Mistress of the Sheikh

by Sandra Marton

“Yes.” Amazingly, it was true. “What was in those tablets?”

  Nick smiled. “You’ll have to let me take you to London to find out.”

  The words were as teasing as his smile, but they made her breath catch.

  “You’re not being a tyrant,” she said.

  “It’s late, and I’m tired. It takes too much energy to be a tyrant twenty-four hours a day.” He folded his arms along the back of the chair, propped his chin on his wrists. “Abdul finished checking you out.”

  “Ah. Am I Mata Hari?”

  “He says you live alone.”

  Amanda sighed, shut her eyes and laid her head back. “He’s a genius.”

  “He says you’re divorced.”

  She put her index finger to her mouth, licked it, then checked an imaginary scorecard in the air.

  “Why?”

  Amanda’s eyes popped open. “Why what?”

  “Why are you divorced?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “You made everything about you my business when you crept into my room and started taking photographs.”

  “God, are we back to that? I told you—”

  “You were getting data so you could redo my apartment.” He reached down, picked up her foot. Amanda tried to jerk it back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking off your shoes.” His hands were gentle though the tips of his fingers felt callused. Why would a sheikh who never did anything except order people around have callused fingers? she wondered dreamily, and closed her eyes as he began massaging her arch.

  “Mmm.”

  “Mmm, indeed.” Nick cleared his throat. What in hell was he doing? Well, he wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew what he was doing; he was sitting in the one room in the overblown, overfurnished, overeverythinged penthouse that really belonged to him with a woman’s foot in his lap. And he was thinking something insane. Something totally, completely crazy.

  He let go of Amanda’s foot, shoved back his chair and stood up.

  “You didn’t do the mayor’s mansion.”

  Amanda opened her eyes. “No,” she said wearily. “I didn’t do that penthouse, either.”

  “Then why did you lie?”

  “Dawn lied, not me. I’m a designer, but not the way she said.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I’ve never had a real client.”

  Abdul had said as much. “Not one?”

  “Not unless you count my mother. And my stepbrother. But I’m a good designer. Damned good.”

  “Don’t curse,” Nick said mildly. “It isn’t feminine.”

  “Is it feminine for a woman to curl around a man like a vine?”

  “What?”

  “Deanna Whosis. The woman in that magazine photo. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to strangle you or say hello.”

  Nick grinned, hitched a hip onto the edge of the desk and folded his arms. “You’re still tipsy, Ms. Benning.”

  “I’m cold sober.” But if she was, why would she have asked him such a question? “She did it again tonight, too. She seems to think two objects can be in the same space at the same time.”

  “Jealous?” Nick said with a little smile.

  “Why on earth would I be?”

  “Maybe because it’s a feminine trait.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “You haven’t really asked one.”

  “I did.”

  “You didn’t. You asked me about vines and the laws of physics, but what you really want to know is if I’m involved with Deanna.”

  “I didn’t ask you that.”

  “You didn’t have to. And the answer is no, I’m not. Not anymore.”

  The answer surprised her. “But I saw—”

  “I know what you saw. And I’m telling you, Deanna Burgess is history.”

  Amanda licked her lips. “As of when?” she said softly, and held her breath, waiting for the answer.

  “As of the minute I kissed you tonight,” Nick said, and as he did, he knew it was the truth.

  Amanda stared at him. Then she got to her feet. “It’s late,” she said, because it was all she could think of to say. Had he really gotten rid of Deanna Burgess because of her? No. The idea was preposterous. It was crazy.

  Mostly, it was incredibly exciting.

  Nick rose, too. “Deanna is gone, Amanda. From my home and from my life.”

  “I don’t—I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

  “Yes, you do.” He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up. “And I know why you asked.”

  “I don’t know what you’re…” Her breath hitched. He was moving his thumb gently over her mouth, tracing its contours. “Nick?”

  “I like the way you say my name.”

  He bent his head, his eyes locked to hers and followed the path his thumb had taken with his lips.

  “Kiss me,” he said in a rough whisper. “Kiss me the way you did before.”

  “No,” she said, and thrust her hands into his hair, pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.

  Moments later, centuries later, she shuddered and pulled back.

  “I didn’t come here for this.”

  “No.” Nick bent his head, pressed his open mouth to the pulse racing in the hollow of her throat. “Neither did I.”

  “Nick.” She put her hands on his chest to push him away. Instead, her fingers curled into the lapels of his tux. “I’m not a woman who sleeps around.”

  “That’s fine. Because I’m not a man who believes in sharing.”

  “And I’m not looking for a relationship. My divorce wasn’t pleasant. Neither was my marriage. It will be a long, long time before I get involved with another—”

  Nick kissed her again, his mouth open and hot. She moaned, swayed, and his arms went around her.

  “My life is planned,” she whispered. “I was my father’s devoted daughter, my mother’s rock, my husband’s puppet.”

  “I don’t want any of that from you.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  He took her face in his hands. “I want you to be my mistress.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS, she realized, a joke.

  A bad joke, but a joke all the same. What else could it be?

