Sandra Marton - The Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress

No matter what it took, it would not be that.

The appointment was legitimate enough.

Drinks with a few conference attendees in the hotel’s lush gardens. Pleasant small talk, laughter, interspersed with discussions about the meetings they’d all attended during the day.

But Lipton made it more than that.

He stood as close to her as possible, his body brushing hers. His hand lay in the small of her back. His fingers drifted across hers when he handed her a drink she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. He said “us” and “we” and used her name in a way that somehow lent it intimacy.

And, inevitably, people noticed. She saw the coolly assessing glances of the men, the way the women’s eyes narrowed.

She sought a moment’s solace in the ladies’ room but when she was at the sink, washing her hands, one of the women in the little group came in and stood at the mirror beside her. Their eyes met in the glass.

“So,” the woman said, with a little smile, “did you know he’s married?”

“Did I know who is married?” Grace said, foolishly resorting to ignorance.

“Your, um, your boss ,” the woman purred, and gave a little laugh. “Perhaps you have hopes but, sweetie, trust me, it’s not going anywhere. Stop playing coy and enjoy your stay here, if you know what I mean.”

Grace turned off the water. The attendant pressed a soft linen towel into her hands.

“I know precisely what you mean,” Grace said, willing herself to sound cool and calm when her heart was galloping. “And there’s nothing about my stay here to enjoy, most especially not the company.”

It was, she knew, a pathetic rejoinder but she wasn’t one of those people who could turn clever when she was upset. She’d proven that in New York, running instead of facing her lover when she realized he was weary of her, that he was about to dump her from her job and his life with as little warning as you’d give a fly before you swatted it.

Her throat constricted.

“There you are.” Lipton’s hand closed around her arm. He smiled. His touch, his smile, spoke volumes. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Grace, you naughty girl, you forgot to remind me about the presentation I’m making in the morning.”

“I did remind you,” she said quietly. “Twice.”

“Twice.” Lipton grinned at the little group gathered around them. “She reminded me twice.” His hand moved from her arm to her nape, his fingers curling around it. “Who would think a girl who looks like this would be concerned about her employer’s calendar?”

Silence, embarrassed laughter and a couple of leering smiles greeted his slurred words. Grace spoke quietly.

“Let go of me.”

“Now, darling, don’t be silly. We’re all friends here.”

“Mr. Lipton. I said—”

“I heard you, darling. Now you hear me. I’m afraid we’re going to have to pass on dinner with these charming people, go back to our suite and work on that speech.” He chuckled. “Among other things.”

Grace tried to move away from him. His hand clasped her nape more tightly.

One of the men cleared his throat. “I say, Lipton…”

“You say what?” Lipton challenged.

The man gave Grace a quick glance, then looked away. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

The people in the group began slipping away until, finally, Grace and her employer were alone.

“Let’s go,” he said, all his pretend charm gone.

“Damn you,” Grace said, “get away from me. If you don’t—”

“If I don’t, what?” Lipton gave that shark’s grin. “What will you do, Grace? Call for help? Make a fool of yourself in front of everyone? Lose not just your job with me but the chance of any job in finance?” Another grin. “Come on, darling, tell me exactly what it is you’ll do if I don’t get away from you.”

“She won’t have to do a thing,” a male voice said. “I’ll do it for her, Lipton, and when I’m finished, you’ll be lucky if the doctors can put you back together again.”

Lipton’s hand dropped like a stone. Grace didn’t move. Her heart was racing again. She knew that voice. Low. Masculine. Taut with command and, just now, icy with rage. God, yes. She knew that voice. Knew the man it belonged to.

She turned slowly and saw him. Tall. Dark-haired. Broad-shouldered. Eyes the palest shade of blue she had ever seen, nose straight as a blade, mouth firm, jaw clenched…

She knew him, all right.

This was the man who had broken her heart.

This was the crown prince of Senahdar.

This was the man she hated.

CHAPTER THREE

GRACE was looking at him as if he were an apparition.

Salim could hardly blame her.

She’d stolen a fortune, fled, taken a new name to cover her tracks. The last thing she’d expect would be a ghost from her past turning up in Bali. Her shock was a glorious thing to see, even though he’d intended their meeting to be more private.

He’d wanted to come upon her when she was alone. Vulnerable. At night, in her room. He’d planned to bribe a maid to let him enter it while Grace was at dinner.

He’d amused himself during the long flight, imagining how the scene would play.

Darkness outside the windows. Darkness in her room. He, waiting motionless. The snick of her key card in the lock, the door swinging open, then closing behind her. Before she could touch the light switch, he’d speak her name.

“Grace.”

She would cry out and he would turn on a lamp so he could see the shock in her eyes. And then he would…

What?

What would he do, when they were alone in her room, she terrified, he triumphant? He’d spent hours thinking about it.

Imagined himself going toward her, telling her that he was taking her back to the States to face charges of embezzlement.

Imagined her panic at that news…and her reaction when he said that first, she was going to pay a very private penance.

He would tell her she had to strip for him, take off the businesslike suit or dress, the surprisingly delicate bits of silk she always wore beneath. Take those off, too, until she was naked. Until he could see the roundness of her breasts, the soft pink blush of her nipples, her flat belly and the delicate dark gold curls between her thighs.

“Now undress me,” he’d say, and she would, undoing his tie, his shirt, his trousers, her hands moving over him with the delicacy of butterfly wings. And when they were both naked, he would make her do all those things with her hands and mouth and body she had once claimed she did out of desire when the truth was, her desire had been not for his kisses, his arms, his possession but for ten million dollars of his money.

“Who do you think you are?”

Lipton’s voice was sharp with aristocratic demand. For a minute, Salim had forgotten him. He knew the man by reputation. James Lipton the third or fourth or some such inane thing, a principled banker, an unprincipled seducer of young women. Interesting, that Lipton and Grace should have found each other.

Who would seduce whom?

“I asked you a question,” Lipton said with presumptive authority. “Who are you? And how dare you intrude on a private conversation?”

“No,” Grace said in a tremulous voice. She put her hand on Lipton’s arm. “Mr. Lipton…”

“Mr. Lipton.” Salim’s lip curled. “Is that how you’re playing it? Are you the terrified innocent this time, Grace? Did I interrupt the big seduction scene as opposed to saving you from the unwanted attention of a predator?”

“What did you call me?” Lipton sputtered.

“Salim. Please…”

Grace’s boss swung toward her. “You know this man?”

“So many questions,” Salim said coldly, his eyes locked on his adversary’s. “Suppose we take them one at a time. What am I doing here? That’s easy. I am here on business. Does your charming companion know me?” An icy smile. “She knows me very well. Intimately, one might say.”