Hashim was so used to complete compliance—to grateful and eager acceptance from adoring women—that for a moment he was taken aback by her flippant attitude. ‘I do not think you realise the honour I am affording you,’ he said icily.
‘No, I probably don’t,’ said Sienna gravely. ‘Perhaps you could tell me a little more about what this exciting position entails?’
Because no one ever made fun of him Hashim did not recognise the mocking tone in her voice. He had never had to persuade or to entice a lover before, and such coercion did not come naturally to him.
‘You will have an open charge account.’ His black eyes flicked disparagingly over her jeans and stained T-shirt. ‘And in future you will buy clothes that please you and please your Sheikh.’
‘Do you have any particular requests?’ Sienna questioned meekly. ‘Favourite colours? That kind of thing?’
Hashim’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was she agreeing without further argument? Damn the woman—why did she keep coming out and surprising him? ‘Obviously what you are wearing today is thoroughly unsuitable.’
‘Obviously,’ she agreed steadily.
‘I should like to see you in silks and satins from now on,’ he said coolly. ‘And velvets and lace. Nothingman-made .’ He shuddered. ‘You should dress to please me, for when I am pleased then it follows that you shall be, too.’
‘How delightfully simple you make it sound,’ Sienna murmured. ‘Anything else?’
His black eyes gleamed with anticipation as he imagined clothing her in delicate underclothes—and then ripping them off! ‘As you know, I spend the majority of my time in Qudamah, but I frequently travel to the major cities to conduct business on be half of my country, and when I do I wish for you to fly out to join me. I will send my private jet for you,’ he promised silkily.
She ignored the airborne carrot he dangled. ‘But what about my job?’ she questioned seriously.
‘Your job?’
‘Or rather, my career,’ she corrected. ‘I’ve built it up from scratch and worked hard—I can’t just abandon it to flit off to all the corners of the globe on a whim.’
Hashim gave her an impatient look. ‘Your job will no longer be necessary. You will have all the money you need. You can give it up.’
Give it up?Sienna could not hold her feelings in any more. Did he have no idea how real people lived their lives? She supposed that he didn’t. ‘I’m not doing any such thing!’ she declared. ‘I take pride in my work, Hashim. I have a number of big contracts in the pipeline.’
‘Sub-contract them.’
‘No, I will not.’
‘Sienna, you are stretching my patience!’
‘And you’re stretching mine! Do you imagine for a moment that I can be bought?’
There was a moment of silence. ‘Everyone can be bought—you of all people should know that.’
‘Are you still on about those wretched photo graphs? Can’t you just let it go?’ She stared at him and then reached for the door. ‘I won’t be insulted by you any more. And I don’t have to be. You’ve had your pound of flesh, Hashim—just be satisfied with that.’
Suddenly he found himself wishing that he could bite the words back. ‘Sienna. Don’t go.’ He caught her arm and began to caress it with his fingers. ‘Please.’
She closed her eyes, her inner turmoil lulled by the touch of his hand, recognising that his plea was an unfamiliar one. She had made her stand and demonstrated her independence and her pride—but nothing could change the effect he had always had on her, and still did. The melting way he made her feel inside whenever he touched her. The way his very presence made her feel soalive . If she took that out of the equation there would be nothing to consider, but it was far too powerful to disregard.
She opened her eyes again. ‘It’s not all about whatyou want, is it, Hashim? It’s about what I want, too.’
He had been almost certain that she was—incredibly!—going to turn him down, and it was Hashim’s turn to be surprised. Was she playing games with him? ‘You mean you are giving consideration to my proposal?’
‘Of course I am. A woman would have to be pretty stupid not to, wouldn’t she? It isn’t every day that she is offered a chance to play the starring role in Cinderella!’
But, inexplicably, his triumph was now tempered by a fleeting sense of disappointment—for it now appeared that she was going to give in, and he had been enjoying doing battle with her. ‘So you will agree?’
‘Only if you agree to my terms.’
‘Yourterms?’ he repeated, outraged.
‘But of course. Why should it all go your way?’
Because it always had done—all his life!‘Name them,’ he snapped.
‘Well, you can forget the idea of a charge card, for a start—I don’t want it, thank you all the same. I don’t earn a fortune, but what I do has been honestly come by—and I usually manage to scrub up well enough without the benefit of costly clothes. And I will only fly to see you if it is convenient. To me.’ Because soon it would be over, and when it was she would need her livelihood just the same as she always had. ‘I will continue with my life as normal—if you want to see me then you will have to fit in around me.’
‘But what you ask of me is outrageous!’ he protested.
She shrugged. ‘Then forget the whole idea. In fact,’ she added truthfully, ‘that would be much better for me in the long-term.’
