Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Yes.’ He did a quick calculation in his head. ‘I can manage next weekend, if that fits in with your job?’

  She was too excited to notice the faint sarcasm in his voice. Or to question whether two weekends on the trot was not pushing their luck.

  She nodded. ‘Well, yes—of course I can. If we can get it. It’s quite short notice—but it should be fine. I mean—who in their right mind wants to holiday in the English countryside in the middle of February?’

  ‘Well, I do.’

  They looked at one another and Sienna started giggling.

  ‘So do I.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THERE was a huge fireplace, an ancient-looking kitchen, and a bed in the main upstairs room which looked exactly as it must have done a century before.

  The bodyguards were settled in the cottage by the main gate, with a widescreen TV and the promise of a huge, no-questions-asked bonus, and Sienna and Hashim were finally on their own.

  ‘It is like stepping back in time,’ Hashim murmured, his black eyes fascinated as he glanced around him. ‘And it’s freezing.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ She turned to him. ‘Can you light a fire?’

  His smile touched on the arrogant. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Well, then—over to you. I’m going to make us something to eat.’

  But he shook his head. If they were playing honeymoon—which he rather imagined that they were—then there was something far more pressing than food or fuel on the agenda. ‘You want to eat food?’ he murmured. ‘Or to eat me?’

  ‘You are outrageous!’ she protested, but only halfheartedly, for his hands had slithered underneath her sweater and were making her nipples grow very hard indeed. ‘We…we ought to draw the curtains,’ she said breathlessly.

  She went and yanked across the faded chintz and he came up behind her, skimming his hands down over her hips. ‘Mmm. I am pleased to see that you are wearing a skirt.’

  ‘Because my Sheikh does not like jeans,’ she said demurely, and closed her eyes as she felt him reach beneath it to graze his fingers over her searing heat.

  ‘You are ready,’ he observed, on a slight note of surprise.

  ‘I’ve been ready for hours,’ she admitted, hopping and almost stumbling in her eagerness to help him take off her panties.

  ‘So have I,’ he admitted huskily.

  They only made it as far as the big, old-fashioned sprung sofa, where Hashim kicked off his trousers and then pulled her down onto his lap, guiding her slowly over his aching shaft before plunging deep inside her.

  ‘Oh!’ she moaned, as he filled her completely, moving her up and down until she thought that she could bear it no longer. Almost before she could believe it to be happening she felt herself begin to dissolve.

  And Hashim felt it, too—shatteringly and simultaneously—and as her body began to convulse out its pleasure so did his follow, in almost complete harmony. And in those few last seconds before the power of it temporarily obliterated consciousness their eyes met, locked and held.

  ‘Sienna!’ he gasped as she began to shudder around him, and her name seemed to be torn from his soul.

  ‘Hashim!’ she breathed brokenly, her fingers digging into the rich silk of his skin. If only I could tell you how much I love you.

  For a while they stayed just like that, Sienna still astride him, gazing down and stroking her hand along the rugged outline of his jaw.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he questioned softly.

  That what should never have happened had done so. That the falling in love was complete. That it was too late to stop herself and protect herself. And it had happened just at the time when she suspected it was all coming to an end.

  ‘You should never ask a woman something like that after making love to her.’

  Not when she’s vulnerable enough to tell you something you won’t want to hear. She shivered a little as the flush of passion on her skin began to fade.

  ‘Better get that fire going,’ she said lightly, and climbed off him.

  Escaping into the kitchen while he built the fire, she made soup from organic vegetables and served it with chunky wholemeal bread, and cheese which had come straight from the nearby farm. They quenched their thirst with elderflower water and then drank scented tea, sitting on a furry rug in front of the gradually roaring fire.

  ‘Do you like that?’ she asked.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, but there was a sudden heaviness in his heart.

  They watched a video of Sienna’s favourite film—an old musical which soon had her sniffing like a hay-fever sufferer.

  ‘You’re crying!’ he accused.

  ‘No, I’m not—it’s just a corny old film,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Come here,’ he said.

  And, even though it made her heart ache, she went.

  They spent their time doing simple things. Wrapping up warm before walking over the crunchy morning frost which hardly had time to melt before a setting crimson sun turned the fields into fire every afternoon.

  His bodyguards seemed quite content to be doing their own thing, and there wasn’t a peep out of his phone. Once they even ventured into the small local pub for lunch, and if anyone wondered why there was a big, dark car sitting gleaming in the car park, no body bothered asking.

  The real world seemed such a long way away, and part of Sienna fervently wished it could stay that way. If it weren’t for his position they could live a life like this all the time. He was right—she had always taken her freedom for granted—and never had she cherished it more than during this weekend.

  She watched him relax. Saw the dark shadows melt away from beneath his eyes and the tiny, fan-like creases at the corners of his black eyes ironed out as if by magic.

  And for Hashim it was a provocative glimpse of a life he could never really know. He had not felt as unencumbered as this since those long-ago days of falconing in the mountains of Qudamah.

  ‘Ah, Sienna,’ he said on their last morning, when they sat eating pancakes for breakfast. ‘Don’t you wish that life could always be this simple?’

