Love-Slave to the Sheikh

by Miranda Lee

  He’d be good in bed. No, Samantha amended ruefully in her mind. He’d bevery good.

  Not that you’ll ever find out, girl.

  But she supposed she couldthink about it. And think about him.

  Her eyes drifted sidewards and up to where Bandar was sitting, at the head of table, chatting away with Gerald, who was doing most of the talking—asking the Sheikh about his racehorses in England. It seemed Bandar owned an obscene number of champions, which showed just how rich he was. He had started eating his lamb, his eyes dropping to his plate, though his head remained tipped slightly in Gerald’s direction.

  Her surreptitious gaze fastened on his mouth, her own mouth drying as she watched his lips open and close over the food. He was a slow, sensual eater, licking his lips occasionally, his facial expression when he swallowed one of immense satisfaction.

  Samantha could have watched him eat all night.

  ‘Did you buy Smoking Gun as a yearling?’ Ray suddenly piped up.

  When Bandar glanced up and caught her staring at him Samantha could have died on the spot. His eyes narrowed on her for a split second before he put down his knife and fork and looked over at Ray, leaving her feeling humiliated once more.

  ‘No, I bred him. I breed most of my horses. That gives me a lot of satisfaction.’

  ‘You must’ve started breeding pretty young,’ Gerald remarked. ‘Smoking Gun is six, and you can’t be more than thirty.’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, but I will turn thirty-five this year.’

  Samantha wasn’t surprised that he was older than he looked. His facewas unlined, unlike the other weatherbeaten men at the table, but there was a wealth of experience in his eyes.

  ‘I inherited my father’s stud farm when I was only sixteen. So, yes, I started young.’

  Samantha imagined he would have startedeverything young.

  ‘Has he always been such a handful?’ Ray asked. ‘Smoking Gun I’m talking about.’

  ‘Not at all. He was extremely tractable during his racing career. But his new life at stud has excited him somewhat. Still, we men can surely understand that. There is nothing more stimulating than that time in a young male’s life when he first discovers the pleasures of the flesh. And Smoking Gun has suddenly gone from servicing several mares a day to total celibacy. A frustrating situation for any virile male animal,’ he said, his dark eyes sliding back down the table to Samantha.

  His gaze was not in any way provocative, yet she found her breath catching in her throat and her mind conjuring up hidden messages both in his words and his eyes. She started imagining he was talking about himself, not his horse. That he was telling her his sex life had suddenly gone from a feast to a famine and he wasn’t any happier about it than his stallion.

  ‘Come springtime he will be as good as gold,’ he went on, releasing her gaze as he flashed a warm smile around the table. ‘From what Ali has told me, he has a veritable harem of the finest broodmares awaiting him here.’

  ‘He sure has,’ Trevor confirmed. ‘His book is chock-a-block.’

  ‘Lucky horse,’ Bandar murmured, those dark eyes slanting briefly Samantha’s way before dropping back to his food.

  Samantha reached for her glass of wine and took a big gulp, telling herself she was suffering from a seriously over-active imagination. There were no hidden messages in his eyes. He wasn’t interested in her. Hecouldn’t be. She was a fool.

  And from that moment nothing the Sheikh said or did could have been even remotely misinterpreted as a come-on. In fact he ignored her, with any conversation directed entirely at the men.

  Not that he made much conversation from that point on. To be honest, by the time dessert arrived he’d begun to look tired. His dark eyes had developed even darker hollows around them. A few times he rubbed at his temple, frowning in that way people did when they weren’t feeling all that well, or when something was on their mind.

  After he’d eaten less than half of Cleo’s large serving of quince pie, he abruptly put his fork down and stood up.

  ‘I must apologise,’ he said, his voice as strained as his face. ‘It seems that jet lag has suddenly caught up with me and I must retire. I’ll speak to Cleo on my way out. Reassure her it was not her cooking. I bid you good night. I will see you all in the morning.Insh’ allah ,’ he added, with a somewhat wry twist to his mouth.

  And he was gone.

  ‘Well!’ Gerald exclaimed. ‘That was a bit rude. It wouldn’t have hurt him to last till coffee.’

  ‘He didn’t look well,’ Samantha said defensively, annoyed with Gerald for being so unsympathetic. Couldn’t he see the man was all done in? Jet lag was known to strike quickly. Not that she’d ever experienced any. She hadn’t been out of Australia. Another matter she would address in the near future. They said travel broadened the mind. Hers could certainly do with some broadening. She’d actually got herself a passport last year, after she’d left her job with Paul, but wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do.

  ‘What was that Arab thing he said?’ Trevor asked. ‘Inshasomethin’ or other?’

  ‘Got no idea,’ Gerald replied. ‘Never heard Ali say it.’

