Mistress of the Sheikh

by Sandra Marton

  She cried out as he grabbed the neckline of the silk caftan and tore it from the hollow of her throat to the hem. She tried to tug the edges together, but Nick captured her hands. “Don’t play the terrified virgin with me. Not when you’ve shared the intimate details of my life with millions of strangers.”

  “Nick. I beg you—”

  “Go on. Beg me. I want you to beg me!” He dragged her into his arms, clamped her against him, caught her face in his hands and forced it to his. “So, I’m a savage, am I?” His teeth showed in a quick, feral grin. “That’s fine. I think I’m going to enjoy living down to that description.”

  “Don’t. Nick, don’t do this. I love you. I love—”

  He kissed her, hard, his mouth covering hers with barely suppressed rage, his teeth and tongue savaging her while his fingers dug into her jaw.

  “Don’t speak to me of love, you bitch!”

  He kissed her again and again, deaf to her pleas, unmoved by her desperate struggles, lifted her into his arms, tumbled her onto a pile of silk cushions and straddled her.

  “Speak to me of what you know. Of betrayal. Of mindless sex. Of how it feels to be a whore.”

  The sound of her hand cracking against his cheek echoed through the room like a gunshot. Nick’s head jerked back; he raised his hand in retaliation.

  “Go on,” Amanda said. Her voice trembled, but her gaze was steady. “Hit me. Dishonor me. Do whatever you came here to do because you couldn’t possibly hurt me any more than you already have.”

  Nick stared down at her while the seconds slipped away. God, he thought, oh, God, how close she’d come to turning him into the savage she’d called him. He cursed, shot to his feet, grabbed Amanda’s wrist and dragged her after him.

  “Abdul!” he shouted as he flung the door open.

  The little man stepped forward. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Bring the woman her clothes.”

  “But, sire…”

  Nick shoved Amanda into the corridor. “She will dress and you will take her to the airport. See to it she’s flown to Paris and put on the next plane for New York.”

  Abdul bowed low. “As you wish, Lord Rashid.”

  “Get her out of my sight!” Nick’s voice shook with rage and the pain of betrayal. “Get her out of my sight,” he whispered again, once he was back in his own rooms with the door closed and locked.

  Then he sank onto the bed, the bed where he’d finally admitted that he’d fallen in love with Amanda Benning, buried his face in his hands and did something no Lion of the Desert had ever done in all the centuries before him.

  Nicholas al Rashid, Lord of the Realm and Sublime Heir to the Imperial Throne of Quidar, wept.

  * * *

  An hour later, Abdul knocked on the door. “Lord Rashid?”

  Nick stirred. He’d changed back into jeans—the truth was, he always felt like a fool in that silly white-and-gold robe. He was even feeling a little better.

  After all, he’d get over this. Amanda was only a woman, and the world was filled with women….

  “Lord Rashid? May I come in?”

  It had been his mistake, that he’d opened his heart. He should have known better. Everyone always wanted something from him. The instant celebrity of being seen in his company. The right to mention his name in seemingly casual conversation. The supposed status that came of saying he was a friend or, at least, an acquaintance.

  That was just the way things were. He knew it; he’d known it all his adult life. Why should he have expected things to be different with Amanda?

  Why should he have let himself think, even for a moment, that she loved him for himself, not for who he was or what he might do for her?

  The knock sounded again, more forcefully. “Sire. It is I. Abdul.”

  Nick sighed, switched on a lamp and went slowly to the door. “Yes?” he said as he pulled it open. “What is it?”

  Abdul knelt down and touched his forehead to the floor. “I thought you would wish to know that it is done, my lord. The woman is gone.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You need trouble yourself with thoughts of her no longer.”

  “Did she…?” Nick cleared his throat. “Did she say anything more?”

  “Sire?”

  “Did she send any message for me?”

  “Only more lies, my lord.”

  “More lies…”

  “Yes. That she had not done this thing.”

