Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘What if…?’ Sienna hesitated, feeling as if she was fighting for more than just her self-respect. She couldn’t bear it when he looked at her that way—with such cold condemnation written in his eyes. ‘What if you could understand my reasons for having done the photos?’

  ‘Greed is never difficult to understand!’

  ‘You have to understand that it wasn’t like that—it really wasn’t! I needed the money urgently.’ She sucked in a breath and it felt like hot fire scorching down her throat. Would he believe her? ‘To pay for an operation for my mother.’

  There was a pause, and then he said, ‘Bravo!’ He gave a small silent handclap and then looked around, an expression of mock amazement on his face. ‘But what has happened to the violins?’ he taunted sarcastically. ‘I can’t hear them. Are there hordes of orphans at the door, too—waiting for you to put food in their mouths?’

  ‘It’s true, I tell you—it’s true!’ She wanted to stand up and rush round and drum her fists against his chest. To shout and to rail against him despite all that she’d vowed. But she couldn’t—was that another reason why he had chosen the restaurant? To protect himself from an emotional scene? To enable him to insult her as much as he liked, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to fight back?

  ‘Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you—but I’m not lying to you. Why don’t you have one of your henchmen run a check on me?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of operation? Cosmetic surgery, perhaps? Was she once as beautiful as you, Sienna, and could not accept that time was bleeding her of her beauty?’

  Oh, how he must despise her! Don’t rise to it. Fight your corner with pride and with dignity. Sienna bit her lip as she remembered her mother’s pain and—nearly as bad—her worry. ‘It certainly wasn’t vanity, but neither was it a matter of life or death. Though maybe in a way it was. She needed a hip replacement—she runs a riding school, you see. Without the operation she faced disablement and the closure of her beloved business.’

  Sienna looked down and realised that her hands were shaking, but that was nothing compared to the unsteady racing of her heart. She looked again, and this time there was appeal in her green eyes. Just

  believe me! they said. And never had a sense of injustice burned so strong.

  ‘She was at her wits’ end, Hashim, and so was I. So I took the easy way out—I admit that. I had once been told that I could make a lot of money—that I wasn’t tall enough for the catwalk but that my face and figure could make my fortune. I wasn’t at all interested at the time, but I remembered it when I needed to. And I did it. A one-off which I never repeated nor ever would.’ She stared at him, braving that dark-eyed look of censure. ‘And that’s the truth. I swear it.’

  There was silence for a moment while he brooded on what she had told him. An interesting development—if it was true. And if it was then perhaps it made her actions slightly less contemptible. But did it actually change anything? Make him forgive her for what she had done?

  Never!

  In the world Hashim inhabited women were modest and demure, and it was unimaginable to think of them posing naked for money and men’s pleasure. He closed his mind as he pictured the calendar as clearly as if someone had just put it down on the table in front of him. Because they weren’t just nude shots—no matter how ‘artistic’ the photographer had tried to make them. She looked…she looked…He felt an involuntary shudder run through his big body and the pooling of lust in his groin.

  She looked as if she was begging the viewer to drive himself between her silken thighs!

  And no matter what had motivated her it didn’t change the fact that she had posed for the erotic shots. But neither did it change the fact that he wanted her—and he would not rest until he had lost himself in that exquisite body. And only when he had done that, could he cast her aside and forget her.

  He was calm again when he spoke. ‘And your mother—she approved of your actions? Condoned them, perhaps?’

  ‘Of course she didn’t! She didn’t know. Not until afterwards.’ Sienna shrugged and stared down at the fish congealing on her plate. She wanted to say that she had regretted it bitterly ever since—but that wouldn’t be true. She had been glad to help her mother—the only bitterness she had felt was against Hashim, and the way he had made her feel about herself. But even that could not seem to rid her of her longing for him.

