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

Just keep telling yourself that, she thought, with more than a hint of desperation as she met his glittering stare.

‘You’re remembering the last time we saw each other,’ he observed, an odd kind of note in his voice.

Had her face given her away? Maybe he had read in it her vulnerability and her anguish. ‘How could I not?’ she questioned, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘I only have to look at you and it all comes flooding back.’

He stared at her and his black eyes were as hard as jet. Did she imagine that it was any different for him? He felt the hard leap of desire. ‘So it does,’ he agreed softly.

‘Maybe we should try a joint counselling session,’ she suggested, trying to keep it light. ‘You know— like people who want to stop smoking.’

How flippant she sounded, he thought—and how cynical. Were those traits that she had kept cleverly hidden from him? And why not? Had she not been a woman adept in the art of concealment? ‘But maybe I’m not ready to stop,’ he said deliberately.

Sienna felt an odd kind of lump in her throat, and something both seductive and yet infinitely threatening hovered unseen and unspoken in the air. Now her voice did tremble. ‘And wh—what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, at least for you it was a…how shall I put this?’ A cruel kind of smile lifted the corners of his lips. ‘A satisfying encounter.’

His implication was very plain and very insulting, but it wasn’t even true—or at least not in the way that mattered. Maybe in one sense it had been satisfying— on a purely physical level, yes—but on an emotional one it had been as barren as one of the deserts in his homeland. Fulfilment without tenderness was never satisfying for a woman, and it had left her empty— as if he’d ripped out an essential part of her and carried it off with him. ‘Is that how you would describe it?’ she questioned bleakly.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ he mocked.

‘Not really, no.’ She looked into the cold black eyes and knew that he would never understand in a million years—nor even want to try. Why would he? Sienna shook her head, hoping to drive away some of the sadness. ‘Anyway, what’s the point in discussing it? Things have moved on.’

His face remained impassive, but inside he felt the flicker of anger mixed into a potent cocktail with sexual hunger and anticipation. She had fooled him once, but never again! Did she really think for a moment that now that he had her in his sights he was about to let her go? Did she not realise what he wanted? That he had come here to achieve just this?

But, like the expert hunter he was, he knew that there were many ways to play with your quarry. Had she too regretted the abrupt end to that meeting? Perhaps for her as well as for him there had been bitter regrets that their lovemaking had not been complete?

‘Yes, things have moved on,’ he agreed. ‘But they seem to have brought us back to the same place. I am here and you are here—so just what do you think we ought to do about it?’

He took a step closer to her. He was close enough now for her to study him properly, so that she could see how much he had changed—though none of the fundamentals had. He was still the most breathtakingly masculine man she had ever laid eyes on. As if he had stepped from another age and another time. His own particular scent drifted up her nostrils—a vital, spicy scent that spoke of raw virility and reached out to the most feminine side of her.

Briefly, Sienna closed her eyes in helpless recognition, and when she opened them again it was to see the warm ebony fire in his. She could feel herself drawn to him. Like a child who had been left outside in the cold for too long. He promised the certainty of warmth. Of comfort. And security.

She wasn’t aware that he had moved again, but he must have done—please God it hadn’t been her— because suddenly she was in his arms, her senses not giving her time to question her sanity as he bent his head to graze his lips across hers.

It was electric. Like fire. Ice. All extremes which could shock the system to its very core—that was Hashim’s kiss. It awakened in her something which had lain dormant, sleeping since the last time she had been in his arms. Back then she had—in her naivety —imagined that all kisses would press the button to instant sensual combustion, but in the interim she had discovered how way off the mark she had been.

His expert lips were both hard and soft, seeking yet commanding—and they tasted sweeter than the richest honey. Her own opened beneath them, to taste the warmth, to feel the seductive slide of his tongue into the moist interior of her mouth, and she gasped, buckled, so that his arms caught her against him, imprisoning her in an iron-hard grip which made her melt against him.

A great wave of longing swept through her. Physical—oh, yes—but something else besides. Something which was infinitely more powerful and far more dangerous. As if Hashim alone could fill some emotional space which seemed ever-constant inside her.

