The Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress

“Grace?”

She looked up at Salim. His pale blue eyes were cold; his smile made her feel cold but what choice did she really have?

“Salim and I,” she told Lipton. “Salim and I are—are—”

Salim’s arm curved around her waist.

“A lover’s quarrel,” he said dismissively. His sharp gaze met Grace’s. “Isn’t that right, habiba, or did I get it wrong? Perhaps you prefer to see me walk away.”

Once, she’d have melted at the soft term of endearment. Now his tone gave it a twist that all but turned it into an obscenity.

“Crunch time, sweetheart,” Salim said softly. “Make a decision and do it quickly.”

A decision, she thought, and bit back a hysterical laugh. Send Salim away and be trapped with Lipton? She had no illusions about what he wanted.

She had no illusions about what Salim wanted, either.

Revenge.

A man like him wouldn’t deal well with a dented ego. He was furious that she had left him without a word of explanation and, even worse, that she’d left him before he could leave her.

His arm tightened around her. “Well? Are you coming with me or shall I leave you here?”

He sounded like a man who knew a woman would never reject him, his question asked with almost lazy ease, but the pressure of his hand warned his patience was wearing thin. Logic told her she could only come to one decision. If she let Lipton see her go off with Salim, she wouldn’t have to fear what he might try to do later, when they were alone again.

Grace took a deep breath. “Buy me a drink,” she said brightly, as if Salim’s description of things between them were true, “and we’ll talk about old times.”

Salim’s eyes glittered. Old times, indeed.

He led her away from the lights of the hotel to a shell-strewn path that led to the beach. He had not expected her to make a decision that quickly. Perhaps the scene he’d stumbled across had actually been what it seemed: a pig of a man hitting on a woman who wanted no part of him. That had certainly been his initial reaction; it was why he’d stopped Lipton, why he wished to hell the man had come at him. He’d have taught him that a man should not treat a woman that way, any woman, even a liar and a cheat like Grace.

His desire to pound a fist into Lipton’s gut had come from something far less sophisticated.

Mine, he had thought when he had seen Grace with another man’s hands on her. He had reacted as any man would, seeing a woman he’d once called his with someone else touching her. That shot of masculine testosterone was not something one could control. It was built into male DNA; it wasn’t about Grace in particular or who could or could not have her.

He didn’t gave a damn who she seduced or who she slept with. All he cared about was getting her off this island and back to the States.

The sole question was how best to do it. He was prepared to use force, if he had to, but only as a last resort. He knew nothing of extradition arrangements between Bali and the U.S.A.; it had probably been foolish not to let Taggart check but he’d been blind to everything but getting here, finding this woman…

“Salim.”

Finding her and making her pay for what she had done.

“Salim!”

Did she think she could stop him? That he’d lead her away from Lipton and release her? There wasn’t a way in hell he’d do that. She was a thief. As for the rest, the fact that she’d left him…Yes, that bothered him. Why wouldn’t it? Women came and went in a man’s life but the time of leaving was up to the man. That was just how it was. How Nature intended it. Ending an affair was a man’s prerogative, but that was not what this was all about.

“Are you deaf?” Grace demanded, trying to twist free of his encircling arm. “Let go of me!”

“Stop complaining,” he growled, “and be grateful I didn’t tell your would-be lover the truth about you.”

“He’s not my would-be lover, and what you know of truth could fit into a thimble!”

He spun her toward him so suddenly that she teetered on her spiked heels. His hands bit into her shoulders. To steady her? To let out some of his rage? It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way the moonlight cast an ivory glow over her skin, the way her eyes glittered, her lips trembled.

He’d expected to find her… What? Looking like the criminal she was? Pale? Desperate? Driven? Instead she looked no different than when she had been his. Beautiful. Elegant. Innocent, and wasn’t that a fine choice of words to use for such a woman?

What she had done to him had truly meant nothing to her. If anything, she was lovelier than ever, or was it only that his dreams of her were no match for the reality?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He barked a laugh. “Like what, habiba? How, exactly, is one supposed to look at a fugitive?”