  Stupid, hopeless longing. How was it possible for this man to deride her, to criticise and pour scorn on her, and yet she was still drawn to that dark, lean body, wanted to see those black eyes soften with passion once more? ‘So that’s it. Subject closed.’ She lifted her eyes and met his stare with a steady gaze. ‘So now you know—can we please just forget about this whole farce? You can’t possibly want me to work for you—not really. Get someone else to arrange your wretched party for you.’

  The corners of his mouth lifted upwards in a cruel imitation of a smile. She still did not get it! Oh, foolish, foolish woman. ‘On the contrary, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘I do not want anyone else. It is you I want and you that I shall have.’

  And Sienna began to tremble.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A MONTH was no time at all—but in a way Sienna was glad that Hashim had demanded such an outrageously short time to arrange his party. If it had dragged on over weeks, then what kind of state might she have found herself in?

  As it was, she had her work cut out to find a venue—and there certainly wasn’t time to think about his thinly veiled threat, or the sensual way he had looked at her.

  Determinedly, she put him out of her mind and holed herself up in her tiny office at her home in Kennington and rang round, using every contact she’d ever made until at last she struck lucky. She could have the use of Bolland House, set in a hundred acres in the glorious Hampshire countryside. She had driven down to see it and had pronounced it perfect.

  She had found a local acclaimed chef who cooked using fresh organic produce sourced from nearby farms. She had chosen flowers, and was bussing in her favourite sommelier—though she had warned him that some of the guests might not be drinking alcohol and asked him to provide a wide selection of soft drinks which were rather more exciting than orange juice!

  In fact everything was now in place…and with just three days to go it felt a bit as she imagined the atmosphere in one of the giant space stations just before they sent a rocket into flight—the tension of the countdown was almost unbearable. Especially in this heat.

  ‘I’m making coffee!’ called a voice from the kitchen. ‘Do you want some?’

  ‘Love some!’ Sienna called back, and sat back in her chair and sighed. It was funny how circumstances could change out of all recognition in such a short time. Up until that meeting with Hashim, Sienna had been utterly contented. She had her little terraced house in Kennington, which she had bought as a neglected and nearly derelict wreck. She had spent every spare minute doing it up—stripping the walls, sanding the paintwork and painting it in light colours, filling it with mirrors to make it seem bigger and brighter. She had saved up to have a new bathroom and kitchen put in and had painted the front door in a deep, dark blue.

  When the house had been habitable, she had taken in a lodger to help with the mortgage—Kat, who was now in her last year of studying languages at a nearby university. And only then had Sienna given herself the luxury of turning her attention to the garden and the challenge of making something pretty out of the small square of ground which had looked like a builders’ yard.

  ‘Coffee’s ready!’ called Kat.

  ‘Coming!’

  Sienna got up and went through to the kitchen, where Kat was just putting the cafetière and mugs onto a pretty spotted tray, her red hair falling over her shoulders. She looked up as Sienna came in and smiled. ‘Shall we drink it in the garden?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ said Sienna, but she could hear the flatness in her own voice as she went out into the sunshine.

  She felt
like an outsider to the rest of the world. Usually she revelled in pride and pleasure at the small oasis she had created in the middle of the city, but not today. She could see the sunlight dappling through the honeysuckle, but she couldn’t seem to smell the fragrant blooms, nor appreciate its simple beauty. Hashim’s reappearance in her life seemed to have sucked the vibrancy out of everything except the memory of his dark and cruel face, and his hard, virile body.

  She took the coffee that Kat poured for her and stared into the cup as gloomily as someone with a fear of heights being told to do a high dive.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ said Kat.

  Sienna looked up. Her teeth gritted into the bright, cheery smile which she had become rather good at perfecting. ‘Oh, just work. You know. It’s frantic at the moment.’

  ‘You don’t usually complain,’ observed Kat, her eyes narrowing. ‘You’re usually glad when it’s like that.’

  ‘Well, it’s hot, too. Isn’t it?’ Sienna wiped her damp brow with a jokey and exaggerated gesture—because how could she tell Kat what was troubling her, and what could she tell her?

