Because she was off limits?
Because she wasn’t coming on to him? That was something else he found it hard to get his head round. There had been no coy glances or lingering looks. She hadn’t been flaunting her body in close-fitting clothes to torment him with memories of what lay beneath. No, she had acted with an admirable—if infuriating—decorum.
Only at mealtimes were the wretched rules relaxed—and then he found himself eager to talk to her. He quizzed her about his horse’s progress and gradually, once she had lost some of the new guarded expression she seemed to assume around him, she began to open up a little more. It was a unique situation, he realised, for rarely did he have the opportunity—or inclination—to get to know a woman. Women were there for his sexual pleasure, and once he had taken his fill he walked away. But with Livvy, there was no opportunity for sexual pleasure. And not only was he unable to walk away—bizarrely he found he didn’t want to. This pale and stubborn Englishwoman was intriguing him more than he had expected to be intrigued.
She told him about getting on her first horse at the age of three, and her mother’s love of riding. Of her own increasing skill on horseback and the way the two of them used to gallop across the dewy fields around Wightwick Manor. She spoke of frosty landscapes washed pink with the light from the rising sun. She told him about the first time she realised that she could understand horses in a way that most people couldn’t and the ‘awesome feeling of responsibility’ it had given her. She described the day she’d brought home her first rosette, aged six, and then her first shiny silver trophy a year later.
It was after one such recollection after lunch one day that he heard her voice falter and Saladin found himself leaning back in his chair to study her.
‘You must miss it,’ he said. ‘Riding.’
She gave a little shrug. ‘Sometimes.’
‘So what can I do to tempt you back into the saddle?’
‘You can stop trying—I’m not interested.’
‘Aren’t you?’
She put down her golden goblet with a thud. ‘No.’
And suddenly Saladin wanted to break all his own rules. He wanted to forget that he was a king and a widower and to behave like any other man. To seek pleasure and comfort when it was available. To try to rid himself of some of this obsession he had for the titian-haired Englishwoman. Because soon there would be no reason for her to remain. Burkaan was improving daily—everyone had commented on the fact. Soon she would be headed back to England and he would never see her again. Because deep down he suspected that, unlike other lovers, Livvy would not be interested in a brief relationship back in England, simply to burn their passion away. He suspected that she would disapprove of such a cold-blooded suggestion.
So couldn’t it burn itself out here and now? Wasn’t he the king of all he surveyed, who could change the unspoken rules of his land, just as long as he wasn’t blatant about it?
‘Ride with me today, Livvy,’ he said suddenly. ‘For mercy’s sake—what harm can it do?’
Livvy looked at him, acknowledging the suddenly urgent note in his voice. She wanted to refuse. To tell him that it felt too poignant, too intimate, too...too everything. And yet...yet...
She looked into the gleam of his black eyes. The temptation was strong and her thoughts made it even stronger. What harm could one little ride do, on one of the sheikh’s magnificent horses, as she had been longing to do for weeks? To be alone with the desert king—far away from the watchful eyes of the palace servants. ‘I’ll ride with you later,’ she said. ‘After Burkaan’s final session of the day.’
The state of excitement inside her for the next few hours was disproportionate to the short ride that he’d undoubtedly scheduled. At least, that was what Livvy told herself. But no matter how much she tried to minimise the impact of some time alone with Saladin away from the palace, nothing could get rid of the fizz of excitement in her blood.
Her heart was pounding as she swung herself up into the saddle with Saladin watching her closely, his hand on the reins.
‘Okay?’ he questioned.
She nodded as she felt the first ripple of the animal’s power beneath her. ‘Okay,’ she echoed softly.
The beautiful chestnut mare he’d given her was placid, and, with Saladin mounting a much bigger roan stallion, they trotted out of the stable complex side by side onto the hard desert sands. The rhythmic pounding of the horses’ hooves was both soothing and exhilarating as they began to canter. The sun was low and the sky was an inverted bowl of deepest blue as Livvy breathed in the warm air. She felt...alive. The most alive she’d felt since...
Since Saladin had made love to her.
She turned to look at him, thinking that he resembled a figure from a fantasy tale. No jodhpurs today—instead, his white headdress billowed behind him and his silken robes clung to the hard contours of his body as he rode alongside her.
‘How do you know your way around?’ she questioned. ‘Aren’t you afraid of getting lost?’
He gave a brief smile. ‘I grew up in this land,’ he said. ‘And it is as familiar to me as my own skin.’
‘Really?’ She thought using his skin as a comparison probably wasn’t the best idea, under the circumstances—but she kept her expression neutral. ‘In what way?’
He shrugged as he slowed his horse down. ‘You see nothing but sand, but I see ridges and undulations on the surface where the winds have blown—and I can read the wind by sight and sound as others can read music. I know where there are underground rivers and lakes, where vegetation can thrive and provide shelter. And I always make sure I’m carrying adequate supplies of water and a compass—as well as a cell phone.’ He flicked her another brief smile. ‘Would you like me to take you to an oasis?’
