Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  Shahir sprang upright. ‘That is a distortion of the facts.’

  ‘For someone who doesn’t like lies you can be very imaginative with the truth,’ Kirsten muttered bitterly.

  ‘That could be because I very much want you to become a part of my life.’

  ‘No, you don’t!’ Her eyes were hot with unshed tears but she was quivering with furious pain. ‘You think I’m not good enough for anything but sharing a bed with. That’s fine. Don’t you dare think I care about that. But feeling as you do about me, you should have stayed well away from me!’

  With that emphatic accusation, and almost blinded by tears, Kirsten snatched up her clothes, fled through to the bathroom and slammed shut the door. She would have liked a shower but was afraid of getting her hair wet. Even so, she was desperate to make good her escape and get back to work. Having made do with a hurried wash at the vanity unit, she dragged her clothes on over skin that was still damp.

  Who would ever have thought that he would invite her to be his mistress? She must have been all right in bed, she reflected painfully. He would not want a repeat performance otherwise. He wouldn’t want to offer her a house either. How could he have dared to talk of her becoming part of his life when it was so obvious that all he was interested in sharing with her was sex? When he would essentially be keeping her in return for the use of her body?

  That offer was so horribly humiliating. Yet what else had she expected from him? She had not looked before she had leapt. How could she have any kind of normal relation ship with a prince? The enormous gulf between them could never be bridged. That was why she should not have slept with him. Playing by the rules and keeping her distance would have protected her. Now her body had an intimate ache that she knew she would never forget.

  She suppressed the sob clogging up her throat. She wanted so badly to relive that wonderful moment of togetherness when he had held her close before it all began to go wrong. But that was impossible.

  Her home life had been destroyed by her father’s violence. Now continuing to work at the castle would feel equally unsustainable. She did not want to see Shahir again. She did not want to work for him in any capacity either. What had once seemed like honest employment would now feel demeaning, she conceded unhappily. Somehow—and soon—she had to find a way to leave the farm and find another job.

  Dragging in a shuddering breath of oxygen, she rested her damp brow against the wooden door and then opened it again.

  Shahir was pacing the sitting room, his lean, darkly handsome features taut and grave. A heartbeat after Kirsten’s flight from his presence, his intelligence had kicked back in and cold logic had prevailed. His perfectly orchestrated and rational existence had gone off the rails and crashed at spectacular speed. He was a disciplined man, and he was not accustomed to finding himself in the wrong, but he had too much integrity to deny the obvious. In retrospect he was sincerely appalled by his own unscrupulous behaviour.

  Had he been more disturbed by the news of Faria’s nuptials than he was prepared to admit? He saw that it had suited his purpose to give credit to Pamela Anstruther’s sleazy suggestion that Kirsten was promiscuous. And he felt it unpardonable that that slur had made Kirsten seem more accessible and his own desire for her more acceptable. Only now that sanity and clear judgement had been restored did Shahir recognise that nothing could excuse his having become intimate with an employee.

  Yet even that was not a fair appraisal of his misconduct, Shahir acknowledged bleakly. He had taken unprincipled advantage of a virgin—a naive and vulnerable young woman who should have been able to rely on him for support during a troubled period in her life. Instead he had betrayed her trust, and acted in a way that had increased her distress. He could not evade responsibility for the damage that he had caused. And suggesting that she become his mistress had been an even more distasteful act on his part. He was ashamed, and he knew what honour demanded of him in restitution.

  Kirsten lodged in the doorway like a nervous fawn, ready to run for the undergrowth at the first sign of threat. ‘I’m sorry…I need my overall.’

  As she hastened across the room, her eyes screened by her lashes, and stooped to pick up the garment, Shahir addressed her. ‘Kirsten, I have to talk to you.’

  Kirsten refused to look at him. She was holding herself together, but only just managing, and she would have died rather than break down in front of him. ‘You don’t need to say anything at all. I bet you’ll be relieved to hear that I don’t expect to be working here for much longer. In fact I won’t even be living at Strathcraig any more.’