  A man she hardly knew, a man she’d done nothing but argue with, had just told her that he wanted her to be his mistress. He’d said it—no, he’d announced it—with certainty, as if it were an arrangement they’d discussed and agreed to.

  A joke, absolutely. Or a sign of insanity…but was what the sheikh had said any more insane than what she’d been doing? Kissing him. Hanging on to him. Aching for him, this rude, self-important stranger…

  This gorgeous, sexy, incredible man who’d held her gently when she felt ill.

  Amanda’s head whirled. She stepped back, tugged down her skirt, smoothed a shaking hand over her hair. Homey little gestures, all of them. Well, who knew?

  Maybe they’d restore her equilibrium.

  Or maybe she’d misunderstood him. That was possible. After all, just a little while ago, she’d felt as if a crazed tap dancer was loose inside her skull. Could a headache make you hear voices? Could it leave you suffering from delusions?

  Was she crazy, or was he?

  “Amanda?”

  She looked up. Nick’s face gave nothing away. He looked like a man waiting for a train. Calm. Cool. Collected. Surely he wouldn’t look like that if he was waiting for her to say yes.

  Heat spiraled through her, from the pit of her belly into her breasts and her face. What in hell was she thinking? She wouldn’t. In fact, she should have slapped his face at his words. The sheikh wanted a new sexual toy and he figured she’d be thrilled to discover she was it.

  He wasn’t only crazy; he was insulting. She told him so, succinctly, coldly, carefully. And the SOB just smiled.

  “I should have kept count of the number of times you’ve called me crazy tonig
ht.”

  “Yes, you should. It might tell you something about your behavior, Lord Rashid.”

  “It’s a little late for formality.”

  “It’s never too late for formality and it’s certainly not too late for sanity. Did you really think I’d agree to your offer?”

  “Actually,” he said, his mouth twitching just a little, “I thought you might slug me.”

  “An excellent idea.” She stepped back, her hands on her hips, a look of contempt on her face. “I suppose it’s been your experience that women become delirious with joy when you offer them such a wonderful opportunity.”

  Nick tucked his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know. I’ve never, ah, made the offer before.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll just bet. Nicholas al Rashid, Lion of the Desert, Heir to the Imperial Throne, Lord of the Realm…and Celibate of the Century.” She lifted a hand, examined her fingernails with care before looking at him again and flashing a toothy smile. “You never asked a woman to be your mistress?”

  “No.” He leaned back against the edge of the desk, crossed his feet at the ankles. “Usually the relationship simply…develops.”

  “Ah. You usually show a bit more finesse.” She smiled brightly. “How nice.”

  Clearly, her sarcasm didn’t impress him. He shrugged, his expression unchanging.

  “Our situation is different. It called for a bolder move.” His eyes, silver as rain, met hers. “You want a commission.” The quiet tone in his voice changed just a little, took on a husky edge. “I want you.”

  Say something, Amanda told herself. Tell him he’s being offensive, that he can’t go around saying things like this to women. But he wasn’t saying it to “women,” he was saying it to her. She was the one he wanted. And she, heaven help her, and she…

  Stop it!

  She stood up straighter, cocked her chin and flashed a cool smile. “I see. You get a night in the sack. I get a job.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t ‘no’ me, Lord Rashid.” Amanda’s tone hardened. “That’s what you said. I’ll sleep with you, and you’ll give me a job. Do you have any idea how incredibly insulting and sleazy that offer is?”

  Nick sighed and shook his head. “You’re never going to make a success of—what was it? Benning Designs?”

  “You’re wrong. I’ll make a huge success of it and I’ll do it without accepting your charming proposition,” she said caustically, “because I’m good. Damn good.”

  “You won’t succeed,” he said calmly, “unless you learn to pay attention.” He folded his arms, lowered his chin, looked at her as if she’d just flunked the final exam in her business administration course. “I didn’t say I wanted to sleep with you. I said I wanted you to be my mistress.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not at all.” Nick smiled coolly. “Sleeping with you would mean an hour of pleasure. Taking you as my mistress means pleasure for as long as our desire for each other lasts.”

  Heat seeped into her blood again, warmed her flesh and turned her bones to jelly. How could he talk so calmly about such a thing? Odder still, how could she hear those calm words and feel as if he were touching her skin?

  “Either way, I’m not going to do it. I’d never trade my body for your checkbook.”

  “And a lovely body it is,” Nick said, and uncoiled from the edge of the desk.

  Amanda took a quick step back. The warning was there, burning in his eyes. “Nick,” she said, “wait a minute—”

  Her shoulders hit the wall as he moved forward. And when he reached for her, her heart leaped like a rabbit.

  “I’ll fight you,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Nick, I swear…”

  His hands encircled her wrists. That was all. He didn’t kiss her, didn’t gather her to him. Just that, the feel of his fingers on the pulse points in her wrists, but it was enough to turn her body liquid with desire.

  “A spectacular body,” he said softly. “And a face more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen.” Nick lowered his head. She lifted hers. Lightly, lightly, he brushed his mouth across her slightly parted lips. “But I’m not asking for either in trade.”

  “No?” Amanda cleared her throat. Her voice sounded small and choked. “Then—then what’s this all about?”