For countless seconds she felt the rush of blood and the clamour of response—the warm, primitive throb of blood as it centred and pooled at a place which made her ache. She felt one of his hands reach down to cup her buttock, and silently she begged him to move his fingers round, to delve into that secret place once more.

He seemed to read her thoughts—for he laughed as he moved his hand, teasingly drifting his fingers across her aching mound. She moaned in sweet response. He murmured something in a tongue which was foreign to her, but the mocking and triumphant tone of his words spilled over her heated senses like icy water and Sienna froze in disbelief.

What the hell was she doing?

With a wrenching effort she tore herself away, staring at him wide-eyed. Her breathing was ragged and her pulse was racing like a piston as she struggled to calm herself, smoothing down her dress frantically. Her face was on fire, and so, too—surely—was her heart. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

His smile was arrogant, though his eyes were cold. ‘Exactly what you wanted me to do.’

‘No!’

‘Yes. You are hungry for me,’ he taunted. ‘I could do it to you right now and you would not stop me.’

Too angry and uncaring to think of the consequences, Sienna raised her hand as if to strike him, but he reacted instantly—quicker and more deadly than a cobra as he caught her wrist in his hand.

‘You dare to strike the Sheikh?’ he thundered.

‘You dare to foist yourself on me?’

‘Foist?’ Giving a cruel laugh, he dropped her hand. He had demonstrated his superior speed and dexterity —she would not be fool enough to try that again. ‘I can think of many different words to describe a woman grinding her hips against a man in silent plea to have him enter her—but foist is not one which springs to mind.’

She felt the flush of mortification. ‘You… you…’

‘Oh, spare me your empty insults, Sienna. They count for absolutely nothing when we both know that what I say is true. You want me,’ he stated flatly.

‘Don’t flatter yourself!’

‘Ah! Denial is such a powerful force, is it not?’ he mused. ‘Especially in women.’

As well as weaving subtle mazes with his clever words, was he telling the truth? Did she want him still? Maybe physically, yes. But emotionally—never! ‘Just because you know which buttons to press, and all the ways to seduce a woman—’

‘Now you are flattering me,’ he interposed cruelly.

‘It doesn’t mean she necessarily wants you,’ she stormed. ‘It just means that her body is reacting as it has been conditioned to do by nature—there’s a world of difference.’

‘And do you turn on so easily for all men?’

‘You’re disgusting!’

‘You have grown fiery,’ he observed, noticing that she had chosen not to answer the question—though his arrogant pride would not allow him to believe that she would melt for another man in quite the way she did for him. ‘Very fiery. Yes. I like that in a woman.’

‘But I’m not looking for your approval. I have grown up, Hashim—I’m no longer the docile young girl who thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread!’

It was both the right thing and the wrong thing to say, for while it burst the strangely seductive bubble of thwarted desire, it reminded him of her lying and cheating and duplicity.

‘Yes, so docile,’ he hissed like a rattlesnake. ‘So young and so innocent! Like hell you were.’

She stared at the stark condemnation which was sparking from his eyes. He had judged her, and found her wanting. And, damn him, he was right—she was still wanting. Wanting him. ‘Oh, Hashim, I was innocent in so many ways,’ she said, her voice sad now. ‘Why don’t we forget the whole thing? Let me just walk out of this door right now and out of your life for ever.’

Was she mad? Did she not recognise his intent, nor realise that when he desired something it was always his for the taking? His mouth hardened. No, of course she hadn’t recognised it—how could she when she had never seen it before? Her experience with him had been bizarre—and unique. Five years ago he had found himself bewitched by her and he had tempered his usual autocratic wishes—except that it had seemed to happen without any conscious effort on his part.

Now let her see the real Hashim! Who treated women as they liked to be treated! If you were cold and disdainful it seemed to make them want you more—never was a woman more giving in the bedroom than to a man who had treated her with contempt.

‘I think you forget yourself,’ he said icily. ‘I have hired your services and therefore you will behave as such. You will show me respect and listen to my wishes.’

