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He didn’t move—he didn’t dare—because it was vital he didn’t influence her decision, even though he knew that another kiss and she would be melting beneath him. But it had to be her decision, not his. His gaze was unwavering as he looked at her.
‘So,’ he questioned silkily. ‘Do you want me to take your virginity, Livvy?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LIVVY DIDN’T ANSWER straight away. It seemed like something out of a dream—the powerful sheikh asking if she wanted him to take her virginity, with all the impartiality of someone enquiring whether she’d like a spoonful of sugar in her coffee.
As she stared into the provocative gleam of Saladin’s black eyes, she thought about everything that had brought her to this moment. The public shame of being jilted that had hit her so hard, even though she’d done her best to hold her head up high afterwards. She’d walked away from the world of horses without a backward glance and had started a new life.
Out of a sense of loyalty to her father’s memory and a determination that Rupert’s rejection wouldn’t destroy her completely, she’d done her best to keep Wightwick Manor going. On a shoestring budget she’d worked hard to make her bed and breakfast business a success. But now she could see that she had neglected her own needs in the process. She’d put her emotional life on a back burner, letting her twenties trickle away beneath the hard work of maintaining an old house like this. She hadn’t done dates or parties or make-up—she’d spent any spare money on roof tiles, or getting the windows painted. She hadn’t gone off for minibreaks or enjoyed sunny vacations with girlfriends, drinking lurid-coloured cocktails while they were chatted up by waiters. She hadn’t even tried to find herself a new boyfriend. She’d told herself she didn’t need the potential pain of another relationship.
Yet here she was—naked underneath a blanket while a similarly naked Saladin surveyed her from the other end of the rug. She stared into the dark smoulder of his eyes and wondered how best to respond to his question. She supposed she could say no. Act prim and outraged—and tell him that she wasn’t interested in giving her virginity to him, like some kind of medieval sacrifice. He was certainly sophisticated enough to take it on the chin. She doubted he would feel more than a moment of regret, and she would probably be knocked down by the rush of women eager to take her place.
But it wasn’t quite that straightforward, because she still wanted him. He’d kissed her passionately and made her feel she was part of something magical. He’d made her feel things she didn’t think she was capable of feeling—a powerful passion that had overwhelmed her and a need that had flooded hotly through her veins. He’d set her body on fire. She thought about the way he’d touched her—whispering his mouth over each breast in turn, grazing them with his teeth and making her urge him on with writhing hips. She remembered the way his head had slid down between her thighs and something molten and sweet had begun to tug at the very core of her—something that was making refusal seem like a crazy idea. And she knew something else—that she would never get another chance like this. Desert sheikhs promising untold pleasure didn’t come along more than once in a lifetime.
She stared at him.
‘Yes,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Yes, I want you to take my virginity.’
His face showed no immediate reaction. The hawklike features displayed no hint of triumph although his lips curved in the briefest of smiles.
‘Come here,’ he instructed softly.
She wondered briefly why he couldn’t come to her, but his words were compelling and masterful and Livvy stood up and began to walk towards him, clutching the blanket against her skin like a makeshift dress. She could feel his eyes burning into her—as if that piercing black gaze was capable of scorching through the wool to the body beneath. Her footsteps faltered as she reached him, uncertain about what to do next, but he reached out and slid his thumb over her ankle, massaging briefly against the jut of bone there, before beginning to stroke his way up her calf. Livvy swallowed as pleasure began to ripple over her skin. It seemed such a light, innocuous movement to such an innocent part of the body and yet...yet...
‘Saladin,’ she whispered.
‘Shh.’
The back of her knee was next—a tiny circular movement that must have made her loosen her grip on the blanket because he gave it a single tug and it slid to the ground, leaving her standing naked in front of him. Automatically, her hands flew up to conceal her breasts, before he shook his head.
‘Do not cover yourself, Livvy,’ he instructed softly. ‘Your body is very beautiful. It is small and neat, yet strong and supple. It pleases me very much and I wish to look at it.’
She kept her hands exactly where they were, even though his words were making her nipples peak against her fingers. ‘You’re making me feel like an object.’
‘Not an object,’ he demurred, reaching up and pulling her down into his arms, so that her flesh met the comforting warmth of his. He pushed the mussed hair away from her face and used the edge of his thumb to trace the outline of her lips. ‘Not even a subject, since I do not rule over you. So stop looking at me with those anxious eyes and relax, because I am going to give you pleasure such as you have never dreamed of.’
‘But I don’t have a clue what to do,’ she whispered.
‘And that,’ he said unevenly, ‘is part of your attraction.’
Only part of it, she wondered dazedly as his mouth came down towards her. What was the other part?
But his kiss was powerful enough to send any last doubts skittering from her mind, and the slow caress of his lips made further deliberations impossible. All she could think about was what he was doing. He was holding her close—so close—making her feel as if every cell in her body were sensitive to each seeking caress.
At first his touch wasn’t overtly sexual. The hands that were cupping her face seemed more interested in exploring the thickness of her hair and the outline of her face. And when that innocent exploration made her relax, he started stroking his hands down the sides of her body—until she was moving restlessly against him.
He must have known that her impatience was growing, but he paid no attention to her squirming movements. He just took his time—drawing out the exquisite torture as his fingers slowly acquainted themselves with her skin. Inch by tantalising inch, he touched her. First her breasts and then her ribcage and the undulation of her waist. She held her breath as he turned his attention to her belly and teased her by brushing his fingers farther down to delve inside the soft fuzz of hair. Yet his hawklike features remained impassive even though she could feel the tension building in his powerful body. She could sense his restraint—as if he was battling his own desire in order to feed hers.
‘Saladin,’ she breathed, looking into his eyes to find herself ensnared by a smoky black gaze.
‘Want me?’ His thumb brushed against the moist and engorged bud hidden by the soft curls, and she let out a little murmur of assent as she nodded.
‘I...I think so.’
‘I think so, too,’ he said, his voice suddenly growing harsh.
He moved over her, his hardness nudging against her wet heat as she opened her legs for him with an instinct that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. She became aware of so many things—his weight and his strength and the subtle scent of sandalwood and salt that clung to his skin.