  His eyes fell to her lips, then returned to lock with hers. “It’s about desire,” he murmured, and he bent his head and nuzzled the hair back from her face, pressed his hot mouth against her throat.

  Don’t, she thought, oh, don’t. Don’t fight. Don’t move. Don’t respond to him at all. But she trembled and made a little sound she couldn’t prevent, and she knew that her pulse leaped under the stroke of his fingers.

  “We’re both intelligent adults, Amanda.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I expect you to understand that what you want is impossible.”

  He smiled. “Anything is possible when you really want it.”

  She gave a little laugh that sounded forced even to her own ears, but it was the best she could manage at the moment. “Do you think I’m stupid? Or is that the plan, Nick? You’re going to convince me of how foolish I am unless I agree to sleep…” She took a breath. Why was she arguing with him? He wanted something. She didn’t. That was that. “Let go of me,” she said.

  He did. It was what she’d wanted, but she felt chilled without his hands on her, and that was silly. The night was warm. So was the room. And yet, without Nick to hold her…

  Amanda swallowed, turned her back and walked to the window. It was very late. The moon had gone down and a breeze sighed around the windows. It made the shrubs that lined the terrace tremble under its touch, just as she had trembled under Nick’s.

  “You’re right,” she said, her voice low. “We’re both adults. I’m not going to be coy and pretend I don’t know what happens when you touch me. But I don’t intend to give in to it.” She took a breath, slowly let it out. “What went on in your bedroom? That wasn’t me. You probably won’t believe it, but I’ve never…I mean, no one has ever—”

  “Except for me.”

  He spoke from just behind her, so close that all she had to do was take a step back to be in his arms again.

  “Yes.” She felt his hand move lightly over her hair and she fought back the urge to shut her eyes and give herself up to the caress. “But it won’t happen again.”

  “I regret what happened, too.” His voice thickened and he cleared his throat. “I’ve never come on to a woman with so little tact. I know I should apologize, but—”

  “Don’t.” She spun around, looked at him, her cheeks on fire, her eyes glittering. “You wanted honesty. Well, the truth is that we were both at fault.”

  “We wanted each other. There’s no fault in that.”

  “I don’t much care how you choose to explain it, Nick. It was wrong. And I’m not going to change my mind about sleeping with—”

  She gasped as he pulled her to him. “I could take you to bed right now.”

  “You could.” Her chin rose and her eyes locked with his. “You’re much stronger than I am.”

  His eyes went flat and cold. “Do you think I’m the kind of man who takes a woman by force?”

  She didn’t. She couldn’t imagine him forcing himself on a woman any more than she could imagine a woman walking away from his bed.

  “No,” she whispered. “You’re right. You wouldn’t do that.”

  He shifted his weight, slid his hands up her body, leaving a trail of heat in the wake of his palms.

  “All I’d have to do is kiss you. Touch you. How long would it take before you’d be naked in my arms, begging me to finish what we began in my bedroom hours ago?”

  “No,” she said again, but her voice trembled, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said. “But that’s not what I want. I want more. Much more.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides, turned away and walked across the small room. He stood with his back to Amanda, his ha
nds clenched in his pockets.

  Earlier tonight, in his bedroom, he’d wanted nothing more than a quick, hard ride. The blonde with the golden eyes beneath him, her skin slick with heat, her head thrown back…

  That would have been enough.

  Later, watching her drift from group to group at the party, seeing her make the best of what he knew had to be a difficult situation, he’d smiled a little, decided it might be pleasant to spend not an hour but a night with Amanda Benning in his bed.

  Deanna had caught him looking. She’d said something cutting that was meant to remind him that his loyalty was supposed to be to her, but all she’d done was make him face what he’d known, and not admitted, for weeks.

  He’d had enough of Deanna.

  She was beautiful, but she was proof of the old adage. Beauty was, after all, only skin-deep. And so he’d taken her aside, gently told her that they were finished, and after a scene that had been uglier than he’d expected, he’d come back into the living room, taken one look at Amanda and realized she was drunk.

  “Shall I deal with the lady, Lord Rashid?” Abdul had whispered, and Nick had sighed and said no, he’d take care of it…but somewhere between the living room and his study, he’d realized that he was wrong.

  One night with Amanda wouldn’t be enough.

  He was hungry for her, and she was hungry for him, and only a fool would have imagined they’d have enough of each other between sunset and sunrise.

  No, Nick thought, watching her face, one night wouldn’t be sufficient. He wanted time to learn all the textures and tastes of this woman’s mouth. Of the secret places of her body. She was a feast that would keep a man busy for a month of nights.

  He turned and looked at her. “Have you ever gambled, Amanda?”

  The sudden shift in conversation made her blink. “Gambled?”

  “Yes. Did you ever bet on something?”

  “No. Well, yes. I went to Las Vegas once. With my sisters. Sam played the slots. Carin played poker. I watched a roulette wheel for a while.” Her brow furrowed. “What’s this have to do with anything?”

  “Indulge me,” Nick said with a smile. He sat on the edge of the desk. “Did you bet? On the wheel, I mean?”

  “Eventually.”

  “And?”