Mistress Of The Sheikh

He looked up from the digital camera, his eyes cold as they assessed her.

She was a thief, but she was beautiful even in a city filled with beautiful women. She seemed so familiar…but if they’d met before, surely he’d remember. What man would forget such a face? Such fire in those eyes. Such promised sweetness in that lush mouth.

And yet, for all of that, she was a liar.

Nick looked down at the little camera in his hand.

Beautiful, and duplicitous.

She played dangerous games, this woman. Games that took her into a man’s bedroom and left her vulnerable to whatever punishment he might devise.

He lifted his head slowly, and his eyes met hers.

“Who paid you to take these pictures?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Well, that’s progress. At least you admit you’re doing this for money.”

“I am. But it isn’t what you—”

“You came here in search of information. A story. Photos. Whatever you could find that was salable.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Do you know what the punishment in my country is for those who steal?”

“Steal?” Amanda gave an incredulous laugh. “I did not—”

“Theft is bad enough,” he said coldly. “Don’t compound it by lying.”

His eyes were flat with rage. Amanda’s heart thumped. Dealing with her father, her stepfather, even her ex, was nothing compared to dealing with a man who ruled a kingdom. She wasn’t one of his subjects, but she had the feeling this wasn’t exactly the time to point that out.

If Nick finds out, Dawn had said, he’ll be angry at me.

But Dawn was among the missing, the sheikh was blocking the doorway, and clearly, discretion was not the better part of valor.

“All right.” Amanda stood straighter, even though her heart was still trying to fight its way out of her chest. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

“An excellent decision, Ms. Benning.”

She licked her lips. “I’m—I’m your surprise.”

Nick frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“My services. They’re your gift. What Dawn talked about, on the phone.”

His gift? Nick’s brows lifted. His little sister had a strange sense of humor, but how far would she go for a joke? It could be that Amanda Benning was willing to tell one gigantic whopper as a cover story.

“Indeed,” he purred.

Amanda didn’t like the tone in his voice.

“I’ll have you know that I’m much sought after.” Oh, Amanda, what a lie. “And expensive.” Well, why not? She would be, one day.

“Yes,” Nick said softly. “That, at least, must be the truth.”

And then, before she could take a breath, Nick reached for the blonde with the golden eyes and the endless legs, pulled her into his arms, and crushed her mouth under his.

CHAPTER THREE

IF THERE was one thing Nick understood, it was the art of diplomacy.

He was the heir to the throne of an ancient kingdom. He represented his people, his flag, his heritage. And he never forgot that.

It was his responsibility to behave in a way that gave the least offense to anyone, even when he was saying or doing something others might not like. He understood that obligation and accepted it.

But when the spotlight was off and Nick could be himself, the truth was that he often had trouble being diplomatic. There were instances when diplomacy was about as useful as offering condolences to a corpse. Sometimes, being polite could distract from the truth and confuse things.

He wanted no confusion in Amanda Benning’s mind when it came to him. She was sophisticated and beautiful, a woman who lived by her wits as well as her more obvious charms, but he was on to her game.

And he wanted to be sure she knew it.

That was the reason he’d taken her in his arms. He was very clear about the purpose, even as he gathered her close against him, bent her back over his arm and kissed her.

He’d caught her by surprise. He’d intended that. She gasped, which gave him the chance to slip his tongue between her lips. Then she began to fight him.

Good.

She’d planned everything so carefully. The tiny camera that he should never have noticed. The sexy dress. The soft scent of her perfume. The strappy black silk shoes with the high, take-me heels…

Seduction first, conveniently made simple by his foolish sister, whose penchant for silly jokes had finally gotten out of hand. And then, having bedded the Lion of the Desert, the Benning woman would sell her photographs and a breathless first-person account of what it was like to sleep with him.

Nick caught Amanda’s wrist as she struggled to shove a hand between them. What a fool Dawn had been to hire a woman like this and bring her into their midst. But he’d have been a greater fool not to at least taste her.

He wouldn’t take her to bed. He was too fastidious to take the leavings of other men, but he’d give her just enough of an encounter to remember. Kiss her with harsh demand. Cup her high, lush breasts with the easy certainty that spoke of royal possession.

When she responded, not out of desire but because that was her job, he’d shove her from him, let her watch him grind her camera under his heel. After that, he’d call for Abdul and direct him to hustle the lady straight out the door.

Then he’d go in search of his sister. Dawn needed to be reminded how dangerous it was to consort with scum. A few months in Quidar, under the watchful eye of their father, would work wonders.

That was Nick’s plan anyway.

The kiss, the reality of it, changed everything.

Amanda had stopped struggling. That was good. She’d been paid to accept his kisses, welcome his hands as they caressed her pliant body…except, he suddenly realized, she wasn’t pliant.

She was rigid with what seemed to be fear.

Fear?

