Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh: Exposed: The Sheikh's Mistress / Stolen by the Sheikh / Fit For a Sheikh

‘What can I do for you, Hashim?’ she questioned coolly.

‘Why have you failed to cash my cheque?’ he demanded.

‘Because I don’t want your money!’

‘Ah, Sienna,’ he purred, like a trainee lion cub. ‘Don’t you realise that resistance turns a man on?’

Especially a man who wasn’t used to being resisted. ‘That isn’t why I’m doing it,’ came her icy reply.

He knew that. As a ploy it would have failed, because he would have seen through it. As a genuine wish it excited him. Greatly. ‘I want to see you,’ he said softly.

Images of his dark mocking eyes swam into her unwilling memory. ‘Well, you can’t.’

Did she not realise that he could hear her breathless note of hesitation—and the reluctant longing which matched his own? His voice dipped into a mocking caress as he felt the hot, hard jerk of desire. ‘Then say it like you mean it.’

Sienna closed her eyes, but that only made it worse. Now the images were of a hard body entering hers with almost heartbreaking sweetness. ‘There’s no point,’ she said wildly.

‘On the contrary. There is every point. I have a proposition to put to you.’

‘A proposition?’ Suspicion crept into her voice. ‘Planning another fictitious party, are you?’

He gave a low laugh. ‘Now, that’s an idea! Meet me and I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘Have you listened to a word I’ve been saying? I don’t want your phone calls or your flowers, and I certainly don’t want to see you, Hashim!’

‘Yes, you do,’ he murmured. ‘You know that and I know that. You are unsettled and so am I. Why keep fighting it? Your work will suffer, for a start.’

And he was right, damn him! She had almost more work than she could reasonably cope with, and—ironically —no inclination to do it. It had taken every bit of concentration she had to prevent herself from sitting staring into space and thinking about the dark Sheikh, trying to school herself away from wanting him, but in reality…Oh, the reality was so different.

‘If I meet you, will you promise to leave me alone?’

He gave a wry smile. How had she managed to get so far with such an appalling sense of logic? ‘If that is what you desire,’ he said carefully.

Desire. What a dangerous and provocative word that was. Sienna clenched her fist as she felt the empty little tug of her heart. ‘Name a time and place.’

‘Now.’

‘Now?’

‘I am very close to your house. I will be waiting.’

‘You are joking!’

‘What’s the matter, Sienna?’ he mocked. ‘Are you never spontaneous?’

She was wearing her oldest jeans and a T-shirt which one of the football team had given her at college. There was a rip at the hem and a stain on it which she thought might be crème de menthe, but she wasn’t entirely sure. She glanced in the mirror at her unwashed hair, which was caught back in a ponytail. Maybe if he saw her like this—the real, basic Sienna—then he would get the message.

‘Okay,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll meet you.’

‘Five minutes,’ he clipped, and hung up.

Pausing only to brush her teeth, telling herself that she would have done the same no matter who she was meeting, she slid on a pair of old flip-flops and let herself out of the house, wondering where he was waiting.

She didn’t have to wonder for very long. A shiny limousine with tinted windows was parked at the end of the road—presumably because the road was so narrow it could go no further. In front of it and just to the rear were two leather-clad outriders on powerful motorbikes. It was like a scene straight out of a film, and Sienna could see a couple of curtains twitching as she walked towards it.

My neighbours will never look at me in quite the same way she thought, as a chauffeur stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door for her.

Telling herself that she could hardly be rude to Hashim’s employee, she had no choice but to slide into the soft-cushioned luxury of the back seat. It took a few seconds for her eyes to become accustomed to the dim light, but she could see Hashim sprawled negligently on the back seat, watching her.

Today he was wearing Western clothes—not a shimmer of soft silk in sight. An immaculately cut dark suit, with a snowy shirt and a tie which gleamed dully in the reduced light. Sienna could feel her heart begin to pound.

‘Nice of you to get out of the car yourself,’ she said.

‘I was thinking of your reputation.’

‘Liar.’

He laughed. ‘Your assessment of me is wholly and completely wrong, Sienna—my honesty has at times been described as almost brutal.’

