But the reality shocked and saddened him. The sight of his beloved stallion being led from his stable, looking like a shadow of his former self, made Saladin’s heart clench painfully in his chest. The magnificent racehorse’s frame seemed even more diminished, and his normally glossy black coat looked lacklustre and dull. The stallion was usually happy, but he was not happy now. Saladin could almost read the anguish and the pain in his eyes as he bared his teeth at his master.
‘Don’t go near him yet,’ he warned Livvy. ‘He’s been very vicious. Few people can get close to him. Even me.’
But to his annoyance and a concern he couldn’t quite hide, she completely ignored his words, moving so quietly towards the horse that she could have been a ghost as she held out her hand in a gesture of peace.
‘It’s okay,’ she said to the animal, in the softest, most musical voice he had ever heard. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay, Burkaan. It’s going to be fine.’
Burkaan was more used to being spoken to in Jazratian, and even before his accident had been known for his intolerance of strangers, but Saladin watched in amazement as Livvy moved closer to the powerful animal. There was a split second when he expected the horse to lash out at her and braced himself in readiness to snatch the stubborn woman out of harm’s way. But the moment did not come. Instead, she slowly reached out and began to stroke his neck. And Burkaan let her!
‘It’s all right,’ she was crooning quietly. ‘I’ve come to help you. Do you know that, Burkaan? Do you?’
The horse gave a little whinny, and Saladin felt his throat constrict with something that felt uncomfortably like hope. But he knew better than anyone that misplaced hope was the most painful emotion of all, and he drove it from his heart with a ruthlessness he’d learned a long time ago. Just because the horse was prepared to allow the Englishwoman to approach and to touch him didn’t mean a thing.
‘I wonder, could you ask the groom to walk him around the yard a little?’ she said. ‘Just so I can see how badly he’s injured?’
Saladin nodded and spoke to the groom, and the stricken stallion was led forward and began to hobble around the yard.
‘You will note that he has injured his—’
‘His near foreleg,’ Livvy interrupted crisply, her gaze following the horse as it slowly made its way to the other side of the yard. ‘Yes, I can see that. He’s clearly in a lot of pain and he’s hopping to try to compensate. Okay. I’ve seen everything I need to see. Please ask the groom to bring him back now, and put him in his box.’
Feeling like her tame linguist, Saladin relayed her instructions to the groom, and once Burkaan had been led back into his box, Livvy turned to face him. He thought her smile looked forced, and he wondered if she was aware that the bright Jazratian sunshine was making her hair look like liquid fire. And, oh, how he would love to feel the burn of it against his fingers again.
‘I’m just going to try a few things out,’ she said. ‘So I’d prefer it if you and everyone else would leave now.’
Disbelief warred with a grudging admiration as she spoke to him, because Saladin realised that once again she was dismissing him. She really was fond of taking control, wasn’t she? He had never been dominated by a woman before, and he was finding it more exciting than he could ever have anticipated—but he would not tolerate it. No way. Surely she must realise that this was his stable and his horse, and of course he would wish to observe her. He fixed her with a steady look. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Livvy,’ he said. ‘I want to be here.’
She sucked in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, but I prefer to work alone.’
‘I don’t care. I want to be here,’ he repeated.
She narrowed her eyes as if trying to weigh up whether there was any point in further argument, before obviously coming to the most sensible conclusion. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want any distractions. You must keep very quiet and not interfere. I want you to stand over there out of the way, to keep very still and not say a word. Do you understand?’
Saladin’s mouth thinned into a grim smile as her cool words washed over him. One thing he did understand was that nobody else had ever spoken to him like this before, not even Alya—especially not Alya, who had been the most agreeable woman ever made.
Instinct made him want to march over to Livvy and pull rank and ask her who the hell she thought she was talking to. To remind her that he was the sheikh and he would damned well do as he pleased. Yet what alternative did he have but to accede to her demands, when the welfare of his beloved horse was of far greater importance than his own sense of pride and position?
‘Yes, Livvy,’ he said drily. ‘I think I get the general idea.’
Afterwards he would try to work out exactly what she had done to Burkaan, but, apart from a vague impression of her laying her palms on the animal’s injured foreleg, her time with the horse seemed to pass in a blur. Maybe it was because for once Saladin got the distinct impression that her words had been true. She really didn’t want him there, and would have preferred it if he had gone back to the palace as she’d requested. It was certainly the first time in his life that he had been completely ignored.
Because sheikhs were never ignored and people were always conscious of his presence. No matter how large an official function or social gathering, everyone always knew exactly where he was situated, although they often pretended not to. Nobody ever left a room while he remained in it, and nobody ever turned their back on him.
But none of this seemed relevant as he watched Livvy whispering into Burkaan’s ear and running feather-light fingertips over the horse’s injured limb and then stroking their way over his back. To his surprise, the stallion seemed to tolerate almost every touch she made—only jerking back his head and showing his teeth on two occasions. Eventually, she straightened up and wiped the palms of her hands down over her jodhpurs, and he could see sweat beading her pale brow.