  Nick nodded. “Yes. Of course. She’ll deny it to the end.” He looked down at the old man, still doubled over with his forehead pressed to the tile. “Abdul. Please, stand up.”

  “I cannot, sire. It is not the custom.”

  “The custom,” Nick said irritably. “The custom be damned!” He grabbed the old man’s arm and hoisted him to his feet. “You’re too old for this nonsense, Abdul. Besides, it’s time for some changes in this place.”

  “I think not, my lord. Your father would wish—”

  “My father agrees.”

  “About change?” Abdul laughed politely. “That cannot be, sire. Your father understands the importance of things continuing as they always have. He may not have understood it once, but—”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Abdul bit his lip. “Nothing, sire. Just—just the meandering thoughts of an old man.”

  “Well, prepare yourself for some upsets, Abdul.” Nick crossed the room and switched on another light. “My father is going to abdicate the throne.”

  “Already? I assumed he would wait until he was much older, but that is good, sire. Putting the kingdom in your hands while you are still young is—”

  “He’s not abdicating for me.”

  The old man paled. “They why would he abdicate?”

  “It’s time Quidar entered the twenty-first century. There will be elections. The people will choose a council. There’ll be no more bowing and scraping, no more—”

  “That woman. May her wretched soul burn in hell!”

  Nick turned around, his head cocked. “What?”

  “Nothing, sire. I, ah, I’ll go and arrange for your meal to be served. You must be hungry—”

  “Are you referring to Ms. Benning?”

  The old man hesitated, then nodded. “I am, my lord. There is no reason not to admit it now. She was not good for you.”

  “What is good or not good for me is my affair,” Nick said sharply.

  “Of course. I only meant—”

  “Yes. I know.” Nick sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone. And you’re right. She wasn’t good for me.”

  “Indeed, she was not. A woman who would pretend illness just to gain access to your study—”

  “Access to my…?”

  “The night of your birthday party, my lord.” Abdul snorted. “Such a lie, that she had a headache.”

  Nick looked at the old man. “How did you know she had a headache?” he asked softly.

  Abdul hesitated. “Well, I—I…You rang for aspirin, sire.”

  “I rang for coffee.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course. I meant that. You rang for coffee, and then you told her the story of the two-headed coin.” Abdul clamped his lips together.

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You were listening,” he said. “At the door.”

  “No. Certainly not.”

  “You were listening,” Nick repeated grimly. “Otherwise, how would you know I’d told her about the coin?”

  “I, ah, I must have…” A fine sheen of sweat moistened Abdul’s forehead.

  “Must have what?” Nick walked slowly toward his secretary. “How could you know I told her about the coin that night?”

  The old man dropped to his knees and grasped the cuff of Nick’s jeans in his fingers. “I did it for you,” he whispered. “For you, and for Quidar.”

  “Did what?” Nick reached down, grabbed Abdul by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. “Damn you, what did you do for me and
for Quidar?”

  “She was wrong for you, sire. As wrong as your mother had been for your father. Foreign women know nothing of our ways.”

  “Tell me what you did,” Nick said through gritted teeth, “or so help me, Abdul…”

  “I did my duty.”

  “Your duty,” Nick said softly.

  Abdul nodded.

  “How did you ‘do your duty’, old man?”

  “Miss Burgess called while you were in Texas with Ms. Benning. She was angry.”

  “Go on.”

  “She said—she said to give you a message, sire. She was writing a piece for Gossip that would teach you that you couldn’t make a fool of her.”

  Nick let go of Abdul. He clenched his fists and jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He knew that was the only way he could keep from wrapping them around the old man’s scrawny throat.

  “And?” he said carefully.

  “I offered money for her silence. She laughed and said there wasn’t enough money in the world to keep her quiet. Oh, I paced the floor for hours, sire, searching for a solution, but I could think of none.”

  “And you didn’t think to call me?”