  Oh, I had a fling with a sheikh until he discovered that I’d done some topless photos, and then he…he…

  Little beads of sweat studded her forehead and she wiped them away with an angry hand. How awful it sounded when pared down to the basic facts.

  She wouldn’t tell Kat. Because if she told Kat about Hashim then that would give him an identity which would live on for ever. Kat would want to know all about him—who wouldn’t? No, she wouldn’t tell anyone. She would do what he wanted her to do and then hopefully he would leave her alone.

  Hopefully?

  That was part of the trouble, too. He had forced her into this corner and yet a part of her wanted to impress him. To engineer the most wonderful dinner party for him and dazzle him—leaving him with an altogether better memory of her than he currently had.

  And wasn’t there another part of her—a stubborn and stupid and romantic one—which wished that she could just go back and rewrite history?

  Sometimes she started thinking about how it might have been if she’d never done those photos—but then she made herself stop. Thinking like that was a pretty pointless exercise. If she hadn’t been able to come up with the money quickly then her mother’s life would have collapsed around her—and how could she have lived with that?

  And even if he hadn’t found out it would never have been anything more than a fling—for how could it have been? What had she been imagining—that he’d buy her a whopping great ring and marry her, take her back to Qudamah as the Sheikh’s wife? Sienna took a mouthful of too-hot coffee and winced.

  ‘Steady,’ warned Kat, only half jokingly.

  ‘Oh, listen—there’s that wretched phone again!’ Sienna leapt to her feet and gave her housemate an expression which said sorry. But in truth she was glad to get away—to keep herself busy instead of fending off Kat’s concerned questions.

  ‘Posh Parties,’ she said as she picked the phone up, and then gripped onto it with whitening knuckles.

  ‘Hello, Sienna,’ Hashim said softly.

  He had the kind of voice which made your skin shiver in spite of yourself, and Sienna closed her eyes in despair. She hadn’t spoken to him since that night in the restaurant, and sometimes she had half imagined that she’d dreamt the whole thing up.

  But life was rarely as kind as that.

  ‘Hello, Hashim,’ she said calmly.

  Most people might have asked if it was convenient to talk, but not him.

  ‘It is done?’ he questioned, watching as a blonde on the other side of the foyer crossed one slim, silk-stockinged leg over another and slanted him a smile.

  ‘Everything is arranged,’ she said mechanically. ‘You got my photos of the venue?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you are happy with the menu plans?’

  ‘Perfectly happy.’

  ‘Drinks seven-thirty to eight, dinner at eight-thirty.’ She hesitated. ‘Obviously I will be down there earlier, to oversee everything—but do you…do you want me to stay until the end?’

  ‘Most assuredly I do,’ he said smoothly, and unseen a slow smile of anticipation curved the cruel line of his mouth. ‘And you will dress to party, Sienna. I want you to blend in. Or stand out,’ he added mockingly, a jerk of longing arousing him as he imagined her baring her white and perfect breasts. And she would. Oh, she would…. ‘The choice is yours.’

  She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn’t need advice on what to wear—until she realised that antagonising him would get her nowhere. Grit your teeth and bear it, and it will soon all be over.

  ‘I shall look forward to it,’ she said crisply.

  Hashim’s smile became hard-edged. He could see the blonde sliding her tongue wetly over her lips but he turned away. He had never been turned on by the very obvious—and besides, his thoughts were given over to one seduction alone.

  ‘Let’s hope it lives up to our expectations,’ he murmured, and his black eyes dilated, like a cat’s. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’ Abruptly he terminated the connection, before the sultry throb of desire could be transmuted to his voice. Because he wanted her to be relaxed, her guard down.

  Sienna replaced the phone and stood staring at it for long, countless moments. After Saturday it would all be over.

  And suddenly she couldn’t wait.

  Clunking up the grand drive in her battered old car, Sienna arrived at Bolland Hall just after teatime and let herself in.