  She smiled, knowing full well that there was no point in coming out with a stock phrase like: It could be like this. Because it couldn’t.

  She put the lid back on the golden syrup. ‘Do you want to listen to the radio?’

  Hashim frowned. ‘What for?’

  ‘Well, Qudamah seems to have been in the news a lot lately.’

  Funny how you could look for an opportunity to say something and then find, when it came, that you wished you didn’t have to. He gazed down at the clear amber of the delicate tea. ‘There is going to be an election very soon—and elections always demand a lot of my time.’ He looked at her. ‘I am going to have to fly back tomorrow.’

  Sienna nodded. ‘I know you are.’

  He drew in a deep breath. ‘And I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’

  She felt the tendril of long-held fear finally wrapping itself around her heart. ‘I know that, too.’ Don’t make him have to say it. Accept what is inevitable. Make it easy on yourself. ‘Hashim, it’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I know it’s over.’

  He didn’t deny it, but the dark eyes which he lifted to her face were troubled. ‘I do not wish this, Sienna—but increasingly I recognise that my place is in my homeland, not here.’ He gave a restless little movement of his shoulders. ‘There are obligations I now need to fulfil. And I don’t want to tie you down to a relationship which can never go anywhere. Or to make you a promise I am unable to keep. If this fades into failed intentions and meetings which never happen then all that we will have left to remember is bitterness.’ His voice grew hard. ‘And I cannot face that. Not for a second time. Not when…’

  The words were there in his mouth, just begging to be said. But words could be dishonest—even if you meant them. They could open up all kinds of unrealistic expectations. If he tried to explain how much she had come to mean to him then would that not tie her to him anyway—no
matter how much he tried not to let it? What if she started seeing them as star-crossed lovers instead of just getting on with her life?

  She saw the discomfiture on his face and jumped in to rescue the situation—or rather to rescue herself. She had had more with him than any woman could have hoped to have, and she would ensure that he remembered her with dignity.

  ‘It’s been wonderful. Gorgeous. It was a fine affair,’ she said softly. ‘But now it’s over.’

  His eyes narrowed. He had expected…what? That she might at least shed a tear for him! Or that her face might indicate some feelings of dejection! His pride was hurt, yet his pain came from deeper feelings than pride. He pushed them away with an instinct borne out of self-protection. ‘You seem almost pleased about it,’ he observed coolly.

  ‘Oh, Hashim,’ she said impatiently. ‘Of course I’m not pleased about it—but I recognise that it has to be, so what’s the alternative?’

  Women had begged him before—many times. They had shed tears and clung to him. Hadn’t there been a selfish side which had thought that Sienna might do the same? For if she behaved like all the others, then wouldn’t that make it easier for him to walk away from her without another thought?

  But there had never been another relationship like this one, he recognised. Nor ever would be again. His destiny would not allow it—for his flings and his freedom must now be curtailed. The luxurious but weighty doors of his royal prison were waiting to clang shut on him, and if he took himself down the path of useless and indulgent analysis then what good would it do him? Or her?

  ‘Come here,’ he said simply, and opened his arms.

  Sienna didn’t need to be told that this was the last time. It was written in his eyes and spoken in every lingering kiss and caress. His hands and his fingers seemed as though they were discovering her for the first time, and yet bidding her farewell as they did so.

  ‘Oh, Hashim,’ she said, in a choked kind of voice.

  ‘Let us lie once more in that old bed,’ he whispered, and she nodded.

  He carried her up the rickety staircase towards the room they had shared, bending his head so as not to knock it on one of the dark beams, and put her down as carefully as if she had been a cherished and delicate piece of filagree.

  Their undressing was slow and silent, and as she sank back into feather pillows his dark body moved over hers. She thought about how many couples had lain in this bed, like this. How many children had been conceived—maybe even born here? Ghostly generations of long-ago lovers joined them—wordlessly entering the indefinable space between past and present. For at what point did the present become the past?

  Their climax would bring an end to it all, and the sex would become just a memory. As would the rest. She trembled as Hashim thrust into her with a hunger and a poignancy which made hot salt tears slide from beneath her eyelids.

  ‘Ah, Sienna. Don’t cry,’ he said afterwards, wiping the tracks away with his finger.

  They lay there for a while without sleeping, and then Sienna stirred. Be the first to make a move, she told herself. Don’t put yourself in the position of being the deserted one.

  ‘I’d better go and pack up the kitchen.’

  He tightened his hold on her waist. ‘I can have one of the guards come over and do it.’

  But she shook her head and prised his fingers away as if she was removing a clam from the side of a rock. ‘No, Hashim—that will defeat the object of our ordinary weekend. I’ll go and chuck all the leftover food away—you can wash the dishes.’

  He was torn between outrage and humour. ‘Yes, Sienna,’ he murmured, but his heart was heavy.

  They were quiet in the car on the drive back, even though the driver was firmly locked away behind soundproof glass. It had begun to rain, and through the tinted windows she could see droplets battering against the glass, as if the heavens themselves were sobbing.

  It was only when they were approaching South Kensington that he laid one dark hand on hers.

  ‘You will come back to the hotel with me?’