She’d cried out as his mouth covered hers. A nice touch, he’d thought coldly, that little intake of breath, that high, feminine cry. Righteous indignation didn’t go with the dress or the heels, certainly not with the face or the body, but he could see where she might try it, just to heighten the tension and his arousal before her ultimate surrender.

There were games men and women played, and a woman like this would know them all. Either Amanda Benning was an excellent actress or he’d started the game before she was ready.

Was she the kind who wanted to direct the performance and the pace? Or was her imagination running wild? Innocent maiden. Savage sheikh. The story wasn’t new. Nick had come across women who hungered for it and would accept nothing else, but he never obliged. It was a stereotype, a fantasy that offended him deeply, and he refused to play it out.

Sex between a man and a woman involved as much giving as taking or it brought neither of them pleasure.

But this was different.

He had neither wooed the Benning woman nor won her. She hadn’t seduced him with a smile, a glance, a touch. She was here because his sister had decided it would be amusing to give her to him as a gift.

In other words, none of the usual rules applied.

The woman was his. He could do as he wanted with her. And if what she thought he wanted was some rough sex, he could oblige. He could play along until it was time to toss her out.

A little rough treatment, maybe even a scare, was exactly what Amanda Benning deserved. She was a creature of no morals, willing to offer her body for information she could sell to the highest bidder.

Oh, yes. A little scare would do Amanda Benning just fine.

She was struggling in earnest now, not just trying to drag her mouth from his but fighting him, shoving her fists against his chest, doing her best to free herself from his arms.

Nick laughed against her mouth, spun her around, pressed her back against the silk-covered wall. He caught her wrists, entwined his fingers with hers and flattened her hands against the wall on either side of her.

She tried to scream. He caught her bottom lip in his teeth, moved closer, brushed his body against her.

God, she was so warm. Heat seemed to radiate from her skin. And she was soft. Her breasts. Her belly. Her mouth. Her hot, luscious mouth. He could taste it now, not only the fear but what lay beyond it, the sweet taste of the woman herself.

His body hardened, became steel. There was a roaring in his ears. Nick wanted to carry her to the bed, strip her of her clothes, bury himself deep inside her. Need for her sang in his blood, raced through every muscle.

The part of his brain that still functioned told him he was insane. He was kissing a woman his sister had bought as a joke, a woman with a bag filled with professional tricks. She was pretending she didn’t want him, and he was, what?

He was getting turned on.

It was just that she fitted his arms so well. That her hair felt so silken against his cheek. That she smelled sweet, the way he’d assumed she would taste. The way he wanted her to taste, he thought. The hell with it. She wanted to give a performance? All right. He would comply, but he was changing the rules.

He wasn’t going to take her. He was going to seduce her.

“Amanda,” he said softly.

Her lashes flew up. Her eyes met his.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered, and kissed her. Gently. Tenderly. His mouth moved against hers, over and over; his teeth nipped lightly at her bottom lip. And, gradually, her mouth began to soften. She made a little sound, a whimper, and her body melted against his.

Nick groaned at the stunning sweetness of her surrender. He wanted to let go of her wrists and slide his hands down her spine, stroke the satin that was her skin, cup her bottom and lift her up into the urgency of his erection. When her hands tugged at his, seeking freedom, pleasure rocketed through him. He understood what she wanted, that she sought the freedom to touch him, explore him. It was what he wanted, too. He’d forgotten everything except that he was on fire for the woman in his arms.

He touched the tip of his tongue to the seam of her lips as he let go of her wrists and took her face in his hands. His palms cupped her cheeks; he tilted her head back so that her golden hair feathered like silk over the tips of his fingers, so that he could slant his mouth hungrily over hers—

—so that her knee could catch him right where he lived and drive every last breath of air from his lungs.

A strangled gasp of agony burst from his lips. Nick doubled over and clutched his groin.

“Amanda?” he croaked, and got his chin up just in time to see her coming at him again.

“You no-good bastard!”

He was hurting. The pain was gut-deep, but he fought it, jumped out of her path, caught her as she flew by and flung her on the bed. She landed hard, rolled to her side, sat up and almost got her feet on the floor, but by then he’d recovered enough to come down on top of her.

She called him a name he’d only heard a couple of times in his life and pummeled him with her fists.

“Get off me!”

It was like wrestling with a wildcat. She was small and slender but she moved fast, and it didn’t help that it still felt as if his scrotum was seeking shelter halfway up his belly.

Nick took a blow on his chin, another in the corner of his eye. He grabbed for her hands, captured them and pinned them high over her head.

“You little bitch,” he said, straddling her hips.

Amanda bucked like an unbroken mare, her hips arcing up, then down.

“Stop it.” He leaned toward her, his eyes hot with anger. “Damn you, woman, did you hear what I said? Stop!”