‘Respect?’ she echoed. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘Yes, respect,’ he ground out. ‘That is if you know the meaning of the word.’

Sienna blinked as a tremor of fear ran through her. Surely he didn’t think… didn’t think… She drew in a deep breath. Appeal to his sense of reason, she told herself. He is a powerful and successful man, and surely he will understand that it would be folly to extend this torturous interview for a second longer than necessary.

‘Hashim,’ she said quietly. ‘You can’t honestly expect me to organise a party for you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because… because there’s too much history between us!’

‘Now you flatter yourself,’ he bit back. ‘A few shared outings does not qualify as history. Nor does the fact that you opened your legs for me.’ He saw her face drain of all colour, but he pressed on ruthlessly. ‘But it is your reputation that has excited my interest.’ He paused deliberately. ‘Your reputation is admirable, Sienna—at least in a purely professional sense. Your work is highly regarded and I want you to organise a party for me.’

‘Want or demand?’ she questioned.

‘The interpretation is yours.’

‘And if I refuse?’ she questioned quietly.

‘Don’t go there,’ he warned softly.

‘I have nothing to lose by turning you down.’ And everything to gain. Like her sanity.

‘You don’t think so? On what grounds? And could you cope with the consequences of your action?’

Sienna wrinkled her nose. ‘Consequences?’

‘Sure. I would inform the manager here of my extreme displeasure that you had reneged on an agreement. How would you explain it to him? Do tell, for it fascinates me.’ The black eyes challenged her.

Appeal to him. Ask him nicely. And even though the words threatened to choke her, she got them out. ‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that, Hashim.’

But he carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Would you explain that I’d once felt you climax beneath my fingers? I’m sure he’d be very interested to hear that—it might even turn him on—but do you think it qualifies you to refuse my request?’

‘Don’t be so disgusting!’

‘That’s twice you’ve used that word,’ he mused. ‘You think sexuality is disgusting? How you surprise me—since your own must have earned you a great deal.’ Had she blown all the money? he wondered. And why in hell hadn’t she capitalised more? Used that amazing body to make herself a small fortune? Become rich by exploiting her fabulous breasts, instead of fixing up other people’s parties?

Sienna tried one last time. ‘You are right—my reputation is good and well-established. So much so that I can afford to turn you down!’

‘People will hear—for I will make sure of it. And they will wonder and ask you why. What will you say to them? Will you lie, Sienna? Stupid question— of course you will!’

She shook her head. ‘I could say that we dated a couple of years ago—I could… pretend.’ She stumbled on her ironic use of the word. ‘Pretend that I would find it too painful to work for you.’

‘And you will look foolish.’

‘I can live with that.’

‘You may not have the luxury of making that decision.’ A look of determination hardened his eyes to jet. ‘Either you work for me or your career is over. That much you can believe.’

There was a pause. ‘This is London—in the twenty- first century,’ she told him, her voice rising in disbelief. ‘Not some desert kingdom where your word is law! You may be a rich and powerful man, but in the end you’re just a client. Same as any other,’ she finished defiantly.

Her spirit and resistance was making his hunger grow—did she not realise that either? ‘You can stand there and attempt to argue with me all day, but it will make no difference in the end. For I mean what I say, Sienna—if you do not accept this commission, then I will ruin you.’

‘Ruin me?’ Her laugh was high, and slightly hysterical. ‘Even if you could—’ Something was beginning to tell her that his threat was not an idle one. ‘Even if you could—why would you?’

‘Because you are like a dark stain in my memory,’ he breathed. ‘An encounter I should never have had, but which I cannot close the book on until it has been brought to its rightful conclusion.’

The meaning of his words was beginning to sink in, but Sienna didn’t quite believe it—didn’t dare believe it. She could hear the deafening pound of her heartbeat. ‘And what conclusion is that?’

There was a pause, and he captured her eyes in mocking taunt. ‘You only have to say the word, Sienna, and we can have an action replay. We can put an end to the business we started five years ago.’ Deliberately he stroked his palm down the muscular flank of his thigh and his eyes became narrowed, opaque. ‘Like right now, if you like.’