‘I’ve finished now,’ she said. ‘I’ll see him later. Make sure he gets some rest and is undisturbed until I do.’
He saw her glance at her watch and realised that he had effectively backed himself into a corner. He had told her—quite correctly—that they would be occupying separate sections of the palace. He had told her that their lives would cross only at mealtimes and when she was hands-on with Burkaan. Yet now the thought of that did not please him—on the contrary, it positively rankled. He had found it necessary to lay out his boundaries during the flight over, in order to emphasise to her that the sex had meant nothing—and he had been expecting a host of objections from her, or maybe even a petulant sulk. Because women always tried to cling on to him when he rejected them—as reject them he inevitably did.
But Livvy was showing no signs of clinging—or sulking. She had travelled separately to the palace without protest, and, on arriving at her suite of rooms, had apparently made some complimentary comment to one of the servants about the ancient tiled floors and the beauty of the palace gardens. And ironically, he had found himself curiously unsettled by her apparent acceptance of the situation in which she now found herself.
‘We have plenty of time before lunch,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would care to ride with me?’
For a moment, Livvy felt temptation wash over her as his suggestion brought back echoes of a life she had left far behind. She thought of being in the saddle again and the feeling of having all that impressive horse power beneath her. She thought of the warm, desert breeze against her skin and the incomparable sense of freedom that riding always gave her, but, resolutely, she shook her head. ‘I don’t ride anymore.’
‘Why not?’
She met the question in his narrowed eyes. ‘Because riding demands time and commitment and money—and I’ve been too busy running my business to have any of those things.’
‘But you have time now,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘And money isn’t
a consideration.’
‘It’s out of the question,’ she said. ‘I’m completely out of practice.’
There was a pause. ‘And maybe you’re scared of getting back on a horse after so long away?’
His unexpected insight caught her off guard. Was that why she answered him so truthfully?
‘Maybe a little,’ she agreed. But it wasn’t fear of the horse that frightened her. It was the thought of re-entering a world that had brought her pain and that now seemed so long ago it might have happened to another person.
‘Then, why not get back in the saddle?’ His voice deepened. ‘Kill your fear by confronting it. Don’t they say that the more you practise, the better you get?’
And suddenly there was an undeniable sexual innuendo whispering in the air around them and whipping up an unspoken need inside her. She could feel sudden tension heating her skin, and the tips of her breasts had grown suddenly sensitive. She could feel it in the way her lips parted, as if silently inviting him to kiss them—and, oh, how she wanted him to kiss her.
Livvy stared at Saladin as she tried to dampen down the rising tide of desire. To remind herself of the way he’d treated her since she had agreed to treat his horse. He had kept her away from him during the flight and ordered separate journeys to the palace, where she had been allocated quarters in the staff section. She didn’t have a problem with that—because she was staff. What she did have a problem with was his assumption that he could treat her like some kind of plaything. Act icy one minute and then flirt with her the next. Well, he had better learn that it didn’t work like that. She didn’t dare let it.
‘I don’t want it to come back,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
She glanced down at the tips of her riding boots, which were covered in fine dust, before lifting her gaze to meet the jet-dark gleam of his eyes. ‘Because when I split with Rupert I walked away from riding. I bolted—and I shut the stable door behind me. I left my job, realising that I had no appetite to face the knowing looks and the knowledge that he’d been sleeping with my best friend.’
‘You could have found different stables.’
‘I could. But horse riding is a very small world, and gossip always follows you around. I wanted to be known as more than the woman who’d been involved in a spicy scandal. I wanted a clean break and that’s what I got. The old Livvy has gone and so has the world she lived in. I’m not looking to recapture something from the past—I’m here because I’m trying to take care of my future. So if you’ve finished with the interrogation, I’d like someone to show me back to my room because this palace is so big, I don’t trust myself not to get lost.’
With a thoughtful look, he inclined his head. ‘Certainly. I will show you to your suite myself.’
‘There’s really no need. A servant will do.’
‘My servants don’t speak English.’
‘I’m quite happy to forego conversation.’
‘I will show you to your room, Livvy,’ he said, with silky insistence. ‘And please don’t oppose me just for the sake of it, or you will discover how quickly my tolerance limit can be reached.’
His reprimand was stern and maybe it was justified, but as Livvy fell into step beside him she realised that even opposing him was making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. Desire was throbbing through her body and making her want to squirm with frustration. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch him—to whisper her fingers possessively over his riding shirt and feel the hard torso beneath. Was it because he’d been her only lover that she was feeling this way? Was she building it up in her head because he’d taken her virginity so that what had happened seemed powerful and significant?
Yet maybe that wasn’t so surprising when sex with Saladin had seemed so easy. It had happened so naturally. It had felt as if she’d been waiting all her life for the desert sheikh to make love to her. As if she hadn’t been complete until he had completed her.
And wasn’t that the way it was supposed to feel?
Blocking out the disturbing thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm her, she focused her attention on the splendour of her surroundings instead. The temperature dropped as they passed through the shaded portico into the main palace, where the polished floors were deliciously cool and smooth.