Oh, the expression on her face was priceless! Stunned. Horrified. And then—and then, by Ishtar, was that a smile? Was she laughing? At him? Did she dare laugh at him?

Salim’s grip on her tightened as he lifted her to her toes. “What are you laughing at?”

“You’re hurting me!”

“Answer the question. What do you find so amusing?”

“You,” Grace snapped. “You and that—that supersized ego.”

“You want to discuss egos, habiba? How about yours? Did you really think you’d cover your trail so well that I wouldn’t find you?”

“I didn’t cover anything!”

“Really? Since when is your name Grace Hunter?”

“Since I figured out that I didn’t want you finding me. Not that I really thought you’d even try. I mean, why would you give a damn that I’d decided our relationship had run its course?” She tossed her head, a gesture of defiance he remembered all too well. “You just didn’t like me being the one who made the first move.”

He hadn’t liked it, not one bit. But that wasn’t why he’d looked for her. He’d had ten million reasons to find her, and what she’d called a relationship was definitely not one of them.

“Leaving something out, aren’t you, darling?” he said, his tone silken.

“Not a thing.” She raised her chin. “Our affair ended. I knew it and so did you. What did I leave out?”

Salim’s mouth thinned. He should have expected she’d react like this. Grace was not stupid. There was no way she would admit to the embezzlement and he wasn’t a fool. This was not a bad TV movie; she would not blurt out the truth if he insisted on it.

“You left out the part where I find you and take you back to New York.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that why you came here?”

“Did you think I came to be bored out of my mind at a conference?”

“But—but why would you want to take me to New York?”

“That’s fine, Grace. Keep playing games.” Salim tugged her toward him. She struggled but he was too tall, too big, too powerful. Her struggles got her nowhere except exactly where he’d wanted her, pressed tightly against him. “But they won’t work. How many times do you think you can make a fool of the same man?”

“What are you talking about? Why would you think I’d agree to go back with you?”

“Who said anything about agreement?” His voice was low and dangerous. “You will go with me and face the consequences of your actions because it is what I demand, habiba.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Maybe he had.

Holding her like this, so close against him, brought back far too many memories.

The feel of her in his arms. The softness of her breasts against his chest. The delicate flare of her hips. Even the remembered floral scent that was woman and Grace, a scent that brought back images of her moving beneath him, her skin heated by passion as he cupped her breasts, drew the pale pink nipples into his mouth…

“Don’t,” she whispered, and he realized he’d turned hard as stone, that his erection was pressed against her belly…

That she was looking up at him in a way that told him all he needed to know.

“Don’t,” she said again, and he cupped her face in one hand.

“Don’t what, habiba?” he said thickly, and he stopped thinking, bent his head and sought her mouth.

In a second, in a heartbeat, she was his again.

Her lips parted under his. Her breath whispered against his mouth. Her hands rose, caught his dinner jacket, curled into the lapels as she rose to him.

Salim groaned. Grasped her skirt. Shoved it high on her thighs. Grace whispered something, pressed herself closer, whimpered as he slid his hand up her legs, between her thighs, cupped her, felt the sweet moisture of her arousal.

She was his. His, his, his…

What in hell was he doing?

Salim cursed, caught Grace by the shoulders and thrust her from him. She swayed unsteadily. Her dark lashes lifted. Her eyes had the blurred look of a woman swept away by desire, but he knew better. He had been the one in the raw clutches of desire; she had been the one who’d planned the scene.

“Damn you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Do you really think that’s going to work again?”

She stared at him, shook her head as if to clear it. Oh, she was good!

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. It won’t work, habiba. I’m on to the game.”

Her mouth trembled. She looked devastated. He fought back the stupid desire to take her in his arms again. Just as well. A second later, she was all cool composure. The vulnerable waif had been replaced by the real woman. He had to give her points for quick recovery.

“And so am I, Sheikh Salim. You’ve come all this distance for nothing. I am not going back to New York.”

He smiled. “Really.”

“I am not going to New York, and I have no intention of prolonging this discussion.”