‘But in the short-term you do not want to forget it,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms. ‘Right now your body is screaming out for me. You know that I am growing hard even now, just as you are wet with wanting. Aren’t you?’
‘Hashim, you’re…you’re…’ But her words were forgotten, for he had put his hands underneath her T-shirt to cup the aching mounds of her breasts.
‘No bra?’ he questioned shakily, torn between excitement and disapproval as he felt their velvet weight against his palms.
‘I never wear one when I’m working at home. Oh!’ She gasped as he bent his mouth to one hardened nipple and began to suckle it. His hand was skimming the narrow indentation of her waist, which led down to an unforgiving waistband. And now his hand had moved to the fork of her thighs, and he was touching her through the denim…touching her and touching her. ‘Hashim, wh—what do you think you’re doing?’
‘Guess.’
‘But…but we’re in the car.’
‘The driver can’t see. Do you want me to stop?’
She squirmed with pleasure beneath his touch. Not yet. Just a couple of minutes more and then she would stop him. ‘We can’t actuallydo anything if I’m wearing jeans, can we?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Can’t we?’ He laughed, skating a featherlight fingertip over the most intimate part of her.
How could she feel this way? As though he was touching her flesh instead of the thick material of her jeans. ‘Hashim—’
‘Shh. Let go,’ he urged, excited now as he watched her. ‘Just let go.’
And to her eternal shame she did just that. Forgot the fact that she was writhing around in the back of a car in the middle of heaven only knew where. Forgot that she might have salvaged a little pride by returning his cheque and refusing his calls. She just went right along with the demands of her body, allowing herself to be carried along by the sweet and irresistible torrent.
‘Oh!’ She half sobbed as he increased the movement of his finger.
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘You are so close, Sienna. So beautifully close. Let me watch you as I give you pleasure. Let me see you orgasm in your blue jeans.’
And then that feeling was upon her again—that out-of-this-world, flying-to-paradise feeling was sweeping her up and away, orchestrated by the relentless and expert caress of his fingers. And suddenly she had begun to cry out—little cries of astounded pleasure—until the fierce pressure of his mouth blocked out the sound and her body shattered into a million beautiful pieces.
For countless seconds she felt the spasms of her
body shuddering to a slow halt, the sticky warmth of contentment. She was aware of Hashim stroking away the hair from her sweat-sheened brow.
‘How can that have happened?’ she whispered, half to herself. ‘How?’
Unseen, he smiled. How little she knew—and how much he had to show her! He lifted her chin so that he could stare down at her with black eyes which mocked and lanced. ‘Ah, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘Do you see how much you have to learn?’
Lying curled in his arms in the aftermath of her orgasm, she was at her most vulnerable. ‘Perhaps I do,’ she agreed drowsily.
Maybe when you first gave your heart to someone it was difficult to claw it back again. With Hashim there had always been a sense of something left uncompleted—hadn’t he said so himself? Maybe this really was the answer. If she saw more of him then mightn’t it diminish some of the magic which surrounded him? Which made her see him as she failed to see other men?
‘So you will agree to be my mistress?’
She turned her face up to his and opened her eyes very wide. ‘Only on a strictly informal basis.’
‘And will you come back to my hotel now and let me give you dinner?’
And, presumably, bed. But that was what a mistressshould do—and who was she to complain if it meant that Hashim would make love to her?
‘I’ll need to go home and get showered first.’
He gave a slow smile of anticipation. ‘We’ll have a bath together,’ he said. And he would send out those disgusting clothes of hers to be laundered.
CHAPTER TEN
Six months later
‘YOUare late,’ Hashim said coldly, as Sienna walked into the hotel bedroom.
‘Only a little.’
‘I have been waiting,’ he said ominously, ‘for over an hour.’
‘Sorry, darling.’ Sienna slipped off the soft green cashmere coat she had allowed him to buy her for Christmas, its emeraldfaux fur collar gleaming in the pale winter sunshine. It was theonly thing she had allowed him to buy—and then only because it was Christmas. Even though—as she had teasingly pointed out—he didn’t actuallycelebrate Christmas.
‘Butyou do!’ he had growled.
In a way, it frustrated him that she had steadfastly refused to be showered with the gifts which he thought were her due—but then, he didn’t have a monopoly on frustration. She had discovered early on that it went hand-in-hand with the pleasures of being a mistress.
It was such an unreal existence.
So many of their meetings were conducted in secret—behind the closed doors of hotel rooms—while they lost themselves in each other’s arms. Sometimes they would slip out to a discreet restaurant for a meal—though always shadowed by the ever-present bodyguards.
It was easier in Paris or some of the Spanish cities—which afforded more anonymity—but being abroad only increased Sienna’s sense of unreality. The certainty that this relationship could not last, and her fear of when it would end. Whether it would be less painful if it happened sooner rather than later.