  ‘Ask him,’ Trevor said to Gerald.

  ‘Youask him,’ Gerald shot back.

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake—what does it matter?’ Samantha said irritably. ‘He’ll be gone by the end of June. He’s only staying three weeks.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Ray muttered. ‘He’s not a patch on Ali.’

  Samantha almost opened her mouth to defend him again, but shut it just in time. She didn’t want them thinking she fancied him.

  Bad enough that she did.

  Wednesday popped back into her mind as she drove back to the cottage a short time later. Did she still not want to go with him?

  The answer came to her as she lay in her lonely bed that night and wound the most impossible fantasies about the man.

  Despite fearing she might make a fool of herself if she was alone with him, Samanthadid want to go—if only to keep feeling the things he could make her feel. And think the things he could make her think. Exciting things. Sexual things…

  In her head, they were riding together—Bandar on a big grey stallion, she on a lovely chestnut mare with a white blaze on her chest. They stopped on a riverbank where he lifted her off her horse, holding her close whilst his eyes travelled all over her flushed face. He kissed her hungrily. Not once, but several times. She was breathless by the time his head lifted from her mouth. He reached for the buttons on her shirt and undid them, one at a time. She was naked underneath. He spoke no words as he stripped her to the waist. He just stared at her. Her nipples tightened under his gaze. She wanted him to touch her breasts but he didn’t. He laid her down on the soft grass and removed the rest of her clothes. The day was sunny, but not warm. Yet she wasn’t cold. Her shivers were those of desire. She called out his name and he told her not to speak. She stared up at him as he took his own clothes off. His body was beautiful. He lay down next to her on the grass and began to stroke her. She couldn’t bear it. She wanted him inside her. She told him, and he smiled. He kept touching her…teasing her. She sobbed her frustration. She told him that she loved him…

  ‘What a load of bunkum!’ Samantha muttered as she sat up abruptly and gave her pillow a frustrated punch.

  Okay, so Bandar was attractive and sexy and sophisticated and rich, and just about everything a fantasy lover should be.

  But the feelings he evoked in her had nothing to do with love. Samantha might be personally inexperienced, but she was an intelligent girl, living in the twenty-first century. Just because she hadn’t felt this level of sexual attraction before, it didn’t mean she couldn’t recognise it when it hit.

  Lust was what was making her head spin and her heart race when she was around the Sheikh. Not love.

  Samantha lay back down, satisfied that she’d got that straight.

  But knowing what was ailing her didn’t make it any easier to bear. Letti
ng her head fill with silly fantasies wasn’t helping, either. It just left her feeling restless and wretched.

  The sooner that infernal man went back to London, the better. And the soonershe went back to Sydney, the better. She needed to get on with her life. Real life. Not this foolish fantasy she’d been indulging in tonight.

  Till that happened, some pragmatism was called for. Plus some common sense and composure. There was no need to get all in a knot if she had to go with Bandar on Wednesday. All she had to do was do her job and keep her silly infatuated self in check.

  Surely she could do that?

  Meanwhile, tonight there would no more weaving of imaginary sexual scenarios involving herself and the Sheikh.

  Samantha snapped on her bedside lamp and picked up the novel she usually read at bedtime. It was an involving and complicated thriller, full of assassins and government agents and impossible plot surprises. Best of all, there was not even a hint of romance in it.

  Perfect.

  She sat up, propped a couple of pillows behind her, and started to read.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JUNEin eastern Australia was the first month of winter. At this time of year in the upper Hunter Valley the temperature at night often fell below zero, with a frost by the morning. But then the sun would come out and the temperature would rise, often to a very pleasant twenty degrees.

  Wednesday promised to be just such a day.

  Samantha woke early, when the frost was still on the ground and the sun not yet risen, and the immediate curling of her stomach reminded her that, yes, it was Wednesday. And, yes, she was going to spend the day with Bandar at the dispersal sale.

  His absence around the stud the day before had provided her with some respite from his disturbing presence. But the moment he’d called her late yesterday afternoon, informing her that hewould be going to the dispersal sale and she was to pick him up at the house at nine the next morning, all her pragmatic resolve had vanished and her world had tipped off its axis again.

  She’d found it difficult to get to sleep. She’d read her bedside book into the small hours of the morning and actually finished the darned thing before sheer exhaustion had done the trick. But here she was, awake again, and it was only five-thirty. Three and a half hours to go before she was due to pick Bandar up.

  Samantha had a feeling they were going to be the longest three and a half hours of her life.

  She was right. Not only were they the longest, but the most trying. Common sense demanded that she not make any drastic changes to her appearance. But what was common sense in the face of female vanity?

  In the end, she simplyhad to make some changes. But not to her clothes. She just teamed her oldest and most comfortable blue jeans with a long-sleeved blue and red checked shirt which didn’t show the dirt.