  ‘No.’

  He asked for no explanation; but then he had known what her answer would be. ‘Sienna?’

  She turned her head back to face him and her green eyes were sombre, but there was a soft dignity about her which took his breath away. He thought about how often in the past he had been able to persuade her to do something against her will just by the sheer power of the sexual chemistry which existed between them, but he recognised now that nothing he could do would change her mind. Not this time.

  Something had changed. In her. In him. In them both. For not only would she refuse to succumb to him, he would no longer make an attempt to have her bend to his will. Somewhere along the way they had become equals, and for Hashim it was a bittersweet awakening. An awareness that it had come at the wrong time—but could it have ever been the right time?

  Not with Sienna, no.

  He bent down to the Qudamah-crested dispatch box which accompanied him everywhere and pulled out a slim leather box. He held it out towards her but she shook her head, the thick dark hair flying like a storm.

  ‘No, Hashim!’ She would not be paid off—have him bid her farewell with the expensive baubles she had previously refused to accept. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t want it. I don’t want your diamonds or your emeralds, thank you very much! I told you a long time ago that I could not and would not be bought, and I meant it!’

  He laughed softly. ‘I know you did, my fiery Sienna,’ he murmured. ‘And I think that your expectations of costly gems are a little wide of the mark.’ He put the box in her hand and closed her fingers around it, his black eyes washing over her. ‘Please. Open it.’

  Something in his manner made her obey him, her fingers trembling as she flicked open the catch to see a necklace lying against indigo velvet. But it was no ordinary necklace. The chain was as fine as a sliver of light and in the centre of it lay a tiny golden bird.

  ‘H-Hashim?’ she questioned shakily.

  ‘Here.’ He lifted it from the box and placed it into the centre of her palm, where the fine chain lay coiled like an elegant snake, the small charm gleaming like the sun.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It is an eagle—a golden eagle. She flies on the flag of Qudamah and is the symbol of my country—for she represents freedom and power. This is the only time you will ever see her chained.’

  Like him. The thought flew unbidden into her mind. Freedom and power and never to be chained. She studied it intently, focusing fiercely on the workmanship because at least that kept the tears at bay. ‘It’s…beautiful.’

  ‘Shall I put it on for you?’

  Sienna nodded, unable to speak for fear that she would blurt out words which could never be taken back. Words of love which would mortify him and make their parting even more painful.

  He slid his hands around her neck, wanting so much to linger there—to raise the heavy weight of her hair so that he could kiss the soft nape and then turn her head to take her lips, coaxing their luscious warmth into eager response.

  ‘I thought you were going to put it on?’

  Her faintly bemused voice disrupted his troubled thoughts. ‘So I was.’ He clipped it in place. ‘There.’

  For a moment their eyes met, and the pain which smote at her heart made her feel dizzy and weak. Turning her head to look out of the window with the desperation of a drowning woman struggling towards the surface for light and air, Sienna saw with relief that they were at the end of her road.

  ‘Well, here we are! Thank you, Hashim.’ She leaned forward. The touch of her mouth against his was fleeting and the pain increased. ‘Take very good care.’

  He touched her fingertips to his lips and as she pushed open the car door said something in his native tongue to the driver, who got out and removed her one small bag from the boot.

  The tinted window slid silently down and all she could see were glittering black eyes—the only thing which seemed truly alive in the tight
mask of his face. She flashed him a smile, and then she turned away.

  Somehow she made it inside without crying, but once there the tears began to pour down her cheeks without stopping. Kat was away and she was glad, because it gave her time to get over the worst, to recover on her own like a wounded animal.

  There was no one to tell her to eat. No one to question why she couldn’t sleep. No one to tell her that it was wrong to shed her tears and that there were plenty more fish in the sea. Maybe there were—but none like Hashim.

  By the third day she had begun to feel a little better. Her heart was aching, but she knew that Hashim would hate it if she became one of those women who let their whole lives collapse around them because a love affair hadn’t worked out.

  She bathed and washed her hair, and was just pulling on a big black sweater which virtually came down to her knees when the doorbell rang. She wondered if it was Kat back, having forgotten her keys.

  She opened the door, completely unprepared to see the batallion of photographers who were jostling for position, jerking back in alarm as the multiple flash from their array of cameras temporarily blinded her. Someone thrust a phallic-looking microphone under her chin.

  ‘Miss Baker!’ called a TV-trained voice. ‘Sienna! Is the Sheikh of Qudamah aware that you used to be a topless model?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE startled doorstep photo made the first edition and the second—only it ran alongside a much larger photo. There was her sand-sprinkled and sultry image plastered over all the tabloids.

  Even the serious broadsheets gave it house-room—justifying their usual no-breasts policy with weighty pieces on the changing morals of the Middle East. And a censored version of it was beamed into homes the length and breadth of the country as an add-on to an otherwise boring television news show.

  ‘And finally, the Sheikh of the fiercely traditional State of Qudamah is rumoured to be dating a British glamour model. Stunning brunette Sienna Baker…’

  Female leader-writers took up the case in their mid week columns, asking righteously: What would you do if your son brought a topless model home?