  ‘I am not relieved to hear those facts. Where are you planning to go?’ Shahir demanded with a frown.

  ‘I have plans.’

  ‘Plans are not enough. Don’t allow what happened between us to persuade you into making an impulsive decision. You are suffering a lot of strain right now, and I am aware that I have made the situation worse.’

  Pride brought up Kirsten’s chin, and she tossed her head. ‘Actually…I was coping fine until you suggested that I could enjoy a dazzling future as a whore!’

  His superb cheekbones were prominent below his bronzed skin, and faint colour accentuated the proud slant of them. ‘I will not attempt to defend myself. I should not have made such a suggestion.’

  Flustered by the unexpected admission of fault on his part, Kirsten found it easier to concentrate on putting her overall back on, and then she rushed into the tense silence to break it. ‘That’s all right…forget it. By the way, I never did say thank you for that magazine you got me.’

  ‘What magazine?’

  One glimpse of Shahir’s mystified expression was sufficient to tell Kirsten that she had made yet another embarrassing mistake. He had not been responsible for leaving that magazine in her pigeonhole—and why on earth had she assumed that he had? Wishful thinking? Her cheeks burned.

  ‘Never mind…Look, we’ve got nothing more to say to each other,’ she muttered hurriedly.

  ‘In that you are mistaken. I owe you an explanation for my behaviour.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Please…’

  The sound of that unfamiliar word on his lips allied to the terrible strain in the atmosphere made her eyes sting with tears. She could feel his remorse, and it was as sharp as her own. Oddly enough, his regret at what had happened between them hurt her more than his suggestion that she become his mistress.

  She stole a brief glance at him from below her lashes. He was breathtakingly handsome. She remembered his mesmerising smile, the golden sheen of his skin against the white bedlinen, the warmth and the feel of him below her fingertips. Guilty pleasure almost consumed her, and a tiny twist of wicked heat sparked.

  She tore her attention away from him in deep shame. Why could she not control her mind and her body?

  ‘I will order coffee.’ Shahir was determined to bring a more civilised note to the proceedings.

  ‘No…please, let’s just get this over with.’

  Shahir studied her pale perfect profile in frustration. Suddenly it was as though she was locked away from him in a place he couldn’t follow. Even when she had been forced to look in his direction he had felt as though she could not quite see him.

  ‘I hate to see you so unhappy. Matters may well have gone awry today because we were both too preoccupied with other events in our lives to be thinking clearly.’

  Her attention caught, she glanced at him. ‘Other events?’

  ‘Your father had struck you, and I…’ His beautifully modelled masculine mouth clenched as he steeled himself to make a personal admission that did not come easily to a male of his reserve. ‘I too had some reasons to be disturbed. This morning I learned, quite by accident, that a woman who was important to me had become another man’s wife.’

  Kirsten could feel the blood draining from below her skin. She dropped her head and stared a hole in the magnificent rug beneath his polished leather shoes. His confession had hit her like a body-blow
. It had come out of nowhere and he might as well have plunged a knife into her heart. A woman important to him? Obviously he was referring to a woman whom he loved. Yet it seemed almost unimaginable to Kirsten that Prince Shahir could have fallen in love and met with rejection.

  Yet he had just told her so. He loved someone else. That thought steadily blocked out every other: Shahir’s heart belonged to someone else.

  The new awareness blazed a burning, wounding trail of pain across Kirsten’s very soul. He loved another woman and, unable to have her, had taken Kirsten to bed instead. She had been a stop-gap, a distraction, a consolation prize. She felt sick with hurt and humiliation.

  ‘What’s her name?’ she asked shakily.

  Shahir had not been prepared either for the lengthy silence that followed his admission or for what he deemed to be the irrelevant question. His ebony brows pleated and his answer was reluctant. ‘Faria…’

  ‘You didn’t need to tell me about her.’ Kirsten could not help wishing that he had remained silent, for in telling her the truth he had lacerated her pride and filled her with a hollow sense of anguish.