  ‘Hello!’ she called, but there was no response. She walked through the arched hallway into the dining room and saw the table laid for dinner. She was unable to resist a smile of satisfaction. It was perfect.

  Beside Georgian silver and priceless crystal, crisp damask napkins were folded into pristine rectangles and tall candles were ready to be lit.

  Everything was as it should be.

  There was a stunning floral centrepiece. Fragrant flowers of pink and ivory, dotted with the occasional yellow rose—chosen especially because they were the Sheikh’s colours. The colours his jockeys wore. The colour of the Qudamah flag—pink and cream, with a tiny splash of gold in one corner. She breathed in their scent appreciatively.

  Similar arrangements of flowers were dotted around the place, and Sienna made her way through the silent house, briefly wondering where all the staff had disappeared to—but they were probably having a well-earned break, since they had clearly been busy.

  In the vast kitchen, berry-dark and luscious individual summer puddings lay cooling in the fridge, along with marinades and champagne. Crisp meringues sat snowy-light on a tray next to a bunch of perfect grapes and a dish of white peaches. Several bottles of claret had already been decorked, ready to be carefully poured into the eighteenth-century crystal decanters.

  Sienna smiled again. Let Sheikh Hashim Al Aswad try to find any fault with her arrangements!

  She heard the crunch of gravel on the drive and wondered if the staff were back. She glanced at her watch. Probably. But as she glanced out of the window she saw a low and screamingly expensive black sports car drawing to a halt. Well, if that was one of the staff then she needed to switch career—and sharpish!

  She clip-clopped her way into the hall as the doorbell rang and pulled open the door, her face and her body freezing as she saw Hashim himself standing there, a lazy smile touching the corners of his lips.

  Sienna swallowed. She had somehow expected to see him clad in an impeccable dinner jacket, with black tie and snowy white shirt, and dark, tapered trousers which would make his legs look endless. The Western style he seemed to favour the majority of the time.

  But he was not. Tonight he was dressed in clothes which heralded far more exotic climes…in fine silk the colour of a pomegranate which clung faintly to hard muscle and lean sinew. It provided the perfect backdrop for his rich black hair and golden-dark skin, but it reminded her of another time—a bitterly erotic o
ne. She felt shame and desire and regret bubbling up inside her, but most of all she felt longing—felt it with an intensity which took her breath away.

  Please don’t let it show, she prayed silently.

  Hashim saw the play of conflicting emotions which crossed her features, and an emotion which was almost alien to him caught him in its silken snare.

  Excitement.

  ‘Hello, Sienna.’

  ‘Hashim!’ she said softly, in a tone he couldn’t quite work out. ‘You’re…you’re early.’

  She stood bathed in the soft yet fierce light of the setting sun and he thought that he had never seen her look more beautiful—that thick, shiny hair caught up and woven with glittering clips, making him aware that her neck was classically long and swan-like.

  Her dress was made of some light, delicate fabric, layer upon gossamer layer of it, in swirls of rose which made him think of the petals of her mouth. The dress was modest by anyone’s standards, even his—and yet he was struck, not for the first time, by how the hint of a body could inflame the senses far more than if it was on show.

  As if his senses needed any inflaming!

  But he kept his face calmly impassive. This had, after all, been a long time in coming—and he was a master at keeping his feelings hidden. He must not strike until he was certain…

  ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he queried mockingly.

  She knew she should tell him that it was not her place to invite him in—that this was his party, and his money paying for it—but all those thoughts just flew straight out of her mind. For his proximity was making her head spin. She shrank back as he passed by her—as if that could make her immune to the raw virility which seemed to radiate from him. But nothing could make her immune to him.

  The black eyes were studying her face as a fox’s might just before it devoured a chicken—whole—and a smile was playing around his lips. A smile that made her feel hot and prickly and distinctly…odd.

  ‘Do…do you want a drink?’ she questioned. ‘Or to have a look around—check things out?’