She turned on her heel and strode away. He waited, then called her name.

“Grace.”

She didn’t pause. Salim raised his voice.

“You have no choice, habiba. You’re finished here.”

That did the trick. She stopped walking and swung toward him.

“Ah,” he said softly, “just look at your face, darling. Such an expression of shock. Really, though, what would you expect? Did you play Lipton along? Did you promise more than you intended to deliver? Is that what that little scene was all about?”

“How dare you say such a thing to me?”

“Maybe not. Maybe he really was hitting on you.” Salim walked to where she stood, put his hand under her chin and jerked her head up. “But why should I care? The point is, I won’t have to lift a finger to get you onto my plane and off this island now. You’re in trouble, Grace. He’s going to get even, either by using his influence against you…” His face lowered to hers. “Or by waiting for you at the hotel. He’ll be all over you the minute he gets you alone.”

Grace went very still. “No. He won’t do anything. He’s afraid of you.”

“I humiliated him. There’s a difference. He’ll want to get even and if you walk away from me and go back to him, he’ll figure I’m done with you. That will put him back in the game.”

“You’re despicable,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m honest, habiba. I know how men are. Use your head,” Salim said, his tone sharpening. “Do you really think he’s going to pretend this didn’t happen? His behavior with you, your reaction, my interference. He can’t take it out on me, but he won’t have to. He’ll have you.”

Tears shone in her eyes; one traced a path down her cheek. Salim fought the desire to gather her to him and comfort her. Only a fool would do that. Grace was an actress. A siren. Who knew that better than he?

“He won’t have me,” she said quickly. “I’m going back to the hotel, not to him.”

“It’s the same thing. You’re sharing his room.”

“His suite,” she said, even more quickly. “A company suite. I didn’t know anything about it until…” Grace clamped her lips together. Why was she explaining anything to Salim? Why was she letting him see her fear? See it? He was building on it. He didn’t give a damn about her. He only wanted her acquiescence but then, there was nothing new in that. He was a man who always wanted things done his way.

And, right now, he was doing whatever it took to make that happen. Her boss was a vile human being but Salim was trying to convince her the man was a monster. Well, it wasn’t going to work, she thought, and took a steadying breath.

“Let go of me,” she said coolly.

He hesitated. Then, slowly, his hand fell to his side.

“Nicely done,” she said with a little smile. “You almost had me in a panic. Sorry, but it won’t work. Lipton’s a pig, but there’s not a woman alive who can’t handle a pig on her own.”

“You’re always so sure of yourself, habiba. This time, though, you may be making a mistake. Just in case you are…” Salim took his key card from his pocket and tossed it to her. Grace caught it out of reflex. “I have one of the villas on the beach. Number 916.”

“I wouldn’t come to you if hell froze over.”

Such a pathetic rejoinder, but it was the best she could manage. Head high, she turned and made her way up the path toward the gardens. Was Salim watching her? She wanted to look over her shoulder to find out, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

What a cold-hearted bastard!

She’d always known that about him; she’d just refused to admit it. She’d told herself his arrogance was actually self-confidence. It wasn’t. Only an arrogant man with an overblown ego would come around the world just to prove that a woman couldn’t leave him until he was good and ready for it to happen.

That he actually believed she would fly to New York with him, that he saw her as a fugitive for leaving him…

Laughable, all of it.

Grace’s steps slowed as she entered the garden.

If it was laughable, why had she let him kiss her? Why had she kissed him back? Why had her foolish heart wished, even for a moment, that he had come for her because he needed her?

Stupid to even think such a thing. Salim didn’t need anyone. What he understood was passion. How to touch a woman so the most intimate part of her wept for his possession. How to make her beg for release.

And he knew how to respond. She didn’t want to remember, but she did.

His hard-muscled body, taut and powerful against hers. His shudder of delight when she caressed him, his soft groan when she used her tongue, her lips to pleasure him. The incredible moment when he’d part her thighs, sink deep, deep inside her.