Brutal. Yes. There was a brutal side to his nature. And yet it contrasted with the extraordinary gentleness he had displayed when she had lain so helplessly in his arms. She felt the drying of her lips, and as if he had read her thoughts he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers in a barely-there kiss which started her senses sizzling.

‘Don’t,’ she said weakly.

The same cold skill and calculation which made him a world-class poker player made him kiss her for long enough to hear her sigh, and then he stopped and leaned back against the seat to study her. He pressed a button by his side and said something she did not understand. The car began its powerful acceleration.

‘Where are we going?’ she questioned, in alarm.

‘Just driving around—we will draw less attention to ourselves that way—this car tends to attract sightseers.’

‘Why don’t you travel in something less ostentatious, then?’ she questioned acidly.

‘Because I cannot,’ he said simply. ‘It needs to be bullet-proof.’

And—perhaps for the very first time—Sienna allowed herself to see the downside of his life. Hadn’t there been part of her which had somehow thought that the bodyguards which accompanied him were simply for show? As some kind of indicator of his power and lofty position? She had never actually stopped to think that someone might want to shoot him, and now that she had she found her stomach twisting over in anxiety.

‘Now, let us both be honest,’ he said quietly. ‘Can you do that?’

‘You don’t take any notice of me when I am.’

But he shook his head. ‘No, Sienna—I am talking about real honesty. I do not mean that you should say what you feel you ought to say, but what is truly in your heart.’

‘Then I’m at a disadvantage—for you don’t have a heart!’

He paused, for it was not the first time this accusation had been flung at him. ‘Have you thought of me?’

She opened her mouth to say no—but something in his eyes stopped her. ‘Yes.’

He nodded his head. ‘And for me it is the same. I have thought of little else. The way you felt in my arms. You haunt me, Sienna—for I cannot forget the great gift which you gave to me.’

‘Which you took, you mean,’ she corrected him quietly. ‘You set me up and seduced me—as you had intended to do right from the start.’

‘Yes,’ he said bitterly. ‘Of that I am guilty—I robbed you of your greatest virtue. But I would not have done it had I known that you were innocent, and that innocence has changed everything.’ He paused, studying the lush fullness of her mouth, and when he spoke his voice was almost reflective. ‘What passed between us was not enough—not for me, nor for you. You were beautiful and responsive, but your initiation into the pleasures of the body should not be limited to a single session on a cold floor, our bodies not even naked.’

She was glad then for the dim light, for she began to blush and he saw. His eyes narrowed and she wondered if he was remembering—as she was—that very first blush such a long time ago. ‘It’s over,’ she said, aware of how lacking in conviction her words sounded. Was that because she didn’t want it to be over?

He thought how strange it was that a woman could still blush with innocence, even when that innocence was gone. ‘Ah, but that is where you are wrong,’ he whispered. ‘It is not over. Indeed, that was only the beginning.’

Sienna blinked, because suddenly the picture had shifted, changed focus. Was he asking her to be his girlfriend? ‘What are you saying?’ she whispered.

‘You came to me untutored—a beautiful novice,’ he said huskily. ‘And yet, in a way, it was as new for me as it was for you.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘You see, I had never had a virgin before.’

He made himself sound like a jockey who had attempted a higher than usual jump, and his matter-of-fact words fractured the tiny flicker of hope which had begun to spark into life. But maybe that was a blessing, because the very word ‘virgin’ was charged with emotion—and emotion could, she realized, be character-changing in every sense of the word. It could make you weak when you most needed to be strong. ‘Am I supposed to be flattered by this remarkable statement?’

‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘For I am admitting to you that I found the experience profoundly moving.’

As an admission it bordered on the arrogant, and if it had been anyone else then Sienna might have said so. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. As if he had lifted away a veil and allowed her to see a whisper of contrition. And the unexpected glimpse of this gave him the fleeting shimmer of vulnerability, reminding her that deep down he was just a man—that all the rest was just packaging.

‘Go on,’ she said steadily. ‘I’m intrigued.’

‘I want to teach you everything there is to know about the art of love.’ His smile was edged with hunger. There was the briefest of pauses before he spoke again. ‘I want you to become my mistress,’ he said softly.

