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

‘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.’