It was as though what they had between them was so fragile that any kind of analysis might shatter it. And it wasn’t even something she could talk to her girlfriends about—and certainly not her mother. When you had an ordinary relationship—were having those ordinary fears about where it was headed—then friendly advice was yours for the taking.
But being a mistress was an indeterminate occupation, frowned on by society in general—both hisand hers. For it flew in the face of the family values which most people believed in, deep down.
Only in her case she was not strictly a mistress. Hashim didn’t have a wife waiting at home. Instead he had a country—which was far more demanding.
She turned to watch him as he pressed a button on the wall and the heavy drapes slid silently to a close, blocking out the daylight and enclosing them in their own private world.
Hand provocatively placed on her hip, Sienna raised her eyebrows as he turned round. ‘You complain that I’ve kept you waiting, and yet you haven’t even kissed me hello yet!’
Exasperated and turned on, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Hello.’
‘And hello to you, too.’
He rubbed his forehead against hers. ‘How you love to make me angry, Sienna.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said seriously. ‘It’s just that you work yourself up into a complete state when I don’t do exactly what you say.’
‘But you never do what I say.’
‘Ask me something—anything—and I will!’
He took her face between his hands and looked down at her. ‘Will you kiss me again, my noncompliant and informal little mistress?’
She lifted her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck, giving a little yelp of pleasure as their mouths collided in a kiss which this time was much more than a greeting. It was a hard, hungry and frustrated kiss. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a month, and he wasn’t supposed to be here for another fortnight.
But he had sandwiched in an extra trip to London on the way back from the States and called her at the last minute. Sienna had decided not to play games for the sake of it and had agreed to change her diary around. And bought a new set of underwear.
In between the frantic unzipping and unbuttoning of their clothes there were fractured bursts of conversation.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he groaned.
‘Good.’
He reached down and slid off first one high-heeled shoe and then the other, caressing a silk-clad ankle on the way. ‘You’re supposed to tell me that you missed me, too.’
‘That…oh!’ She shivered as he rippled his fingers up over a stocking-top and circled the satin flesh above it. ‘That is what I would call fishing for a compliment.’ She gulped.
His hand halted. ‘So you didn’t?’
‘You’ve only been gone a month.’
‘Only?’he questioned ominously.
She reached down and guided his hand back again. ‘Yes, yes, yes—I’ve missed you. I’ve thought about you constantly and dreamt of this moment! Is that better?’
‘Much better,’ he murmured. ‘If it is true.’
Oh, yes, it was true, she thought as he carried her over to the bed and put her down in the centre of it. She had missed him more than he would ever know and more than she would ever tell him. She might have been a novice when she started her affair with Hashim—but she was growing to learn the rules. And the number one rule seemed to be always keep something back.
She had recognised early on that her Sheikh was a natural hunter—and that like all hunters he enjoyed the thrill of the chase. He was never more passionate than when she didn’t leap into line. It wasn’t the hardest psychology in the world to work out that a man for whom the world jumped would be fascinated by someone who didn’t.
And for Sienna it was less about game-playing than protecting herself. Stopping herself falling deeper in love with a man who could never reciprocate the emotion. But holding back love wasn’t as easy as playing hard to get. Love was like sunlight outside the dark of a barn—there were always cracks and crevices for it to come flooding inside.
She pushed the thoughts away as he took off her dress, her bra and her panties—though he left her stockings and suspender belt on. Lying back against the cushions, she watched as he removed his clothes, peeling off his suit and shirt and skimming off his silken underwear until he was formidably and powerfully naked.
Sometimes she touched herself while he undressed, as he had taught her to—rubbing at her breasts or teasing him with the tantalising stroke of a finger between her legs. Sometimes he even liked to watch her bring herself to orgasm—but today she could see a tight tension in his muscular body, and she frowned and did not tease him.
When he came to lie beside her she noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes and lifted a finger to touch them. ‘You’re tired,’ she observed softly.
‘Then make me untired.’
‘Is there such a word as untired?�
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‘There is now.’ He closed his eyes as she licked with her tongue from nipple to belly and then beyond, to where he was unbearably hard. ‘Ah, Sienna,’ he groaned. ‘Where the hell did you learn to do that?’
‘You taught me, Hashim,’ she murmured, before taking him slowly into her mouth. ‘Remember? You taught me everything.’
Afterwards he thought that he had taught her per haps too well…She was like a whore in the bed room—as a woman should be. She was everything he had ever dreamed of—and more. And one day an other man would benefit from his tutition—perhaps sooner than either of them had anticipated. Another man would see her head bobbing up and down on his lap, her mouth working sweet spells while she took him to paradise and back. His lips twisted as a sting of pain caught him unawares, but then fatigue wrapped him in its gritty arms and he slept.
Exposed The Sheikh’s Mistress Page 10