  “I didn’t wish to upset you, my lord.” Abdul clasped his hands together in supplication. “I wished to help you, sire, and to help Quidar. If I couldn’t stop the Burgess woman from writing the Gossip article, I would use it, just as I’d used that picture of you and her on the beach.”

  Nick stared at Abdul. “Are you telling me that you sold that photo to Gossip?”

  “I did not ‘sell’ it, Lord Rashid. I would never…” Abdul took a quick step back. “Sire, don’t you understand? I could see what you could not. These foreign devils, tormenting you—”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The Benning woman was the worst. She was a temptress. A succubus. And you were falling under her spell.”

  “For the love of God!” Nick barked out a laugh and raked his hand through his hair. “This isn’t the Dark Ages, man. I wasn’t succumbing to a spell. I was falling in love!”

  Abdul stood as straight as Nick had ever seen him. “The Lion of the Desert must marry a woman who understands our ways.”

  “The Lion of the Desert must try damned hard not to slam you against the wall,” Nick growled. “Go on. What did you do next?”

  “I telephoned Miss Burgess. I suggested we could help each other.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I…” For the first time, the old man hesitated. “I gave her some information. I said she might consider using it, along with a different identity.” He made a strangled sound as Nick grabbed him by the neck and hoisted him to his toes. “Lord Rashid.” Abdul clawed at the powerful hand around his throat. “Sire, I cannot breathe.”

  Nick let go. The old man collapsed on the floor like a bundle of dirty clothes.

  “You son of a bitch,” Nick whispered. “You told Deanna about that coin.”

  “For the good of Quidar, sire,” Abdul gasped. “It hurt no one. Surely you can see that. A simple tale about a coin—”

  “A simple tale that I thought proved I’d been betrayed by the woman I love.”

  Nick swung away from the huddled form at his feet and strode toward the door. Abdul pulled himself up and hurried after him.

  “Lord Rashid? Where are you going?”

  “To Paris,” Nick said. “To New York. To the ends of the earth, until I find Amanda.” He looked at Abdul; the old man cowered under that icy gaze and fell to his knees. “And you’d better not be within the borders of this kingdom when I return,” he said softly, “or I’ll revive one old custom and have your neck on a chopping block.”

  “Sire. Oh, sire, I beg you. Don’t banish me. Please…”

  Nick slammed the door. Half an hour later, he was on a jet, hurtling through the night sky toward Paris.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WEARY travelers sprawled across the seats in the departure lounge at Paris’s Charles de Gaulle Airport.

  Their New York-bound plane was still on the ground, its takeoff already delayed by more than three hours. The mechanics had yet to solve a perplexing electrical problem. Until they did, the passengers wouldn’t be going anywhere. There was no substitute plan available, so they’d just have to wait it out.

  Waiting was the last thing Amanda felt like doing. She knew it was childish but all she wanted was to get home, not just to the States and New York but to her own apartment, where things were familiar and real. Maybe then she could erase the past few days from her head and heart, and start putting things into their proper perspective.

  “I just don’t understand it!” a querulous voice said.

  Amanda turned toward the gray-haired matron who’d dropped into the seat next to hers. “Sorry?”

  “The airline,” the woman said. “The lie it keeps feeding us. Just look at that airplane out there. Anyone can see there’s nothing wrong with it. Why would they expect us to believe an electrical problem is the reason for this awful delay?”

  “I’m sure that’s what it is,” Amanda said politely.

  “Nonsense. Electricity is electricity. That’s what I told the man at the desk. ‘Whom do you think you’re fooling?’ I said. ‘Just put in a new fuse.’ And he said…”

  The woman’s voice droned on. After a while, Amanda closed the magazine she’d been pretending to read and rose to her feet. “Excuse me,” she said, and walked to a seat at the far end of the waiting area.

  There was no point in trying to change the woman’s mind. If there was one thing the past few days had taught her, it was that people would always believe what they wanted to believe, no matter what anyone told them.