She thought at first that he must be joking, because it sounded so corny. She half remembered some pop song her mother used to love. Something about midnight at an oasis. Livvy gripped the reins a little tighter as she met the gleaming question in his black eyes and suddenly she wondered what the hell was making her hesitate. When else in her life was she ever going to get the opportunity to see an oasis?
‘I’d love to,’ she said.
‘Then, come,’ he urged, and when he saw the look of hesitation on her face he gave a quick smile. ‘Come.’ Pressing his knees into his horse’s flanks, he set off at a gallop and after a moment’s hesitation Livvy started after him.
It came back within seconds—that raw exhilaration and sheer joy. She’d forgotten the speed and sense of power you got when you were riding a horse at full pelt, and any lingering reservations were melted away as she galloped after the sheikh.
Over hard and undulating sands they rode—with nothing but the heavy sound of hooves pounding. They rode until Saladin slowed down the pace so that they could mount a steep incline, and Livvy’s breath died in her throat when she saw what was on the other side. For there was an unexpectedly wide gleam of water surrounded by grasses and a line of lush palm trees that provided acres of shade.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly. ‘A real oasis.’
‘Did you think it was a mirage?’ he questioned drily.
The truthful answer would have been yes, because nothing felt quite real as Livvy’s horse followed Saladin’s down to the desert lake, and she jumped down to lead her mount towards the water. She could hear the strange squawking of a bird in one of the palm trees and the glugging splash as the two thirsty animals drank. Saladin gestured for her to tether her horse in the shade next to his, while he drew out a canister of water and offered it to her.
Rarely had any drink ever tasted as delicious as this, and Livvy gulped it down with gratitude and a strange sense of being at peace with herself. She was standing beneath the shade of a palm tree and Saladin was taking the container from her suddenly boneless fingers and drinking from it himself. And she w
ondered how sharing water with a man could seem so ridiculously intimate. Because they had shared so much more than this? She watched the swallowing movement of his neck and suddenly her mouth felt dry again—even though she’d just drunk about half a litre.
He didn’t say a word as he put the empty container back and then took her by the hand, leading her towards the cool canopy provided by the palm trees—and she didn’t ask him where he was taking her or what he was about to do when he got there, because she knew.
It was obvious from the sudden tension in the fingers that were firmly laced around her own. The way in which her heart had suddenly started to race in response. He came to a halt when their faces were shadowed by the cool fronds above their heads, and her face was grave as he removed the wide-brimmed hat from her head and placed it on the ground.
‘Saladin,’ she said breathlessly as he framed her face in the palms of his hands.
His voice was quiet, but insistent. ‘I’m going to kiss you.’
‘But you said—’
‘I said that we couldn’t have sex in the palace, but we aren’t in the palace now. Are we?’
She shook her head, wishing he’d made it sound a little less anatomical, wishing he’d responded with a few romantic words in what was a very romantic setting. But maybe she would have to make do with this—along with the realisation that at least he wasn’t making mirages of his own. He wasn’t wooing her with empty promises—he was telling it the way it was. And anyway by then he was kissing her and all her objections were forgotten as she opened her lips beneath his, because hadn’t she been missing this, more than she would have ever thought possible?
His hands were hot and urgent as they raked through her hair and over her body, and her own were equally hungry as they explored the hardness of his magnificent physique. Impatiently, he slithered off her jodhpurs and shirt before peeling off his own silken robes, and Livvy gasped to discover that he was completely naked beneath.
‘It is another characteristic we share with the Scots,’ he murmured as he spread the robes onto the sand to make a silky bed for them. ‘Who I believe wear nothing beneath their kilts?’
But Livvy didn’t answer because by then she felt as if she were in the middle of a dream—the most amazing dream of her life—as he laid her down. His eyes were unreadable as he moved over her and made his first thrust, and she gasped out his name as he entered her.
‘It’s good?’
She bit her lip and moaned. ‘It’s terrible.’
He laughed, but then his voice changed to a note she’d never heard before as he began to move inside her. ‘Oh, Livvy.’
She didn’t answer. There were things she’d like to have known and questions that maybe she should have asked. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She was powerless to do anything other than respond to the feel of Saladin deep inside her. Because by then she had started to come, and there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop it.
* * *
They rode back after night had fallen, even though Livvy had initially been fearful of crossing the dark desert on horseback. But Saladin had run the tip of his tongue along the edge of her lips, and she had felt him smile as he answered her question.
‘I told you that I know this desert as well as my own body,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t you realise that there’s a great big celestial map overhead?’