  Her face, however, she gave considerable thought to. She wanted to look as natural as possible. But she still wanted to look as good as she could.

  Instead of foundation—which might be obvious in the daylight—she smoothed on a tinted sunscreen-moisturiser, which the cosmetic salesgirl had claimed would soften and even out her skin tones, and stop her getting freckles at the same time.

  Samantha was happy with the result.

  Next came her eyes. She decided against eyeshadow for the same reason she’d discarded the idea of foundation. Too obvious in daylight. Mascara, however, would not be. So she applied a couple of coats till her normally fine eyelashes were thick and dark, bringing out the blue in her eyes.

  Lipstick caused her a dilemma. She’d bought really bright ones for her getaway—deep pink, red and burgundy. What she needed was something closer to the colour of her lips. In the end, she rubbed a little Vaseline over them. Less was more. Or so they said.

  She waffled for a while over perfume. Should she or shouldn’t she spray on some of the designer-brand scent she’d also bought for her getaway?

  ‘Maybe just a little,’ Samantha told herself as she picked up the bottle and aimed some behind her ears.

  Last came the decision about her hair. She’d already blowdried it straight, the cleverly cut layers making it surprisingly easy to style, and Samantha had to admit that it looked great down and around her face. More than great—it looked sexy.

  That last thought did it. Up her hair went into a ponytail. It was one thing to look good today, quite another to try and be sexy. That was the way to further foolishness and humiliation.

  The old wall clock in the kitchen finally pronounced it was time to leave. With butterflies already gathering in her stomach, Samantha picked up her trusty blue denim jacket—in case the weather turned nasty—and headed for the door. At five to nine she was pulling into the guest parking area beside the house on the hill.

  Cleo didn’t answer the front door, as Samantha expected. Instead Bandar stood there, carrying a picnic basket.

  He didn’t look tired any more. He looked refreshed and absolutely fabulous, in black jeans and a white polo-necked top. No rings graced his fingers, she noted, but he was wearing a stunning silver watch. His black wavy hair was faintly damp, giving rise to an image which Samantha tried to immediately banish, but couldn’t. Thinking of him naked, in the shower, was not conducive to calming the butterflies still crowding her stomach.

  ‘Cleo said there will not be any food provided at the sale,’ he explained, when Samantha stared down at the picnic basket. ‘She packed us some lunch. She said our destination is a picturesque property, with lots of nice spots for a picnic.’

  A feeling of panic joined Samantha’s nerves. But she kept her expression poker-faced. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘I am all yours,’ he returned.

  All hers. Now, wasn’t that a laugh? He hadn’t even looked at her properly. Just a cursory glance. All that fuss and bother for nothing!

  Samantha whirled and strode back down the steps, marching across the gravel to the four-by-four, her temper barely in check. Not that she was angry with him. Mostly it was with herself.

  ‘Better put that basket in the back,’ she advised sharply as she climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. ‘Looks like Cleo has packed enough for an army.’

  He did so, just making it into the passenger seat before she began reversing.

  ‘Are we in a hurry?’ he remarked drily as he clicked in his seat belt. ‘The auction does not start till one this afternoon.’

  ‘Trevor gave me a catalogue. He’s marked the mares he thinks are worth buying. There’s ten. A full inspection of ten mares will take me all morning.’

  ‘Iwill decide which mares you will inspect,’ Bandar said, with a return to that haughty manner he’d adopted at their first meeting. ‘And which ones I will bid on.’

  Samantha gritted her teeth. But inside she was grateful. When he acted like that she didn’t find him at all attractive. All she wanted to do was smack him one, right in his super-white teeth.

  Keep it up, buster.

  ‘How far to this stud farm?’ he asked when they reached the highway and Samantha steered her wheel to the left, heading towards Scone.

  ‘About thirty minutes.’

  ‘Have you been there before?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘But you do know the way?’

  ‘Ray gave me directions.’

  ‘Some women are not good with directions.’

  ‘As opposed to most men?’ she shot back, slanting him a savage glance.

  The shock on his face swiftly gave way to a rueful laugh.

  ‘Like I said the first time we met, you are a very impertinent woman. But I like you all the same,’ he added.

  ‘Am I supposed to be grateful for that?’

  She could feel his eyes on her, but kept her own eyes fixed on the road ahead this time.

  ‘I did not realise you disliked me so much.’

  Samantha winced. Did she really want to go down this path again? She had resolved to get past this kind of stroppy and self-destructive behaviour. Okay, so
Bandar was a fair way up himself. But she supposed most men would be if they’d been born a sheikh with pots of money and people grovelling to them all the time.

  ‘I don’t dislike you,’ she said. ‘I just…resent your attitude.’