  Nick had wanted to believe the very worst about her, that she’d tell the entire world about him, about their most intimate secrets—

  “Hi.”

  She blinked, looked up. A man was standing over her. He was good-looking. Handsome, actually. He had a nice smile and a great face—but that was all he had, all he’d ever have, because he wasn’t Nick.

  “Miserable, huh? This long delay, I mean—”

  “Excuse me,” Amanda said for the second time.

  She stood up, tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket and walked out of the waiting area toward the end of the terminal where there were lots of empty seats. The lights were turned low. That was fine. She was in the mood for shadows and darkness.

  The man she’d cut dead probably thought she was rude or crazy or maybe both. Well, what was she supposed to have said?

  Look, this is a waste of time. I’m not interested in men just now. Or maybe she should have explained that she was too busy thinking about another man to manage even small talk with a stranger.

  Oh, hell.

  There was no point in thinking about Nick. She’d done nothing except think about him and the humiliation he’d heaped on her. That was all he’d done ever since Abdul had marched her out of the Ivory Palace.

  Somewhere along the way, self-doubt had taken the place of anger. What would have happened if only she’d said this thing or that; if she’d somehow forced Nick to listen to her. And then, finally, she’d faced the truth.

  Torturing herself wouldn’t change a thing. Nick would believe what he wanted to believe no matter what she said. It wasn’t as if she’d let some chance to make him see the truth slip through her fingers.

  The only mistake she’d made was to have gotten involved with him in the first place.

  End of story.

  Their affair, their relationship, whatever you wanted to call it, was over. Feelings changed, things ended, you moved on. Her mother had done that. She had, too.

  I’m so riddled with guilt, she’d told Marta after her divorce. Marriage is supposed to be forever. How will I ever put this behind me?

  And Marta had hugged her and said, Sweetie, you just do it, that’s all. You move on.

  She knew Marta had given her good advice. Excellent advice,
really. There was no more logic in agonizing over her failed marriage than there was in wasting time wishing this thing with Nick had never happened or in trying to convince the woman with gray hair that you couldn’t fix an airplane’s electrical problems by changing a fuse.

  You couldn’t judge a man’s heart by his performance in bed, either.

  It was a cold realization but it was honest, and if she’d been fool enough to think Nick’s whispered words, his kisses, his caresses, were anything but part of sex, that was her problem.

  Amanda sighed, strolled into one of the empty lounges and sank wearily into a chair facing the windows. The jet that would take her home squatted on the tarmac. Mechanics scuttled purposefully around it. Problems were being solved, life was going on, and why wouldn’t it?

  What had happened with Nick—what she’d been stupid enough to let happen—was nothing but a blip in the overall scheme of things. The planet would go on spinning, the stars would go on shining, everything would be exactly the same.

  Certainly they would. She’d be home soon, and Nick would be a distant memory. Thank goodness she’d already figured out that she’d never actually fallen in love with him.

  “Mesdames et messieurs…”

  The impersonal voice droned from the loudspeaker, first in French, then in English. The flight was still delayed. The airline regretted the inconvenience. Another hour or two, blah, blah, blah.

  Amanda stood up and walked closer to the window. The sky was darkening. Was a storm blowing toward them or was night coming on? She couldn’t tell anymore. Night and day seemed to have gotten all mixed up, just like her emotions.

  Mixed up? That was a laugh. Her emotions had gone crazy. Otherwise, how could she possibly have imagined she loved Nick?

  The lengths a woman would go to just to avoid admitting the truth—that she’d succumbed to lust. And lust was what she’d felt for Nicholas al Rashid. Good old garden variety, down-and-dirty lust. Wasn’t it pathetic she’d had to tell herself it was love?

  This was the twenty-first century. The world had long ago admitted that the female of the species could have the same emotions as her male counterpart. Why should she be any different? One look at the Lion of the Desert and pow, her hormones had gone crazy.