That had been the point when she’d looked up at the stars that she’d been too distracted to notice before. The brightest stars she’d ever seen—silver bright against the indigo backdrop of the sky. And there was the moon rising in splendour—a bright, gleaming curve above the palm trees where they’d spent the past two hours making love. Livvy felt a lump rise in her throat. It was like a fairy tale, she thought.
Except that it wasn’t a fairy tale. It was nothing but a brief interlude, and Saladin had already warned her that real life would soon intrude.
He had pulled her against him after they’d dressed and brushed away stray grains of sand from their clothing. He had tilted up her chin so that she was caught in the dark gleam of his eyes and, in that moment, she’d felt very close to falling in love with him.
But his black eyes had been empty. The barrier was back, she realised, with a sinking heart.
‘You know that when we return—’
‘I’m to act as though nothing’s happened.’
His eyes glittered in the starlight. ‘How did you know that’s what I was going to say?’
‘Wasn’t it?’
He seemed surprised by her calm response. Was that why he provided an explanation she hadn’t asked for?
‘This cannot happen within the walls of the palace,’ he said. ‘It would place you at a disadvantage were people to find out that we were having some sort of relationship.’
‘Sweet of you to be concerned about my reputation, Saladin. Are you sure it isn’t your own you’re worried about?’
‘I don’t think you understand,’ he said, his voice growing cool. ‘It will impede your work if there is any suggestion that we are intimate. I will not have any negative fallout because we’ve just had sex.’
‘Because soon I’ll be gone and it will all be forgotten?’ she questioned lightly.
There was a pause.
‘Precisely,’ he said.
His honesty should have pleased her, but right then Livvy could have done without it. She wanted him to tell her soft things. Tender things. She wanted the man who had made love to her so beautifully, not this cold-eyed stranger who had taken his place and was swinging his powerful body up onto his horse. But it was a timely wake-up call, she reminded herself. Just because something felt like magic—didn’t mean it was. She mustn’t ask the impossible of a man who had not promised her anything he was incapable of delivering. She must approach this...affair like any other woman of her age—with enjoyment and enthusiasm and a lack of expectation. She mustn’t start to care for him more than was wise, but take what was on offer and not look beyond that.
She could choose to stay or to run away—and it seemed that she had chosen to stay.
The palace gleamed like a citadel in the distance as they rode in silence towards it. They brought the horses in and handed them over to two grooms, before entering the marbled splendour of Saladin’s home. A servant appeared and the sheikh spoke to him in rapid Jazratian, before walking her to the door of her suite.
The corridor was empty, and she could feel the whisper of the warm, scented air that drifted in from the nearby courtyard.
‘Sleep well,’ he said, and with the briefest of smiles he was gone, leaving her staring at the swish of his silken robes and wondering if she’d dreamed the whole thing.
Livvy went into her suite and slipped into a robe, once she’d showered the desert dust from her body. Afterwards, a female servant knocked on the door with a tray containing iced pomegranate juice, along with a plate of sweet cake and juicy segments of peeled fruit—but although Livvy drank, she had little appetite.
She went to stare out at the night sky, thinking about what lay ahead—knowing that the X-ray that Burkaan had undergone yesterday had shown the ‘miracle’ to have happened. The stallion was responding to the gift she was terrified she’d lost, and soon her skills would be redundant. No longer would she have those proud and hawklike features to gaze on during mealtimes. There would be no more passionate interludes like the one she had experienced in the desert today. She would become the ordinary person she’d been before the sheikh had awoken her. And he had awoken her in so many ways—she must never forget that. He had introduced her to sex and helped her overcome her reservations about getting on a horse. He had injected colour into a world that seemed to have become monochrome. He’d made her feel vital—and desirable. He’d made her feel that she mattered.
And the thought of never seeing him again was like ha
ving a knife rammed straight into the centre of her heart.
As she got into bed she found herself wondering why he hadn’t married—why some beautiful royal bride hadn’t been found for such an eligible man, despite his occasionally irascible nature. Perhaps he was contented with his single status. Perhaps the demands of running a country were enough to satisfy him, or he might just be one of those men who didn’t want marriage. She knew he’d had countless liaisons with gorgeous models and actresses, but even so it was confusing. Surely such an autocratic man longed for an heir to carry on his bloodline? She found herself wondering why he had become so emotional the first time she’d seen the Faddi gate, but she hadn’t dared bring up the subject again, and none of the servants spoke enough English for her to ask.
She got into bed and the excitement of the day must have caught up on her because very quickly she fell asleep. She thought she must be dreaming when she felt the bed dip and a rough, muscular thigh slide over hers. Heart pounding, she turned over and reached out to find a naked Saladin in bed beside her, his hard body washed silver by the moonlight flooding in from the unshuttered windows.
Her lips swollen with sleep, she stumbled out the words—half-afraid that speaking would break the spell and make him disappear. She wanted him so badly, and yet wasn’t there a part of herself that despised her eagerness to have him touch her again? ‘Saladin,’ she whispered.
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