His heartless words tore into her and Sienna recoiled from the blatant sexuality which shimmered from him like a halo. ‘Are you suggesting …suggesting that I go to bed with you?’

‘I’m not particularly fussy about the venue,’ he drawled, and nodded his dark head in the direction of a sumptuous scarlet velvet chaise-longue. ‘That might provide a stimulating setting, don’t you think? Ever done it on one of those?’

The question made her feel cheap, but presumably that had been his intention. ‘You have to be out of your mind,’ she breathed.

‘My mind has nothing to do with it,’ he said silkily. ‘So what do you say, Sienna—are going to risk all you’ve worked for going up in smoke, or are you going to do the sensible thing and accept the commission?’

Sensible? She suspected that jumping off a high cliff would have been more sensible, but Sienna cared desperately about the career she had worked so hard for. Her job relied almost entirely on word-of-mouth recommendations, and even if she fudged the real reasons for her reluctance to work for Hashim it would reflect badly on her. Very badly. People might start to think she had issues…that she was difficult to work with…

Did she have a choice?

No.

But if she was to be forced into a corner by his autocratic will, then it was vital that she stopped behaving like a victim. Was she going to let him think that she was scared of him? Cowed by him? Unable to resist his sensual lure?

Never!

She nodded, drawing in a deep breath to give her courage. ‘Very well. Since you give me little choice I will accept your commission. Satisfied?’

Hashim felt the stirring of excitement and anticipation. So he had won the first battle. A battle he had not been expecting—but when he stopped to think about it would instant capitulation have pleased him? No. Nothing in life felt so good as something which you had to fight for. ‘Oh, no, Sienna—not at all satisfied. But I intend to be. Believe me when I tell you that.’

She could hear the sultry note of desire which had deepened his voice and decided to ignore it. Act professionally, she reminded herself.

‘Right,’ she said coolly. ‘Let’s talk business—’

‘Alas!’

He cut her short with an imperious wave of his hand, though he didn’t look or sound in the least bit regretful.

‘It cannot be now,’ he murmured. ‘For I have another appointment.’

Sienna stared at him, knowing that he could have broken any darned appointment he wanted but was choosing not to.

‘So I will meet with you tomorrow to discuss the details of my…requirements. Over dinner, of course,’ he finished silkily.

She opened her mouth to say that she didn’t do dinner with clients—except that would not have been true. Of course she did. She could not refuse him— he knew it and she knew it. Never in her life had she felt so helpless—like a fish with a great big hook in its mouth, just about to be reeled in by a heartless man who would like to gobble her up for breakfast.

‘Very well. Dinner tomorrow it is. But you can wipe that triumphant smile off your face right now, Hashim—because the party is all you are getting and I mean that. There’s no way I’m going to sleep with you!’

He said nothing, but gave a mocking smile, lifting a thick brown envelope from the ornate table beside the door and handing it to her. ‘You may want to look at this,’ he said.

Something in his eyes told her that this was nothing to do with the party, and her heart began to pound. She realised the contents at the exact moment she asked the question. ‘What is it?’

‘Oh, just an old calendar,’ he drawled. ‘You may recognise it.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SIENNA took the envelope downstairs to an empty office, then pulled out the calendar and stared at it dully. She hadn’t seen it for a long, long time, and she was scarcely able to recognise herself in the sexy and provocative poses. She guessed that by today’s standards it was pretty tame—but even so, nothing could disguise the earthy sensuality of the pictures.

They had flown her out to the Caribbean and dressed her in a variety of clothes—well, that wasn’t strictly true, for the garments had all been designed to reveal rather than conceal, and they had all left her breasts on show. But that had been the whole point.

A filmy kaftan soaked with water. The bottom half of a low-slung bikini. A glittery thong. Sienna closed her eyes, but was unable to block out the vivid, Technicolor images.

She remembered her initial feeling of panic when they had told her what they wanted her to do. It had taken two rum punches before she had been able to lie face down in the sand and smoulder at the camera for the first of the shots.