  ‘There was a need. I’m not in the habit of behaving as I did today. I took advantage of you and I wish to redress that wrong.’ His lean, strong face was set in hard lines of resolve. ‘In this situation there is only one way in which I can do that.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What’s done is done.’

  ‘Marry me,’ he murmured levelly. ‘Marry me and become my wife.’

  Kirsten parted her lips to vent a shaken laugh, but no sound came out. Involuntarily focusing on him, she met dark golden eyes as steady as they were serious. ‘But that’s the craziest thing I ever heard…’

  ‘It is not. This is not a liberal community, and you are not from a home where sex outside marriage is deemed acceptable. Naturally you are upset by what has happened between us, and you have a right to be. In taking advantage of your trust when you were in an emotional frame of mind I acted with dishonour.’

  ‘But to propose marriage to me…’ Words failed her.

  She was stunned by the turnaround in his attitude. It was, however, beginning to sink in that his conduct towards her must have been very much out of character. Yet that acknowledgement only made her more painfully aware of his love for Faria. He must have been thinking of Faria when he took her in his arms, and that hurt.

  ‘Why not? Sooner rather than later I must marry someone.’

  ‘But surely not just anyone?’ she framed shakily.

  ‘You’re very beautiful.’

  All over again Kirsten felt the ignominy of being valued for her physical charms alone. Indeed, it seemed to her that the looks that had attracted him to her had extracted a high price from them both. He believed that he had wronged her, but she refused to accept that he was at fault and she totally blameless. Had she admitted her inexperience he would not have slept with her. She was responsible for her own behaviour. She had wanted him. Even knowing that what she was doing was wrong, she had encouraged him to make love to her. Now she had to accept the consequences. He was only asking her to marry him because he felt guilty, and she hoped she had enough pride and decency not to take any man on such discreditable terms.

  ‘Let’s just forget about all this.’ Her strained green eyes locked to his stubborn jawline and rose no higher. ‘You don’t owe me anything. I’m not holding you to blame. There’s certainly no need for you to be offering me marriage.’

  ‘There is every need,’ Shahir countered.

  ‘I appreciate the offer. I really do. I don’t want to be rude either…But I’d have to be really desperate to marry anyone without love.’ Especially a man madly in love with another woman, Kirsten affixed inwardly.

  ‘This is your decision?’

  ‘Yes. May I go now?’ she prompted uncomfortably.

  ‘As you wish.’

  Shahir watched her hasty retreat from his presence with grim dark golden eyes and a rare sense of incomprehension. He had expected her to accept his proposal. Indeed, the prospect of refusal had not crossed his mind. He had already been planning the best terms in which to present such an unequal marriage to his father. He should be relieved that would not now be necessary, and that honour had been satisfied without any degree of personal sacrifice. Disturbingly, however, all he could think about was the fact that there was now no way that Kirsten Ross could ever adorn his bed again.

  Kirsten had managed barely three steps down the gallery before Jeanie appeared at the far end and gave her a frantic wave.

  ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Have you been off some place crying?’ the redhead asked with rough sympathy. ‘Well, guess what? There’s a big panic on in the basement. Something valuable has gone walkabout and the staff lockers are being searched. Everyone has to agree to their locker being checked…but can you imagine how it would look if you refused?’

  ‘Like you were guilty.’ Relieved that Jeanie had noticed nothing amiss, Kirsten made a determined effort to behave normally. ‘What’s gone walkabout?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue. The housekeeper and her sidekicks aren’t telling.’

  So much had happened so fast to Kirsten that she felt disconnected from the world around her. In the midst of the noisy chatter of the staff room she sat in a daze, lost in her own increasingly fantastic thoughts.