They crossed a courtyard and, on the far side, Livvy saw a shining silver bower, festooned with tumbling roses of scarlet and orange and pink. Glittering brightly in the midday sun, it was topped with an intricate silver structure of filigree metal flowers and leaves and Livvy’s footsteps came to a halt. ‘Wow,’ she said slowly. ‘What is that place?’
By her side Saladin stiffened as he followed the direction of her eyes. ‘That is the Faddi gate, leading to the palace rose garden,’ he said abruptly.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful. Could we go that way?’
But suddenly he seemed to be having difficulty controlling his emotions and Livvy looked up to see a tiny nerve working frantically at his temple and that his mouth had hardened with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom. He shook his head.
‘The gardeners are working there,’ he said abruptly. ‘And they do not like to be observed. Come, I will take you a different way.’
He remained tense for a minute or two, but as they walked towards her rooms he began to recount some of the history of Jazratan and of the palace itself. And somehow the change of subject was enough to make him relax—and Livvy relaxed, too, so that after a while she found herself engrossed in the things he was telling her. He talked about battles that had been fought and won by his ancestors, of sheikhs whose lifeblood had seeped like rust onto the desert sands. He told her about the brave mount who had led one particular victorious battle—a forerunner to his own, beloved Burkaan.
She realised then why his horse was so important to him, and it had nothing to do with money, or even a close bond that transcended his royal status. Because Burkaan was a link between the past and the future. If the stallion was put out to stud, then his illustrious line would continue. And continuity was the lifeblood of a ruling monarch.
He’s so different from you, Livvy thought. So don’t ever make the mistake of thinking it could be any other way than this.
They had just reached her door when Saladin suddenly reached out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, and the unexpected gesture shocked Livvy into stillness. She wondered if he could feel the sudden hammering of her pulse. He must do. It sounded so thunderous to her own ears she was surprised it hadn’t brought the servants running.
‘Thank you for what you did today,’ he said.
‘I did very little.’
‘On the contrary. You calmed a horse who has been nothing but vicious since his accident. It was the first time I’ve seen a fleeting moment of peace in his eyes.’
And Livvy found herself looking into his eyes, helplessly snared by their ebony light. She’d seen many emotions in them since that snowy afternoon when he had first walked into her life. She’d seen them harden with irritation and determination. She’d seen them soften with desire and lust. And she’d seen them cloud over with something that had looked very like sorrow as they had stared at the Faddi gate leading to the rose garden. Did Saladin have his own dark demons raging within him? she wondered.
Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from his—even though deep down she wanted to curl her fingers into his palm, like a cat settling down for the evening. But that way lay danger. He’d already set out the boundaries and, even though her body wanted to push at those boundaries, she recognised that distance from Saladin made perfect sense.
‘You really must excuse me,’ she said, bringing a note of formality into her voice. ‘I need to call England to check that Peppa is okay and that the snow hasn’t caused any lasting damage.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll see you at lunch—presumably you will send someone to collec
t me?’
And with that, she walked into her suite, quietly closing the door—not caring that he was still standing there looking darkly displeased by her dismissal. Not caring about anything other than a need to put some distance between them before she did something crazy like fling herself against that hard and virile body and beg him to make love to her again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WASN’T AS easy as he had thought it would be.
It wasn’t easy at all.
With an impatient flick of his hand, Saladin waved the servant away and lowered his body into the deep tub of steaming water. How was it possible to feel exhausted when you had only just risen from your bed? Could it have anything to do with the fact that he’d spent yet another sleepless night frustratedly recalling that erotic fireside encounter when the innocent Livvy Miller had cried out her passion in his arms?
Maybe he’d been naive to think it would be easy to adhere to his self-imposed sex ban when she was living here at the palace. When thoughts of her kept drifting into his mind at the most inconvenient times—usually without warning or provocation. Sometimes he found himself sitting through meetings of state and thinking about her pale skin and fiery hair. About the way he had cupped her narrow hips and driven into that slender body. He would sit uncomfortably with a massive erection hidden by his flowing robes, and wonder why he had insisted that she remain totally off limits.
Because he could not trash his sacred memories of the past by indulging in a casual fling, especially here in the palace.
For a while he lay in the cooling water and thought about the long days that had passed since Livvy’s arrival. The Englishwoman had settled in well—better than he could ever have anticipated. She had worked diligently with Burkaan four times a day and, although she grudgingly permitted his presence at these sessions, she had made it clear that she expected total silence from him—and he had found himself complying!
At other times he had barely seen her. She hadn’t seemed to mind missing any of the holiday celebrations she would have enjoyed back in England. He’d heard from the servants that she spent much of her time reading on the shaded terraces outside her suite. And it infuriated him to realise that it would be completely inappropriate to disturb her there, even though he was master of all he surveyed. He felt as if he was caught in a trap of his own making. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of her as she made her way out to the sprawling expanse of the palace gardens and watched as she peered through the Faddi gate. And wondered why it was no longer Alya’s face he could see in his mind, but the face of the freckly Englishwoman.
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