His Christmas Conquest. Maisey Yates

but he could see that her eyes had darkened.

      ‘Don’t talk anymore, because I’m going to kiss you,’ he said, his voice deepening with sudden urgency. ‘But you already know that, don’t you, Livvy? You know that’s what I have been longing to do since I got up this morning.’

      As a stalling device it was pathetic, but Livvy said it all the same, lifting her gaze to the bare ceiling. ‘There’s supposed to be mistletoe,’ she whispered.

      ‘Damn the mistletoe,’ he ground out as his head came down towards hers.

       CHAPTER SIX

      ONE KISS, LIVVY told herself as Saladin’s mouth claimed hers. One kiss and no more. Just like last night—it didn’t have to lead anywhere. She could call a halt to it any time she liked.

      But deep down she knew she was fooling herself—because this felt different. Last night had been all about candlelight and firelight and a sense of other-worldliness that had descended on them as they’d sat around the sparking logs. Restaurants didn’t dim the lights for no reason and call it mood lighting, did they?

      But today...

      In the cold clear light of today, in the harsh and blinding reflection of newly fallen snow—there was nothing but rawness and reality. And hunger. Oh, yes. A fierce hunger that had been building all night—even while she slept—and that was being fed by the sweet seduction of Saladin’s kiss as he began to explore her mouth. He kissed her softly at first, and then he kissed hard and long and deep—with a warm urgency that was contagious. And she wanted him. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, because this was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

      Wrapping her fingers around his neck, she kissed him back and, although he held her very tightly, it was almost as if she were floating free. She felt soft. Boneless. As if every point of her body was a pleasure point. As if every inch of her skin was an erogenous zone. Wherever Saladin touched her she felt on fire. With each kiss he dragged her deeper into the silken web he was weaving. At some point she thought she must have groaned because suddenly he pulled back, sucking in a ragged breath, his eyes as bright as a man with a fever.

      ‘Here?’ he questioned succinctly. ‘Or upstairs?’

      It was a brutal question that killed off some of the romance she’d been feeling, but at least it was real and at least there could be no misinterpretation about his intentions. He wasn’t dressing it up to be something it wasn’t. This was sex, pure and simple. He wasn’t lying to her, was he?

      ‘Can’t decide?’ he murmured, and, when she didn’t answer, he began to nuzzle her neck.

      She tipped her head back while she skated through the possibilities. The bed would be better. She could hide beneath the concealing weight of the duvet, couldn’t she? But this wasn’t supposed to be about hiding. This was about taking control of her own destiny. About taking something she really wanted for once, instead of being influenced by other people’s expectations.

      She realised he was waiting for an answer, and her heart missed a beat as she stared into the blackness of his eyes. He was the wrong man on so many levels, but did that matter? Doing the right thing had never worked out for her, had it? Maybe it was time to run full tilt at glorious fantasy and forget all about reality for once, because this gorgeous man wanted to make love to her. And when some bone-deep instinct warned her that he was capable of inflicting pain—real emotional pain, far worse, she suspected, than any she’d suffered with Rupert—she reminded herself that she was a different person now. She was no longer that innocent bride who looked at the world through rose-tinted glasses. She was independent and she could handle this. So what the hell was she waiting for?

      ‘Here,’ she managed from between swollen lips. ‘I want to do it here.’

      He brought his head down as if to seal her intention with another kiss, but she sensed his growing impatience as he led her over to the fire and pulled her close—close enough for her to feel every sinew of his powerful body. Pulling the pin from her hair, he watched as it tumbled around her shoulders.

      ‘Your hair is like fire,’ he murmured, letting silky strands slide through his fingers. ‘You should wear it down all the time.’

      She opened her mouth to tell him it wouldn’t be practical but her words were forgotten as he removed her sweater, his eyebrows shooting upwards as a lacy bra of midnight-blue silk was revealed.

      Tiptoeing his fingertip along the delicate edging of lace, he pushed her down onto the silken rug. ‘What’s this?’ he murmured.

      ‘It’s...a bra. What does it look like?’

      ‘Nothing like the one you had on last night, that’s for sure.’ Slowly, he expelled the air from his lungs as he flattened his palm over one peaking mound. ‘Did you wear it specially for me?’

      Had she? She’d never worn it before. A friend had given her birthday vouchers to an upmarket lingerie shop that didn’t know the meaning of words like sensible or refund. The navy set had been the most practical thing on offer, but up until today it had seemed too delicate for everyday use. There had never been a reason to wear it before, yet something had made her put it on this morning...

      ‘Maybe subconsciously,’ she admitted.

      He gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘A woman only wears underwear like this if she wants a man to take it off. Is that what you want me to do, Livvy? Is that what you’ve been longing for me to do ever since you got up this morning? To run my fingers over your beautiful pale skin and get you naked?’

      She closed her eyes as his hand strayed to the bra’s front clasp. She wanted to tell him that his assumption was arrogant, but how could she protest when his fingers had loosened the clip and her breasts were spilling free? The cool air hit her skin and suddenly he was bending his lips to a nipple and he was sucking on it. Nipping at it and grazing his teeth all over the sensitised nub. She gave a little squeal of pleasure and he lifted his head.

      ‘You are very vocal in your approval, habibi,’ he observed softly. ‘Does that feel good?’

      Her tongue snaked out to moisten her parched lips. ‘So good,’ she breathed.

      ‘And this? Does this feel good?’

      Against the rug, Livvy writhed with pleasure as his hand moved between her legs, because her body suddenly felt as if was out of her control and words seemed to be beyond her. Did he really need her to tell him that she liked the way he was sucking her nipple? The way his finger was rubbing up and down the stiff seam of her jeans at the very point where she was acutely sensitive. The finger stilled.

      ‘Does it?’ he questioned silkily.

      Did he want praise? Maybe she was expected to touch him. To reach out to where his crotch was straining so formidably against his trousers and to trickle her fingers over his hardness. Livvy’s heart began to pound. Her experience of foreplay was limited, because Rupert had known she was a virgin and had wanted to wait until they were married and had said he didn’t trust himself to touch her. It wasn’t until afterwards that she had discovered the reason why...

      Her sex life was something she regarded as an arid area of failure, but instinct told her that Saladin Al Mektala could be the person to change all that. She suspected that what the sheikh didn’t know about pleasure wouldn’t be worth knowing. Yet surely it would be deceitful to let him make love to her without telling him her secret.

      ‘Does it?’ he repeated silkily, and Livvy circled her hips with frustration and guilt.

      What if she told him and he rejected her—if he left her shivering and aching with frustration in front of the fire?

      She had to tell him.

      She stared straight into his black eyes. ‘It feels incredible,’ she said. ‘But