  Suppose she had been insane enough to say yes to his proposal, she was thinking. Would Shahir really have married her? He would scarcely have asked had he not been prepared to do so. Would she have become a princess? Was there the remotest possibility that she might have made him happy? That he might have fallen out of love with Faria and fallen in love with her instead? How low would it be to marry a man who was only asking out of guilt? Very low, or only a little bit low?

  When the senior housekeeper, Mrs Cook, appeared, with her thin face set in severe lines, Jeanie nudged Kirsten to attract her attention. ‘Now someone’s for it…’

  ‘Kirsten…could I have a word?’ Mrs Cook enquired.

  Silence spread around Kirsten like a pool of poison. Getting up with a bewildered frown, she followed Mrs Cook into her office, where the older woman’s two assistants were waiting.

  ‘This was found in your locker.’ A sparkling diamond pendant on a gold chain was placed on the desk in front of Kirsten.

  ‘That’s not possible…’ Kirsten studied the pendant in disbelief. It was familiar to her, for on at least two occasions she had seen it lying in a careless heap on Pamela Anstruther’s dressing table.

  ‘We have a witness who says she saw you hiding it in your locker during your lunch break,’ Mrs Cook divulged.

  Stunned by that announcement, Kirsten immediately endeavoured to argue her innocence.

  What followed was the worst experience of her life. She insisted that she had not entered the locker room since the start of her shift. She declared that it was impossible for there to be a witness to an act that had not happened. She had neither stolen the pendant from Pamela’s bedroom, nor attempted to conceal it.

  The witness, Morag Stevens, one of the two assistant housekeepers, then stepped forward to tell her story without once looking in Kirsten’s direction.

  When Kirsten realised that nobody was paying the slightest heed to her protests and defensive explanations she became very scared and upset. But within the hour it was all over. She was informed that she was very lucky that Lady Pamela did not wish to have her prosecuted for theft, and she was dismissed on the grounds of gross misconduct. The contents of her locker were packed into a bag and she was escorted out of the castle.

  Jeanie was waiting at the courtyard gate for her. White-faced, Kirsten got off her bicycle to speak to the other woman and tell her about her dismissal. ‘I didn’t do it, Jeanie. I swear I didn’t!’

  ‘I’d be amazed if you did. After all, you’d be the first to be suspected, and you’d have to be a right idiot to think you could get away with it!’

  ‘But why did Morag say she saw
me put the pendant in my locker at lunchtime? Why would she lie? Why would she do that to me?’

  ‘Maybe she stole it and then got nervous and hid it in your locker? She has access to the pass keys,’ Jeanie reminded her. ‘But somehow I’d be more suspicious of Lady Posh.’

  ‘Lady Pamela?’ Kirsten interrupted in astonishment. ‘Why would she have anything to do with the loss of her own jewellery?’

  Jeanie grimaced. ‘I first smelt a rat when Lady Posh came over all nice and asked you to work for her. She’s never been a nice person. But if she did stitch you up, I can’t imagine why or how she did it—and I bet you won’t ever be able to prove it. She’s a clever one.’

  Kirsten bowed her head, thinking of all that Jeanie did not know, and all she did not feel able to tell her. Yes, she acknowledged, she had annoyed Pamela Anstruther by staring at Shahir. But that had just been a little thing, hadn’t it? It would be fantastical to suspect that Pamela would deliberately set her up to be falsely accused of theft, sacked and discredited. Yet it did not make any more sense to Kirsten that Morag Stevens would have stolen the pendant, only to conceal it in someone else’s locker.

  Kirsten’s head spun when she attempted to come up with a viable explanation for what she had initially assumed had to be a ghastly misunderstanding or a case of mistaken identity.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Jeanie prompted.

  A light switched on in the dark turmoil of Kirsten’s thoughts: she would make use of that business card and phone Shahir. She seized on the solution like a drowning swimmer. He would not let her be blamed for something she had not done. He would never believe that she was a thief. If he insisted, the matter would have to be more fully investigated and then surely the truth would emerge.

  ‘Your dad will go bonkers if he finds out you’ve been done for theft,’ Jeanie said worriedly.