin, but I don’t intend to be a hypocrite. I accept the intimacy ban you’ve imposed because, now I’ve had time to think about it, I can understand it and I think it’s a good idea. But if you think I’m going to be sinking to the ground into a curtsy and lowering my eyes demurely whenever you appear, then you are very much mistaken.’
Her passionate insolence wasn’t something Saladin was used to, and he was shocked into a momentary silence. He wanted to do a number of things—all of which seemed to contradict themselves. He wanted to kiss her and to simultaneously push her as far away from him as possible. He wanted never to see her again and yet he wanted to feast his eyes on her in a leisurely visual feast. Suddenly he realised that here was one person—one woman—who would not be moulded to his will, and with a shock it suddenly dawned on him why that was. Because he needed her more than she needed him.
He could not expel her for insubordination—well, he could, but his stallion would only suffer as a result. And even though he was paying way over the odds for an expertise she had warned him herself might not work, he suspected that the money didn’t mean as much to her as it might to someone else.
Did it? Or had her initial reluctance to take the job simply been the work of a clever negotiator? Perhaps he should test her out.
‘Surely a little civility wouldn’t go amiss since I am rewarding you so handsomely for your work.’
‘You’re paying me, Saladin—not rewarding me,’ she contradicted. ‘You were the one who made the over-inflated offer in the first place, so please don’t start reneging on it now. And if you want me to show you respect, I’m afraid you will have to earn it.’
‘Earn it?’ he echoed incredulously.
‘Yes. Is that such an extraordinary proposition?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘It is certainly one that has never been put to me before.’
She stood up then, clenching her hands into two small fists and sucking in an unsteady breath as she looked at him. ‘I’m not a complete fool, Saladin,’ she hissed. ‘I’m fully aware that you seduced me for a purpose. And it worked.’
He looked into the amber eyes that blazed as brightly as her fiery hair. He thought how magnificent she looked when she was berating him, and suddenly he felt a lump rise in his throat. ‘Believe me when I tell you this,’ he said huskily. ‘I seduced you because I wanted you.’
Livvy heard the sudden passion that had deepened his words and something inside her melted. Stupid how she’d almost forgotten what they’d just been arguing about. Stupid how her body was just craving for him to touch her.
Did he feel that, too? Was she imagining the slight move he made towards her, when suddenly the plaintive lament of what sounded like bagpipes broke into her thoughts and shattered the tense atmosphere. Disorientated, she met Saladin’s gaze and it was as if the noise had brought him to his senses, too, because he stiffened and stepped away from her, and in his eyes flared something cold and bleak.
‘What the hell is that?’ she whispered.
Her question seemed to shake him out of his sombre reverie, though it took a moment before his eyes cleared and he answered. ‘A hangover from my great-grandfather’s holidays at your own royal family’s Scottish residence,’ he said. ‘He was very impressed by the bagpipes that were used to wake everyone in the morning. After that he decided that they would become a permanent feature of Jazratian life. Thus a returning sheikh is always greeted on his arrival by the unmistakable sound of Scotland.’
‘It’s certainly very novel.’
‘You will find much about my country that surprises you, Livvy,’ he replied. ‘In a moment I will leave the aircraft and one of the stewards will indicate when it is appropriate for you to do the same. There will be transport waiting to take you to my palace.’
She screwed up her eyes as she looked at him. ‘So I won’t even be travelling with you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. My homecoming is always greeted with a certain amount of celebration. There will be crowds lining the route, and it would not sit well with my people were I to return to the palace in the company of a foreign female, no matter how skilled she might be in her particular field.’
‘Right,’ she said.
‘You will be given your own very comfortable suite of rooms. Once you have settled in, I will send one of my advisors to take you to the stable complex, so that you can meet the vets and the grooms, and get to work on Burkaan straight away. You will, however, take meals with me.’
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away with a swish of his silken robes. And if Livvy felt momentarily frustrated by his sudden indifference, that wasn’t what was currently occupying her thoughts. It was the way he had looked during those few moments when she’d thought he was going to reach out and touch her.
Because when the smoky passion had cleared from his eyes, it had left behind a flicker of something haunting. The trace of an emotion that she wouldn’t necessarily have associated with a man like Saladin.
Something that looked awfully like guilt.
CHAPTER TEN
LIVVY STOOD BENEATH the bright Jazratian sunshine and looked around her with a sense of awe and a slight sense of feeling displaced—as if she couldn’t quite believe she was here in Saladin’s homeland, and that it was Christmas Eve.
The Al Mektala stable complex was lavish, and no expense had been spared in providing for the needs and comfort of over a hundred horses. She’d read about places like this, in those long-ago days when an equestrian magazine had never been far from her hand—but had never imagined herself actually working in one.
Fine sand paddocks were edged with lines of palm trees, which provided welcome shade, but plenty of areas had been laid to grass and it was curiously restful—if a little bizarre—to see large patches of green set against the harsh backdrop of the desert landscape. There were plush air-conditioned boxes for the horses and even a dappled and cool pool in which they could swim. Grooms, physiotherapists and jockeys—all clad in the distinctive Al Mektala livery of indigo and silver—swarmed around the place as efficiently as ants working in harmony together.
After arriving at the palace Livvy had been shown to a large suite of rooms, where she’d changed into jodhpurs and a shirt and then followed the servant who had been dispatched to take her to the stables. She hadn’t been expecting to find Saladin waiting for her—and she certainly wasn’t expecting to see him similarly attired in riding clothes, his fingers curving rather distractingly around a riding whip.
She had to force her thoughts away from how lusciously the jodhpurs were clinging to his narrow hips and hugging the powerful shafts of his long legs. It was difficult not to let her gaze linger on the way his billowing silk shirt gave definition to the rock-like torso beneath, making him resemble the kind of buccaneerin
g hero you might find on some Sunday-night TV drama. She told herself that she wasn’t going to remember the way he had held her when he’d been making love to her, or the way it had felt to have him deep inside her. She wasn’t going to think about how good it had felt to be kissed by him—or the way she’d cried out as she had reached her climax, over and over again. She was here to see if she could help his horse—and that was the only reason she was here.
But it was hard to stand so close to him and to resist the desire to reach out and touch him, even though she was doing her best to keep her smile cool and professional.
‘So what do you think of my stables, Livvy?’
She smiled. ‘As you predicted—it’s very interesting to see what you’ve done in such an extreme climate. And it’s all very impressive—just as I would have expected,’ she observed as she glanced around. ‘Perhaps I could see Burkaan now?’
Once again Saladin felt that inexplicable conflict within him. He was irritated by her lack of desire to make small talk with him—yet couldn’t help but admire her cool professionalism. Just as he was irritated with himself for having almost reached out to her on the plane, when temptation had wrapped itself around his skin like a silken snare. But he had stopped himself just in time, and that was a good thing, although it hadn’t felt particularly easy at the time. Because he’d forced himself to remember that he was back in Jazratan where expectations were different and where the memory of Alya was at its strongest. Here, his role was rigidly defined, and casual sex with foreigners simply was not on the agenda. He needed to put that delicious interlude out of his mind and to see whether or not she could live up to her reputation.
Raising his hand, he indicated to the waiting groom that his horse should be brought outside, and he felt his heart quicken in anticipation, as if hoping that some miracle had happened while he’d been away and that Burkaan would come trotting out into the yard with his former vitality.
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