Sienna stilled. ‘What?’

‘I am choosing you to become mistress to the Sheikh.’

He made it sound so…mechanical. ‘Is there a new vacancy, then?’ she questioned acidly. ‘Or will I be sharing the post?’

Hashim was so used to complete compliance—to grateful and eager acceptance from adoring women— that for a moment he was taken aback by her flippant attitude. ‘I do not think you realise the honour I am affording you,’ he said icily.

‘No, I probably don’t,’ said Sienna gravely. ‘Perhaps you could tell me a little more about what this exciting position entails?’

Because no one ever made fun of him Hashim did not recognise the mocking tone in her voice. He had never had to persuade or to entice a lover before, and such coercion did not come naturally to him.

‘You will have an open charge account.’ His black eyes flicked disparagingly over her jeans and stained T-shirt. ‘And in future you will buy clothes that please you and please your Sheikh.’

‘Do you have any particular requests?’ Sienna questioned meekly. ‘Favourite colours? That kind of thing?’

Hashim’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was she agreeing without further argument? Damn the woman—why did she keep coming out and surprising him? ‘Obviously what you are wearing today is thoroughly unsuitable.’

‘Obviously,’ she agreed steadily.

‘I should like to see you in silks and satins from now on,’ he said coolly. ‘And velvets and lace. Nothing man-made.’ He shuddered. ‘You should dress to please me, for when I am pleased then it follows that you shall be, too.’

‘How delightfully simple you make it sound,’ Sienna murmured. ‘Anything else?’

His black eyes gleamed with anticipation as he imagined clothing her in delicate underclothes—and then ripping them off! ‘As you know, I spend the majority of my time in Qudamah, but I frequently travel to the major cities to conduct business on behalf of my country, and when I do I wish for you to fly out to join me. I will send my private jet for you,’ he promised silkily.

She ignored the airborne carrot he dangled. ‘But what about my job?’ she questioned seriously.

‘Your job?’

‘Or rather, my career,’ she corrected. ‘I’ve built it up from scratch and worked hard—I can’t just abandon it to flit off to all the corners of the globe on a whim.’

Hashim gave her an impatient look. ‘Your job will no longer be necessary. You will have all the money you need. You can give it up.’

Give it up? Sienna could not hold her feelings in any more. Did he have no idea how real people lived their lives? She supposed that he didn’t. ‘I’m not doing any such thing!’ she declared. ‘I take pride in my work, Hashim. I have a number of big contracts in the pipeline.’

‘Sub-contract them.’

‘No, I will not.’

‘Sienna, you are stretching my patience!’

‘And you’re stretching mine! Do you imagine for a moment that I can be bought?’

There was a moment of silence. ‘Everyone can be bought—you of all people should know that.’

‘Are you still on about those wretched photographs? Can’t you just let it go?’ She stared at him and then reached for the door. ‘I won’t be insulted by you any more. And I don’t have to be. You’ve had your pound of flesh, Hashim—just be satisfied with that.’

Suddenly he found himself wishing that he could bite the words back. ‘Sienna. Don’t go.’ He caught her arm and began to caress it with his fingers. ‘Please.’

She closed her eyes, her inner turmoil lulled by the touch of his hand, recognising that his plea was an unfamiliar one. She had made her stand and demonstrated her independence and her pride—but nothing could change the effect he had always had on her, and still did. The melting way he made her feel inside whenever he touched her. The way his very presence made her feel so alive. If she took that out of the equation there would be nothing to consider, but it was far too powerful to disregard.

She opened her eyes again. ‘It’s not all about what you want, is it, Hashim? It’s about what I want, too.’

He had been almost certain that she was—incredibly! —going to turn him down, and it was Hashim’s turn to be surprised. Was she playing games with him? ‘You mean you are giving consideration to my proposal?’

‘Of course I am. A woman would have to be pretty stupid not to, wouldn’t she? It isn’t every day that she is offered a chance to play the starring role in Cinderella!’

But, inexplicably, his triumph was now tempered by a fleeting sense of disappointment—for it now appeared that she was going to give in, and he had been enjoying doing battle with her. ‘So you will agree?’

