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

‘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.