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

‘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?

Yet the very familiarity of seeing her again was taking him into the unknown realms of fantasy. The past was a place he did not revisit. At least never before now. His restless and nomadic nature saw no point to it. For him there was not the comfort—nor the danger—of long-standing friendships. His destiny was to stand alone.

Then why are you breaking your own rules? taunted a small voice in his head.

He did not rise to greet her when she got to the table, and, interestingly, this small lack of courtesy wounded her. Could he not just have pretended— gone through the motions of normality?

‘Hello, Hashim,’ she said, as calmly as possible.

‘Sienna.’ Not a flicker of emotion crossed over the diamond-hard features. ‘Please sit down.’

‘Thank you.’ She glanced up at the waiter, who pulled her chair out, and then there was nowhere else to look other than into the enigmatic black eyes. Their dark light swept over her, and she felt a moment of sheer physical weakness until she remembered her vow of earlier. Professionalism. ‘So.’ She flicked him a quick smile. ‘Where shall we begin?’

‘So quick to do business?’ he murmured.

‘One should always strive for professionalism,’ she answered coolly.

‘Ironically, that is what Abdul-Aziz always says.’

Sienna remembered the aide who had seemed to so dislike her. ‘And is he here with you now?’

Hashim shook his head. Hot-headedly, he had blamed his aide for showing him the calendar, even though he had only been doing his job. But for a while the Sheikh had seen him as a bearer of bad tidings—and he was as superstitious as the next Qudamah man. So he had sent him home, and in a way the split had been necessary—for the older man had begun to see himself in a role which was not befitting a royal aide. He had begun to love the fatherless Hashim as a son. And Hashim had no need of extra love.

‘Abdul-Aziz was posted back to Qudamah,’ he said. ‘He is married now, with a son of his own.’

‘Married?’

‘Yes.’ And then, because this exchange seemed almost too cosy, too familiar, he allowed his eyes to drift over her face. ‘Aren’t you going to thank me for the calendar?’ he questioned deliberately.

She had wondered when he would get around to mentioning it, and she had practised her response until she had it word-perfect. ‘No, I’m not. And if you continue to talk about it then I will walk out of here right now.’