‘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.
‘The very same.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘No ideas?’ he mocked as he reached out to curve his hand over her breast. ‘Such a shocking lack of imagination, Livvy.’
And he bent his head to kiss her.
She started to speak but he shook his head.
‘Don’t say a word,’ he warned softly. ‘I feel that you and I have done enough talking to last a lifetime.’
‘A lifetime? Well, that isn’t something that is ever going to be relevant in our case, is it?’
Saladin heard the unmistakable sadness behind her defiance and wondered if she was hoping for reassurance. Perhaps thinking that because he was about to start making love to her in the palace, there was now the potential for longevity. His mouth hardened. But there wasn’t, and hypocrisy and raising false hope would be an insult to a woman like Livvy. He wouldn’t whisper sweet words that meant nothing, or tantalise her with glimpses of a future that could never be theirs. Nor would he torture himself with the certainty that this was wrong, and that he was tarnishing the memory of all that was honest and true.
Ruthlessly he blocked the voice of duty, which had been a constant sound in his head since he’d been old enough to comprehend its meaning. And concentrated on touching Livvy instead, wondering how her petite body could make him almost incoherent with lust.
The ragged moan he gave as he eased himself inside her sounded unfamiliar. Just as the feeling in his heart was unfamiliar—the sense of growing and explosive joy. He said something fervent in his native tongue and her eyes flew open in question.
‘What was that you said?’
‘I said that you feel as tight as one of the drums played by the Karsuruum tribe.’
Her pupils dilated still farther as she bit back a smile. ‘And is that...?’ There was a sudden intake of breath as he thrust deeper inside her. ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’
‘Yes,’ he ground out. ‘It is.’
He wanted to come immediately but he forced himself to wait. He teased her to a fever pitch—until she was whispering his name in something that sounded like a plea. And still he held back—until he felt her convulsing around him, her soft cries muffled by the pressure of his kiss as he cried out his own ragged pleasure.
Even afterwards, he didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t move from his position inside her, his palms possessively cupping her buttocks to maintain that sweet contact. He could feel her breath warm against his neck and the pinpoint thrust of her nipples and he thought he could have stayed like that all night.
Eventually she spoke, her voice muffled against his neck.
‘I thought we weren’t going to do this.’
‘This?’
‘Making love in the palace. That’s what you said.’
‘Did I?’
‘You know you did.’