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Unless it was already too late. Hadn’t her heart felt crushed when she’d left Jazratan on Saladin’s private jet? When, earlier that same morning, she’d crept along to the stables to rub her cheek against Burkaan’s thick mane and the stallion had stamped one of his hooves—almost as if he had shared her grief at parting and had known the reason why salty tears were flowing down her face.
Saladin had been courteous when she’d been granted an audience to say a formal farewell to him—in the throne room, where he was surrounded by his powerful advisors and bodyguards. Had he correctly interpreted the silent plea in her eyes that had asked for a moment alone with him—and simply chosen to ignore it? Or had his mind already been on other things?
Either way, he had given her nothing but a brief handshake and a flicker of a smile, accompanied by a few words of thanks—which had only added to her feelings of misery as one of his staff had presented her with a cheque. And she felt as if she’d sold herself somewhere along the way.
But she hadn’t, she told herself fiercely. She wasn’t a victim—not anymore. She’d been sexually awoken by a man who had turned out to be an amazing lover. She had been persuaded back onto a horse and had realised just how much she loved riding, and she must be grateful to him for that. If she had learned anything it was that you couldn’t let yourself live in the past and be dominated by it. Not like Saladin and the beautiful young wife he was unable to forget. And that was the irony of it all—that he didn’t follow the same advice he’d so eagerly given her. He could dish it out, but he couldn’t take it.
And if she now believed herself to be in love with him, well—she would have to wait for it to pass.
At least Stella—her part-time help—had disposed of the Christmas tree, and the decorations had been returned to the loft. The snow was all melted and the holiday was nothing but a distant memory when Livvy arrived home. All that remained were a few stray mistletoe berries, which had rolled underneath a bureau in the hall and somehow escaped being swept up.
Livvy wrote an email to Alison Clark and her friends saying what a shame it was they’d had to cancel their visit and expressing her hope that they’d enjoyed their Christmas in the London hotel. Unenthusiastically, she looked down at the blank pages of her diary. Could she really face trying to drum up more business for the year ahead? To wipe out most of her summer by clearing up after people, when she’d been doing it for so long? All to maintain a house that just didn’t feel the same any more. Her inherited home now seemed like nothing but a pile of bricks and mortar, not something she was tied to by blood. She found herself looking around the rooms with a critical eye. It was just a too-big house that needed redecoration and a family to bring it alive, not some aging spinster who rattled around in the rooms.
‘So what was it like?’ questioned Stella as they were cleaning one of the bedrooms a few days after Livvy had returned from Jazratan.
Livvy gave the bedspread another tug. ‘What, specifically?’
Stella shrugged her generous shoulders. ‘You know. Living in the desert.’
Livvy puffed out her cheeks and sighed as she straightened up. ‘It was...different.’ She hesitated, trying to be objective. Trying to forget the man who was the very heart of the place. The man who made her own heart ache whenever she thought about him. ‘It was lovely, actually. Really lovely. The palace itself is unbelievable—and so are the gardens. There’s a kind of beauty in all that heat and starkness, and the stars are the brightest I’ve ever seen.’
‘And didn’t they feed you?’ asked Stella critically. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
‘Of course they did. It’s just that—’ Livvy gave a wan smile ‘—I didn’t seem to have a lot of appetite. It was very...hot.’
No, not because it was hot. Because she’d been so obsessed with Saladin that she’d barely been able to think about anything else. She still couldn’t and it was driving her crazy. There was her future to decide, and she was busy obsessing about a man with black eyes and a hard body, who had taken her to those bright stars and back.
And she would never see him again.
‘Well, there’s a pipe leaking in the red bathroom. Better get it seen to before it brings the roof down,’ added Stella, with her customary love of domestic drama.
The plumbing problems distracted her for a while, and then Livvy burned off a load of frustration by picking up the leaves that had gathered in a sodden heap by the front door.
It was after lunch, when Peppa had finally decided to forgive Livvy for going away and had started winding her furry body around her legs at every opportunity, that the telephone rang. Stella bustled along the corridor to answer it, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she listened to the voice at the other end.
‘It’s him,’ she mouthed.
‘Who?’ Livvy mimed back.
‘The sheikh.’
With a tight smile Livvy took the phone and carried it through to her little study, trying to control her suddenly unsteady breathing as she gazed out at the garden where water was dripping from the bare branches of the trees and the grass resembled a sea of mud. As a reflection of the way she felt, it was perfect. You need to stay calm, she told herself. You need to be strong. For all she knew, Saladin might just be phoning for a chat to check she’d got home safely. This was probably normal for people who’d briefly been lovers. He might even be wanting to ask her advice about Burkaan. Yes, that was probably it. But she could do nothing about the wild thunder of her heart.
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Livvy?’
‘Yes, it’s me.’ But as the silken caress of his voice washed over her, some of her forced calm began to trickle away and Livvy realised that she wasn’t any good at playing games, or pretending to be friends. Not when she wanted to blurt out how much she missed him. Not when she wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her very tight. She heard the ping of an email entering her inbox. ‘What can I do for you, Saladin?’
‘Which isn’t the friendliest greeting I’ve ever heard,’ he observed drily.
‘But I thought that’s the way you wanted it. Formal and polite. I thought we’d concluded our business together. I thought we’d said everything that needed to be said. That was certainly the impression I got when I left.’ She paused. ‘Which makes me wonder why you’re ringing?’
At the other end of the line, Saladin stared out at the sky. Why was he ringing? It was a question he hadn’t wanted to confront and one that instinctively he shied away from answering. He wondered if he could persuade her to return to Jazratan by telling her that his horse was pining for her, which was true.
He suspected not. He sensed that financial inducements would no longer sway her, no matter how much more ge
nerous he made his offer. Just as he sensed that pride wouldn’t allow her to accept something that could only ever be second best. He sighed. He realised that, for all her newly awoken sexual liberation, Livvy Miller remained a fiercely traditional woman who would not look kindly on the sort of relationship he usually offered his lovers. And the pain in his heart was very real, wasn’t it? The question was how far he was prepared to go to be with her.