She didn’t. She bucked again, her body moving against his, her breasts heaving, her golden hair disheveled against the blue silk pillows. Her eyes were wild, the pupils huge and black and encircled by rims of gold. She was panting through parted lips; he could see the flash of her small white teeth, the pink of her tongue. Her excuse of a dress was ruined; one thin red silk strap hung off her shoulder, exposing the upper curve of a creamy breast. The skirt had ridden up her hips. He could see the strip of black lace that hid the feminine delta between her thighs.

And all at once, he felt fine. No more pain, just the realization that he was hard, swollen and aroused, separated from the woman beneath him by nothing but his trousers and that scrap of sexy lace.

The air in the room crackled with electricity.

He became still. She did, too. Her eyes met his, and for the first time, what he saw in them took his breath away.

“No,” she whispered, but his mouth was already coming down on hers.

She held back; he could feel her tremble.

“Yes,” he said softly, and kissed her again. “Amanda…”

She moaned. Her lashes fell to her cheeks and she opened her mouth to his. Her surrender was real. Her need was, too. He could feel it in the pliancy of her body, taste it in the silken heat of her kiss.

Nick let go of her hands and gathered her against him. She moaned again and dug her hands into his hair, clutching the dark curling strands with greedy fists.

Greedy. Yes, that was the way she felt. Greedy for his mouth, for his touch. For the feel of Nicholas al Rashid deep inside her.

It was crazy. She didn’t know this man, and what little she did know, she didn’t like. Moments ago, she’d been fighting him off….

Her breath caught as he rolled onto his side and took her with him. He stroked his hand down her spine, then up again. All the way up, so that his thumbs brushed lightly over her breasts.

“Tell me you want me,” he said.

His voice was as soft as velvet, as rough as gravel. His breath whispered against her throat as he licked the flesh where her neck joined her shoulder, and she moaned.

“Tell me,” he urged, and she did by seeking his mouth with hers.

Nick sat up, tore off his suit jacket and his tie. She heard the buttons on his shirt pop as he stripped it off. Then he came back down to her, cupped her breasts in his hands and took her mouth.

His skin was hot against hers. She made a little sound of need, nipped his bottom lip. “Yes,” she said, “yes, oh, yes…”

His knee was between her thighs. She lifted herself to it, against it; his thumbs rolled across her silk-covered nipples and she was caught up on a wave of heat, up and up and up. She cried out his name, shut her eyes, tossed her head from side to side.

“Look at you,” Nick whispered. “Just look at you.”

And as quickly as that, it was all over.

Amanda froze. Disgust, horror, anguish…a dozen different emotions raced through her, brought back by those simple, unforgotten words. They took her back seven years to that dormitory room, to the terrifying intruder named Nicholas al Rashid who’d branded her as immoral even as he’d looked at her and wanted her.

Bile rose in her throat. “Get off me,” she said.

The sheikh didn’t hear her. Couldn’t hear her. She looked up at him, hating what she saw, hating herself for being the cause. His silver eyes were blind with desire; the bones of his face were taut with it.

Nausea roiled in her belly. “Get—off!”

She struck out blindly, fists beating against his chest and shoulders. He blinked; his eyes opened slowly as if he were awakening from a dream.

“You—get—the—hell—off,” she said, panting, and struck him again.

He caught her flailing hands, pinioned them. “It’s too late to play that game.”

His voice was low and rough; the hands that held her were hard and cruel. She told herself not to panic. This was Dawn’s brother. He was arrogant, imperious and all-powerful…but he wasn’t crazy.

“Taking a woman against her will isn’t a game,” she said, and tried to keep the fear from her voice.

“Against her will?”

His eyes moved over her and she flushed at the slow, deliberate scrutiny. She knew how she must look. Her dress torn. The hem of her skirt at her thighs. Her lips bare of everything but the imprint of his.

A thin smile started at the corner of his mouth. “When a woman all but begs a man to take her, it’s hardly ‘against her will’.”

“I’d never beg a man for anything,” she said coldly. “And if you don’t let go and get off me, I’ll scream. There must be a hundred people downstairs by now. Every one of them will hear me.”

“You disappoint me.” The bastard didn’t just smile this time; he laughed. “You sneaked into my home—”

“I didn’t sneak into anything. Your sister invited me.”

“Did she tell you that once the party begins, no one will be permitted on this floor?”

Her heart thumped with fear. “They will, if they hear me screaming.”

“My men would not permit it.”

“The police don’t need your permission.”

“The police can’t do anything to help you. This is Quidaran soil.”

“It’s a penthouse on Fifth Avenue,” Amanda said, trying to free her hands, “not an embassy.”

“We have no embassy in your country. By the time our governments finish debating the point, it will be too late.”

“You’re not frightening me.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. She was terrified; Nick could see it in her eyes. Good. She’d deserved the lesson. She was immoral. She was a liar. A thief. She was for sale to any man who could afford her.