And Sienna would never forget the moment she’d seen a Polaroid of her pouting glossy self, with sand- sprinkled skin and messy hair, and dark, peeking nipples. How she had given a little gasp of disbelief and been slightly repulsed by the glinting approval in the eyes of the art director.

Even now she could squirm at how naïve she had been. And even now the photos still had the power to shock her. With trembling fingers she shoved the calendar into her briefcase and let herself out of the hotel, taking in great gulps of hot and sticky summer air.

She spent a restless night, and the following day there was a constant dull ache at her temples. When she walked through the hotel foyer dressed for dinner she felt as if she was going to her own execution.

‘Cheer up!’ said the night porter. ‘It might never happen! Going somewhere special, are you?’

Serena gave a wan smile. ‘I’m having dinner with one of the guests in the Rainbow Room.’

‘Lucky you!’

Sienna gave a hollow laugh. ‘Yes, lucky me!’ she echoed wryly. ‘Still, at least it’s beautifully air- conditioned up there. The temperature outside is claustrophobic.’

‘Tell me about it!’ said the porter.

Overnight a heatwave seemed to have descended on the capital, with all the force and stifling nature of a heavy fire blanket dropped down to envelop the city. The streets outside the cool hotel had been curiously airless, and Sienna’s throat felt as tight as if she were still out in them.

As she rode up in the lift she stared at herself in the tinted mirror. The cool linen dress she wore still looked fresh, and the apricot hue of the glass gave her face a healthy-looking glow which completely belied the way she was feeling inside. But she was not going to let that overwhelm her. And she was not going to let him intimidate her.

The nude photos were part of her past. She couldn’t change that, and neither could she rewrite her brief and confusing relationship with Hashim. But she had learned along the way, and that was the whole point of experience—good or bad.

Those had been pivotal events in her life which had made her into the cool and confident professional she was today. The change hadn’t been easy, or instant, and she was not going to throw it all away because Hashim wanted to exact some kind of erotic payback for what had happened all those years ago. Or rather, what had not happened.

He despised her—he had made that perfectly clear—even though his body still wanted her. And on some level she still wanted him, too. But she would not allow herself to be picked up and used like some kind of convenience—to be tossed away at the earliest opportunity. And she would not repeat the mistakes of yesterday.

If he said things to rile or provoke her she would not rise to them. They could not have a scene if she didn’t react to him. If he attempted to taunt her then she would just give him a cool and glacial smile. She would remain brisk, crisp and polite—in short, she would be utterly professional, and he would be unable to find fault with her.

Surprisingly, he was already at the table. She was a little early, and had expected him to be late, but, no, there he was. Waiting. Making the rest of the room shrink into insignificance. At a shadowed corner table sat two of the ever-present bodyguards.

Sienna walked towards him, looking for some kind of acknowledgement—a nod of his dark head in greeting—but there was nothing. Just those black eyes trained on her like twin barrels of a hunter’s gun.

His hard, lean body was completely still, but his stance was tense, the powerful limbs coiled like a lion before pouncing. He seemed completely oblivious to the covert glances of the other diners in the room. To the almost tangible air of excitement among the normally celebrity-jaded waiters.

Hashim watched her approach, helpless and yet furious with himself for being unable to suppress the instant leap of lust he felt, for he had trained himself to control his desires. To be master of his wants and needs—not servant to them. A man who could control his sexual hunger was all-powerful, for sex made men weak. And his control had never failed him. How else could he have so ruthlessly given Sienna pleasure and then denied himself the relief of his own body? And bitterly regretted it ever since!

Yet on one level she remained a mystery to him. He had known women more beautiful than her—so what was the secret of her particular allure? The seductive sway of her hips? The too-big eyes which looked like those of a startled deer? Or just the fact that he had never had her when other men had? That he had paid homage to her virginity only to have its falseness revealed to him in the most humiliating way of all.

He let his eyes rove over the breasts themselves— so proud and magnificent and full. Yet she was hiding her most marketable asset beneath that rather unremarkable linen dress. His lips curled. How he hated linen—surely the most unflattering material a woman could wear, with its coarse feel and its tendency to crumple. And surely it was a little late in the day for such unwelcome modesty?