‘Only if you agree to my terms.’

‘Your terms?’ he repeated, outraged.

‘But of course. Why should it all go your way?’

Because it always had done—all his life! ‘Name them,’ he snapped.

‘Well, you can forget the idea of a charge card, for a start—I don’t want it, thank you all the same. I don’t earn a fortune, but what I do has been honestly come by—and I usually manage to scrub up well enough without the benefit of costly clothes. And I will only fly to see you if it is convenient. To me.’ Because soon it would be over, and when it was she would need her livelihood just the same as she always had. ‘I will continue with my life as normal—if you want to see me then you will have to fit in around me.’

‘But what you ask of me is outrageous!’ he protested.

She shrugged. ‘Then forget the whole idea. In fact,’ she added truthfully, ‘that would be much better for me in the long-term.’

‘But in the short-term you do not want to forget it,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms. ‘Right now your body is screaming out for me. You know that I am growing hard even now, just as you are wet with wanting. Aren’t you?’

‘Hashim, you’re…you’re…’ But her words were forgotten, for he had put his hands underneath her T-shirt to cup the aching mounds of her breasts.

‘No bra?’ he questioned shakily, torn between excitement and disapproval as he felt their velvet weight against his palms.

‘I never wear one when I’m working at home. Oh!’ She gasped as he bent his mouth to one hardened nipple and began to suckle it. His hand was skimming the narrow indentation of her waist, which led down to an unforgiving waistband. And now his hand had moved to the fork of her thighs, and he was touching her through the denim…touching her and touching her. ‘Hashim, wh—what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Guess.’

‘But…but we’re in the car.’

‘The driver can’t see. Do you want me to stop?’

She squirmed with pleasure beneath his touch. Not yet. Just a couple of minutes more and then she would stop him. ‘We can’t actually do anything if I’m wearing jeans, can we?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Can’t we?’ He laughed, skating a featherlight fingertip over the most intimate part of her.

How could she feel this way? As though he was touching her flesh instead of the thick material of her jeans. ‘Hashim—’

‘Shh. Let go,’ he urged, excited now as he watched her. ‘Just let go.’

And to her eternal shame she did just that. Forgot the fact that she was writhing around in the back of a car in the middle of heaven only knew where. Forgot that she might have salvaged a little pride by returning his cheque and refusing his calls. She just went right along with the demands of her body, allowing herself to be carried along by the sweet and irresistible torrent.

‘Oh!’ She half sobbed as he increased the movement of his finger.

‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘You are so close, Sienna. So beautifully close. Let me watch you as I give you pleasure. Let me see you orgasm in your blue jeans.’

And then that feeling was upon her again—that out-of-this-world, flying-to-paradise feeling was sweeping her up and away, orchestrated by the relentless and expert caress of his fingers. And suddenly she had begun to cry out—little cries of astounded pleasure—until the fierce pressure of his mouth blocked out the sound and her body shattered into a million beautiful pieces.

For countless seconds she felt the spasms of her body shuddering to a slow halt, the sticky warmth of contentment. She was aware of Hashim stroking away the hair from her sweat-sheened brow.

‘How can that have happened?’ she whispered, half to herself. ‘How?’

Unseen, he smiled. How little she knew—and how much he had to show her! He lifted her chin so that he could stare down at her with black eyes which mocked and lanced. ‘Ah, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘Do you see how much you have to learn?’

Lying curled in his arms in the aftermath of her orgasm, she was at her most vulnerable. ‘Perhaps I do,’ she agreed drowsily.

Maybe when you first gave your heart to someone it was difficult to claw it back again. With Hashim there had always been a sense of something left uncompleted —hadn’t he said so himself? Maybe this really was the answer. If she saw more of him then mightn’t it diminish some of the magic which surrounded him? Which made her see him as she failed to see other men?

‘So you will agree to be my mistress?’

She turned her face up to his and opened her eyes very wide. ‘Only on a strictly informal basis.’

‘And will you come back to my hotel now and let me give you dinner?’

And, presumably, bed. But that was what a mistress should do—and who was she to complain if it meant that Hashim would make love to her?

‘I’ll need to go home and get showered first.’

