Trish Morey - Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh

‘I am choosing you to become mistress to the Sheikh.’

He made it sound so… mechanical . ‘Is there a new vacancy, then?’ she questioned acidly. ‘Or will I be sharing the post?’

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. Nothing man- 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 behalf 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 photographs? 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 so alive . 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 what you 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.’

‘ Your terms?’ 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 actually do 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.