And yet, there were times she’d had the feeling he was there physically but not emotionally, that he’d kept a part of himself locked away…

“There you are.”

She jumped as Lipton stepped out of the shadows. He caught her wrist, his fingers digging deep into the soft inner flesh.

“What happened, Grace? Didn’t the reconciliation go well?”

Grace’s heart was racing. It was difficult to pretend she wasn’t frightened but she knew it was what she had to do.

“Let go of me,” she said quietly.

“Or is it that the mighty sheikh only wanted a quickie on the beach? You’ll find I’m not like that. I believe in hours of pleasure, Grace. Some women find it excessive, but I’m sure you won’t be one of them.”

“Get this through your head,” she hissed. “I am not going to sleep with you.”

“I hope not. Sleeping isn’t what I have in mind.”

Grace used the only ace in the deck. She didn’t want to; falling back on Salim’s name made her feel helpless but she couldn’t see another way out.

“The sheikh will kill you if you touch me.”

Lipton smiled. “He’s finished with you, Grace. I don’t see a problem.”

His fingers moved to her upper arm; she felt their bite and she stifled a moan. What he was doing was incredibly painful, but she knew she’d sooner pass out from it than ask for mercy.

“You see, Grace, if he was a real threat to you and me—to our relationship…”

“We don’t have a relationship!”

“Of course we do, and wait until you see how exciting it’s going to be.” Lipton leaned toward her; his breath, whiskey-laden before, was soaked with it now. “As I was saying, if your ex was a real threat, he’d have kept you for the night instead of taking you outside and then sending you packing.”

“Let go of me or—”

“He did,” Lipton said with glee. “Send you packing. Poor Grace. Things just didn’t work out for you.”

“Listen to me,” Grace said. “If you think I’m afraid to make a scene—”

“That’s exactly what I think, and I’m right. You don’t want everyone to know what you’ve done, Grace. How you led me on. How you said you wanted to sleep with me.” His fingers dug deeper into the tender muscle of her biceps; the pain sent nausea roiling in her belly. “Because if I told people that, the only job you’d be able to get in finance would be one that involved standing behind a cash register and saying ‘Do you want fries with that?’”

Grace blinked. Then she laughed. She couldn’t help it. Hadn’t Hollywood once made movies like this? Cruel villains, helpless heroines…

Her laugh became a soft cry of pain as Lipton’s fingers clamped harder on her arm.

“I’m going to have another drink with my friends while you go to my bedroom and make yourself ready for me. I’ll be half an hour, not more, and when I open the door, you’d damned well better make this trip I paid for as well as tonight’s humiliation worth my while.”

“No. No! You’ll never touch me. You’ll never—”

Lipton backhanded her. Grace staggered. He came at her again and she summoned up the long-ago advice of her high school judo instructor.

A woman’s knee makes an excellent weapon.

She moved quickly. Lipton grunted, gagged and fell back.

And Grace turned and ran.

CHAPTER FOUR

SALIM had been told that the hotel’s villas were spacious and handsome.

Maybe, but he’d dismissed those amenities without a second thought. A man on his way to apprehend a thief didn’t give a damn about aesthetics.

Now, as he paced the floor of his villa, he thought that “spacious” might be a good thing. You could only march from room to room just so long before the walls began closing in.

Where was Grace?

Salim glowered at his watch. Was it working? Of course it was. The gold Cartier had been passed from his grandfather to his father to him. It was entirely—and, tonight, unfortunately—dependable.

His common sense was not.

Why had he let Grace go back to the hotel and to Lipton? At the time, it had seemed eminently sensible. Let her get hold of her anger, he’d told himself. Let her stalk away, sulk, roar at the moon if she wanted. Once she came to her senses, she’d figure out she had no choice but to return to New York as his prisoner.

She was a thief, not a fool.

She knew she was caught. Her days of freedom were over. Why go through the hassle of extradition, assuming there was an extradition agreement between Indonesia and the States? Even if there wasn’t, what she’d done would become public knowledge. The media would be all over the story. She had to see there was no sense fighting the inevitable.

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