He gave a slow smile of anticipation. ‘We’ll have a bath together,’ he said. And he would send out those disgusting clothes of hers to be laundered.

CHAPTER TEN

Six months later

‘YOU are late,’ Hashim said coldly, as Sienna walked into the hotel bedroom.

‘Only a little.’

‘I have been waiting,’ he said ominously, ‘for over an hour.’

‘Sorry, darling.’ Sienna slipped off the soft green cashmere coat she had allowed him to buy her for Christmas, its emerald faux fur collar gleaming in the pale winter sunshine. It was the only thing she had allowed him to buy—and then only because it was Christmas. Even though—as she had teasingly pointed out—he didn’t actually celebrate Christmas.

‘But you do!’ he had growled.

In a way, it frustrated him that she had steadfastly refused to be showered with the gifts which he thought were her due—but then, he didn’t have a monopoly on frustration. She had discovered early on that it went hand-in-hand with the pleasures of being a mistress.

It was such an unreal existence.

So many of their meetings were conducted in secret —behind the closed doors of hotel rooms—while they lost themselves in each other’s arms. Sometimes they would slip out to a discreet restaurant for a meal—though always shadowed by the ever-present bodyguards.

It was easier in Paris or some of the Spanish cities —which afforded more anonymity—but being abroad only increased Sienna’s sense of unreality. The certainty that this relationship could not last, and her fear of when it would end. Whether it would be less painful if it happened sooner rather than later.

It was as though what they had between them was so fragile that any kind of analysis might shatter it. And it wasn’t even something she could talk to her girlfriends about—and certainly not her mother. When you had an ordinary relationship—were having those ordinary fears about where it was headed—then friendly advice was yours for the taking.

But being a mistress was an indeterminate occupation, frowned on by society in general—both his and hers. For it flew in the face of the family values which most people believed in, deep down.

Only in her case she was not strictly a mistress. Hashim didn’t have a wife waiting at home. Instead he had a country—which was far more demanding.

She turned to watch him as he pressed a button on the wall and the heavy drapes slid silently to a close, blocking out the daylight and enclosing them in their own private world.

Hand provocatively placed on her hip, Sienna raised her eyebrows as he turned round. ‘You complain that I’ve kept you waiting, and yet you haven’t even kissed me hello yet!’

Exasperated and turned on, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Hello.’

‘And hello to you, too.’

He rubbed his forehead against hers. ‘How you love to make me angry, Sienna.’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said seriously. ‘It’s just that you work yourself up into a complete state when I don’t do exactly what you say.’

‘But you never do what I say.’

‘Ask me something—anything—and I will!’

He took her face between his hands and looked down at her. ‘Will you kiss me again, my noncompliant and informal little mistress?’

She lifted her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck, giving a little yelp of pleasure as their mouths collided in a kiss which this time was much more than a greeting. It was a hard, hungry and frustrated kiss. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a month, and he wasn’t supposed to be here for another fortnight.

But he had sandwiched in an extra trip to London on the way back from the States and called her at the last minute. Sienna had decided not to play games for the sake of it and had agreed to change her diary around. And bought a new set of underwear.

In between the frantic unzipping and unbuttoning of their clothes there were fractured bursts of conversation.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he groaned.

‘Good.’

He reached down and slid off first one high-heeled shoe and then the other, caressing a silk-clad ankle on the way. ‘You’re supposed to tell me that you missed me, too.’

‘That…oh!’ She shivered as he rippled his fingers up over a stocking-top and circled the satin flesh above it. ‘That is what I would call fishing for a compliment.’ She gulped.

His hand halted. ‘So you didn’t?’

‘You’ve only been gone a month.’

‘Only?’ he questioned ominously.

She reached down and guided his hand back again. ‘Yes, yes, yes—I’ve missed you. I’ve thought about you constantly and dreamt of this moment! Is that better?’

‘Much better,’ he murmured. ‘If it is true.’

Oh, yes, it was true, she thought as he carried her over to the bed and put her down in the centre of it. She had missed him more than he would ever know and more than she would ever tell him. She might have been a novice when she started her affair with Hashim—but she was growing to learn the rules. And the number one rule seemed to be always keep something back.