unbelievable shallowness, or herself for having been too blind to see it before. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to see.
‘I told him and he didn’t like it. I wish he’d told me right then that he’d changed his mind, so that I wouldn’t have to go through the whole pantomime of dressing up in a big white frock with my bridesmaids flapping around me in nervous excitement. But obviously that was something he couldn’t face doing. So there.’ She looked at him defiantly. ‘Have you got the whole picture now?’
There was silence for a moment—the firelight flickering over his ebony hair as he studied her. ‘Not quite,’ he said.
Defensively, she stiffened. ‘You want a blow-by-blow account of my subsequent meltdown?’
He shook his head. ‘I meant that not everything you said is true.’
His words were softer than before, as if they’d suddenly been brushed with velvet. Or silk. Yet despite their softness, all the time Livvy was aware of the underlying steel underpinning them, and that made him sound even more attractive. Dangerously so.
‘Which bit in particular?’
He smiled. ‘That you have nothing to commend you other than a house.’
‘Oh, really?’
Saladin heard the disbelief in her voice and felt a surge of rage that someone as worthless as de Vries had smashed her confidence and made her hide herself away like this.
‘Yes, really.’ His gaze drifted over her. ‘Would you like me to list your more obvious attributes?’
Splaying her hands over her hips, she struck a pose. ‘My old jeans and sweater?’
‘Your complexion, for a start, which makes me think of honey and cream.’ His voice dipped. ‘And, of course, your freckles.’
Her fingers strayed to her nose. ‘I hate my freckles.’
‘Of course you do, but in my country they are highly prized. We call them kisses from the sun.’
‘Well, that’s certainly not what we call them here.’ She gave a nervous laugh and then shivered, as if she had only just registered the sudden plummet in temperature. ‘It’s cold,’ she said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. ‘I should go and make us something to eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You must be. I am. Starving, in fact.’
He could hear the lie in her voice as she jumped to her feet and picked up one of the candles, as if she couldn’t wait to escape from the sudden intimacy that had sprung up between them.
‘I’ll come and help you,’ he said.
‘No.’ The word was sharp, before she pulled it back with a smile. ‘I’d prefer to do it on my own. Really. You stay here. You look very comfortable.’
He knew why she was trying to put distance between them and that it was a futile exercise. Didn’t she realise that her darkened eyes gave her away and her body was betraying all the signs of sexual excitement? He felt the hard beat of anticipation cradling his groin and suddenly the bright beat of sexual excitement burned out everything except the anticipation of pleasure. ‘Don’t be long,’ he said softly.
Livvy felt almost helpless as she made her way towards the kitchen through the now distinctly chilly corridors. She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted out all that stuff—to Saladin, of all people—and wondered how he’d managed to cut through her defences so effectively. But he had. She had been surprised at his understanding—and then suspicious of it, because it made her feel vulnerable. And she didn’t want to feel vulnerable. She didn’t want to feel any of the stuff that was raging through her body like wildfire. As if she would die if he didn’t touch her. As if her life wouldn’t be complete unless she knew what it was like to have Saladin Al Mektala take her in his arms and kiss her.
Because she had made that mistake once before. She’d fallen for a powerful man who was way out of her league—and it was not something she intended repeating.
She set about preparing food she suspected neither of them wanted, putting a plate of newly baked bread onto a tray along with some cheese from the local shop, and adding some rosy apples that she absently polished with a cloth. She wondered if he drank wine but decided against it, making coffee instead. Wine was the last thing either of them needed.
When she returned to the drawing room, he hadn’t moved from where he’d been sitting. In fact, his eyes were closed and he was so still that she thought he might have fallen asleep. For a moment she just stood there looking at him, trying to take in the unbelievable scene that lay before her. A real-life king was stretched out in front of her fire, his ebony head resting against the faded crimson silk of the brocade chair. He looked powerful and exotic—dominating his surroundings with a brooding sensuality, which shimmered from his powerful frame. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him and the material of his trousers was flattened down over the hard bulge of his thighs. And all her best intentions melted away because just looking at him made her want him—and it was wrong to want him.
Suddenly he opened his eyes and the crockery on the tray she was holding began to jangle as her hands began to tremble. Livvy hoped he hadn’t noticed the rush of blood that was making her cheeks burn, but she was aware of the glint of amusement in his eyes as she walked across the room towards the fire. She waited for him to make some smart comment, but he said nothing—just watched in silence as she put the tray down. Her heart was pounding as she sat down on the rug beside him and tried to behave casually.
‘Help yourself,’ she said.
‘Help yourself?’ There was a pause. ‘But I am used to someone serving me, Livvy.’
She heard the mockery in his voice and she turned her head to catch the provocative gleam in his eyes. He’s flirting with me, she thought. And no way was she going to flirt back. ‘I’m sure you are,’ she said crisply. ‘But something tells me you are a man who is perfectly capable of looking after himself.’
Saladin smiled, wondering if she was aware that her attitude was slowly sealing her fate. If she had been submissive and eager to please—as women always were—then his desire might now have faded. But she wasn’t being in the least bit submissive. She was sitting munching her way through an apple, though she didn’t look as if she was particularly enjoying it—and her body had stiffened with a defiance that he couldn’t resist.
He could feel the sudden beat of anticipation. Apart from the protected virgins in his homeland who were expected to remain pure until marriage, he couldn’t think of a single woman in this situation who wouldn’t be coming on to him by now. She was a challenge—in a world where few challenges remained. Shifting his position slightly, he tried to alleviate some of the pressure on his rapidly hardening groin.
She had thrown the apple core into the fire and was holding out her hands in front of the flames again, spreading her fingers wide. They were working hands, he thought, and something made him lean over and pour coffee for them both—though she took hers with a look of surprise she couldn’t quite disguise.
He watched as she ate a little bread and cheese, but he took no food himself and eventually she pushed her plate away.
‘You’re not eating,’ she
