LITMIR.BIZ

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drive. She happily carried logs and weeded the garden whenever she had time, but she couldn’t deny that it felt like an unexpected luxury to be waited on like this. To lean back against the cushioned footstool sipping her tea, watching Saladin Al Mektala sort out the fire for her. He made her feel...pampered, and he made her feel feminine.

      She considered his question.

      ‘We could always play a game,’ she suggested.

      ‘Good idea.’ His dark eyes assumed the natural glint of the predator. ‘I love playing games.’

      Nobody had ever accused Livvy of sophistication, but neither was she stupid. She’d worked for a long time in the testosterone-filled industry of horse racing and had been engaged to a very tricky man. She’d learned the hard way how womanising men flirted and used innuendo. And the only way to keep it in check was to ignore it. So she ignored the flare of light that had made the sheikh’s eyes gleam like glowing coal and subjected him to a look of cool question. ‘Scrabble?’ she asked. ‘Or cards?’

      ‘Whichever you choose,’ he said. ‘Although I must warn you now that I shall beat you.’

      ‘Is that supposed to be a challenge I can’t resist?’

      ‘Let’s see, shall we?’

      To Livvy’s fury, his arrogant prediction proved correct. He won every game they played and even beat her at Scrabble—something at which she normally excelled.

      Trying not to be a bad sport, she dropped the pen onto the score sheet. ‘So how come you’ve managed to beat me at a word game that isn’t even in your native tongue?’ she said.

      ‘Because when I was a little boy I had an English tutor who taught me that a rich vocabulary was something within the grasp of all men. And I was taught to win. It’s what Al Mektala men do. We never like to fail. At anything.’

      ‘So you’re always triumphant?’

      He turned his head to look at her and Livvy’s heart missed a beat as she saw something flickering within the dark blaze of his eyes that didn’t look like arrogance. Was she imagining the trace of sorrow she saw there—or the lines around his mouth, which suddenly seemed to have deepened?

      ‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘A long time ago I failed at something quite spectacularly.’

      ‘At what?’

      ‘Something better left in the past, where it belongs.’ His voice grew cold and distant as he threw another log onto the fire, and when he turned back Livvy saw that his features had become shuttered. ‘Tell me something about you instead,’ he said.

      She shrugged. ‘There’s not very much to tell. I’m twenty-nine and I run a bed and breakfast business from the house in which I was born. My love life you already seem well acquainted with. Anything else you want to know?’

      ‘Yes.’ His hawklike features were gilded by the flicker of the firelight as he leaned forward. ‘Why did he jilt you?’

      She met the searching blaze of his black eyes. ‘You really think I’d tell you?’

      He raised his dark brows. ‘Why not? I’m curious. And after the snow clears, you’ll never see me again—that is, if you really are determined to turn down my offer of a job. Isn’t that what people do in circumstances such as these? They tell each other secrets.’

      As she considered his words, Livvy wondered how he saw her. As some sad spinster who’d tucked herself away in the middle of nowhere, far away from the fast-paced world she’d once inhabited? And if that was the case, then wasn’t this an ideal opportunity to show him that she liked the life she’d chosen—to show him she was completely over Rupert?

       But if you’re over him—then how come you still shut out men? How come you must be the only twenty-nine-year-old virgin on the planet?

      The uncomfortable trajectory of her thoughts made her bold. So let it go, she told herself. Let the past go by setting it free. ‘Do you know Rupert de Vries?’ she asked slowly.

      ‘I met him a couple of times—back in the day, as they say.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I didn’t like him.’

      ‘You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.’

      ‘I can assure you that I never say things I don’t mean, Livvy.’ There was a pause. ‘What happened?’

      She stared down at the rug, trying to concentrate on the symmetrical shapes that were woven into the silk. She pictured Rupert’s face—something she hadn’t done for a long time—fine boned and fair and the antithesis of the tawny sheikh in front of her. She remembered how she couldn’t believe that the powerful racing figure had taken an interest in her, the lowliest of grooms at the time. ‘I expect you know that he ran a very successful yard for a time.’

      ‘Until he got greedy,’ Saladin said, stretching his legs out in front of him. ‘He overextended himself and that was a big mistake. You should always keep something back when you’re dealing with horses, no matter how brilliant they are. Because ultimately they are flesh and blood—and flesh and blood is always vulnerable.’

      She heard the sudden rawness in his voice and wondered if he was thinking about Burkaan. ‘Yes,’ she said.

      ‘So how come it got as far as you standing at the altar before he got cold feet?’ Black eyes bored into her. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it? Didn’t he talk to you about it beforehand—let you know he was having doubts?’

      Livvy shook her head as her mind raced back to that chaotic period. At the time she’d done that thing of trying to salvage her pride by telling everyone with a brisk cheerfulness that it was much better to find out before the wedding, rather than after it. That it would have been unbearable if Rupert had decided he wanted out a few years and a few children down the line. But those had been things she’d felt obliged to say, so that she wouldn’t come over as bitter. The truth was that the rejection had left her feeling hollow...and stupid. Not only had she been completely blind to her fiancé’s transgressions, but there had been all the practical considerations, too. Like paying the catering staff who were standing around in their aprons in the deserted marquee almost bursting with excitement at the drama of it all. And informing the driver of the limousine firm that they wouldn’t be needing a lift to the airport after all. And cancelling the honeymoon, which she’d paid for and for which Rupert had been supposed to settle up with her afterwards. He never had, of course, and the wedding that never was had ended up costing her a lot more than injured pride.

      And once the initial humiliation was over and everyone had been paid off, she had made a vow never to talk about it. She’d told herself that if she fed the story it would grow. So she’d cut off people’s questions and deliberately changed the subject and dared them to continue to pursue it, and eventually people had got the message.

      But now she looked into the gleam of Saladin’s eyes and realised that there had been a price to pay for her silence. She suddenly recognised how deeply she had buried the truth and saw that if she continued to keep it hidden away, she risked making herself an eternal victim. The truth was that she was over Rupert and glad she hadn’t married him. So why act like someone with a dirty secret—why not get it out into the open and watch it wither and die as it was exposed to the air?

      ‘Because I allowed myself to do what women are so good at doing,’ she said slowly. ‘I allowed myself to be wooed by a very persuasive man, without stopping to consider why someone like him should be interested in someone like me.’

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