What did that make him, then, for still wanting her?

Nick let go of her hands, rolled off her and got to his feet. “Get out,” he said softly.

She sat up, moved to the edge of the bed, her eyes wary. She shot a glance at the door and he knew she was measuring her chances of reaching it. It made him feel rotten but, dammit, she wasn’t worth his pity. She wasn’t worth anything except, perhaps, the price his foolish sister had paid for her.

“Go on,” he said gruffly, and jerked his head toward the door. “Get out, before I change my mind.”

She rose from the bed. Smoothed down her skirt with hands that shook. Bent and picked up her purse, grabbed the camera and put it inside.

She stumbled backward as Nick came around the bed toward her.

“No,” she said sharply, but he ignored her, snatched the purse from her hands and opened the flap. “What are you doing?”

He looked up. He had to give her points for courage, he thought grudgingly. She’d lost one of her ridiculously high heels in their struggle. Her dress was a mess and her hair hung in her eyes.

Those unusual golden eyes.

He frowned, reached for a memory struggling to the surface of his mind….

“Give me my purse.”

She lunged for the small beaded bag. He whipped it out of her reach. She went after it, lifting up on her toes and batting at it with her hands.

“Dammit, give me that!”

Nick took out the camera and tossed the purse at her feet. “It’s all yours.”

“I want my camera.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Grinding the camera to dust under his heel would have been satisfying, but the carpet was soft and he knew he might end up looking like an ass if the damned thing didn’t break. Instead, he strolled into the bathroom.

“What are you…?”

Nick pressed a button on the camera, took out the tiny recording disk and dumped it into the toilet. He shut the lid, flushed, then dropped the camera on the marble floor. Now, he thought, now it would smash when he stepped on it.

It did.

Amanda Benning was scarlet with fury. “You—you bastard!”

“My parents would be upset to hear you call me that, Ms. Benning,” he said politely. He walked past her, pleased that the toilet hadn’t spit the disk back—it had been a definite possibility and it surely would have spoiled the drama of the moment.

A little more drama, and he’d send Amanda Benning packing.

He swung toward her and folded his arms over his chest. “Actually, addressing me in such a fashion could get you beheaded in my homeland.”

Amanda planted her hands on her hips. “It could get you sued in mine.”

He laughed. “You can’t sue me. I’m—”

“Believe me, I know who you are, Mr. Rashid.”

“Lord Rashid,” Nick said quickly, and scowled.

What was he saying? He didn’t care about his title. Everyone used it. It was the custom but occasionally someone forgot, and he never bothered correcting them. The only time he had was years ago. Dawn’s roommate…

The girl with the golden eyes. Strange that he should have remembered her after so long a time. Stranger still that he should have done so tonight.

“…and ninety-eight cents.”

He blinked, focused his eyes on Amanda Benning. She hadn’t moved an inch. She was still standing in front of him, chin lifted, eyes flashing. He felt a momentary pity that she was what she was. A woman as beautiful, as fiery as this, would be a true gift, especially in a man’s bed.

“Did you hear me, Lord Rashid?” Amanda folded her arms, tapped her foot. “You owe me $620.98. That includes the film.”

One dark, arched brow lifted. It made him look even more insolent. She was boring him, she thought, and fought back a tremor of rage.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The camera.” She marched past him, plucked her purse from the floor, dug inside it and pulled out a rumpled piece of paper. “The receipt. From Picture Perfect, on Madison Avenue.”

She held it out. Nick looked at it but didn’t touch it.

“An excellent place to buy electronic devices, or so I’ve been told.”

“I want my money.”

“What for?”

“I just told you. For the camera you destroyed.”

“Ah. That.”

“Yes. Yes, ‘Ah, that.’ You owe me six hundred and—”

Nick reached for the phone. “Abdul?” he said, never taking his eyes from her, “come to my rooms, please. Yes, now.” He put the telephone down, leaned back against the wall and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “Your escort is on the way, Miss Benning. Abdul will escort you down to the curb where the trash is usually left.”

Enough was enough. Amanda’s composure dissolved in a burst of temper. She gave a shriek and flew at him, but Nick caught her shoulders, held her at arm’s length.

“You rat,” she said, her breath hitching. “You—you skunk! You horrible, hideous savage—”

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me. You’re a skunk. A rat. A—”

“A savage.” He swung her around, pinned her to the wall. The memory, so long repressed, burst free. “Damn you,” he growled. “You’re Dawn’s roommate.”

“Her immoral, American roommate,” Amanda said, and showed her teeth. “How brilliant of you to have finally figured it out. But then, I never expected a baboon to have much of a brain.”

The door swung open. Dawn al Rashid stepped into the room. She stared at her shirtless brother, her red-faced best friend, and swallowed hard.

“Isn’t that nice?” she said carefully. “I see that you two have already met.”

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