Sandra Marton - The Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress

“Not a thing.” She raised her chin. “Our affair ended. I knew it and so did you. What did I leave out?”

Salim’s mouth thinned. He should have expected she’d react like this. Grace was not stupid. There was no way she would admit to the embezzlement and he wasn’t a fool. This was not a bad TV movie; she would not blurt out the truth if he insisted on it.

“You left out the part where I find you and take you back to New York.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that why you came here?”

“Did you think I came to be bored out of my mind at a conference?”

“But—but why would you want to take me to New York?”

“That’s fine, Grace. Keep playing games.” Salim tugged her toward him. She struggled but he was too tall, too big, too powerful. Her struggles got her nowhere except exactly where he’d wanted her, pressed tightly against him. “But they won’t work. How many times do you think you can make a fool of the same man?”

“What are you talking about? Why would you think I’d agree to go back with you?”

“Who said anything about agreement?” His voice was low and dangerous. “You will go with me and face the consequences of your actions because it is what I demand, habiba .”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

Maybe he had.

Holding her like this, so close against him, brought back far too many memories.

The feel of her in his arms. The softness of her breasts against his chest. The delicate flare of her hips. Even the remembered floral scent that was woman and Grace, a scent that brought back images of her moving beneath him, her skin heated by passion as he cupped her breasts, drew the pale pink nipples into his mouth…

“Don’t,” she whispered, and he realized he’d turned hard as stone, that his erection was pressed against her belly…

That she was looking up at him in a way that told him all he needed to know.

“Don’t,” she said again, and he cupped her face in one hand.

“Don’t what, habiba? ” he said thickly, and he stopped thinking, bent his head and sought her mouth.

In a second, in a heartbeat, she was his again.

Her lips parted under his. Her breath whispered against his mouth. Her hands rose, caught his dinner jacket, curled into the lapels as she rose to him.

Salim groaned. Grasped her skirt. Shoved it high on her thighs. Grace whispered something, pressed herself closer, whimpered as he slid his hand up her legs, between her thighs, cupped her, felt the sweet moisture of her arousal.

She was his. His, his, his…

What in hell was he doing?

Salim cursed, caught Grace by the shoulders and thrust her from him. She swayed unsteadily. Her dark lashes lifted. Her eyes had the blurred look of a woman swept away by desire, but he knew better. He had been the one in the raw clutches of desire; she had been the one who’d planned the scene.

“Damn you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Do you really think that’s going to work again?”

She stared at him, shook her head as if to clear it. Oh, she was good!

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. It won’t work, habiba . I’m on to the game.”

Her mouth trembled. She looked devastated. He fought back the stupid desire to take her in his arms again. Just as well. A second later, she was all cool composure. The vulnerable waif had been replaced by the real woman. He had to give her points for quick recovery.

“And so am I, Sheikh Salim. You’ve come all this distance for nothing. I am not going back to New York.”

He smiled. “Really.”

“I am not going to New York, and I have no intention of prolonging this discussion.”

She turned on her heel and strode away. He waited, then called her name.

“Grace.”

She didn’t pause. Salim raised his voice.

“You have no choice, habiba . You’re finished here.”

That did the trick. She stopped walking and swung toward him.

“Ah,” he said softly, “just look at your face, darling. Such an expression of shock. Really, though, what would you expect? Did you play Lipton along? Did you promise more than you intended to deliver? Is that what that little scene was all about?”

“How dare you say such a thing to me?”

“Maybe not. Maybe he really was hitting on you.” Salim walked to where she stood, put his hand under her chin and jerked her head up. “But why should I care? The point is, I won’t have to lift a finger to get you onto my plane and off this island now. You’re in trouble, Grace. He’s going to get even, either by using his influence against you…” His face lowered to hers. “Or by waiting for you at the hotel. He’ll be all over you the minute he gets you alone.”

Grace went very still. “No. He won’t do anything. He’s afraid of you.”

“I humiliated him. There’s a difference. He’ll want to get even and if you walk away from me and go back to him, he’ll figure I’m done with you. That will put him back in the game.”

“You’re despicable,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m honest, habiba . I know how men are. Use your head,” Salim said, his tone sharpening. “Do you really think he’s going to pretend this didn’t happen? His behavior with you, your reaction, my interference. He can’t take it out on me, but he won’t have to. He’ll have you.”

Tears shone in her eyes; one traced a path down her cheek. Salim fought the desire to gather her to him and comfort her. Only a fool would do that. Grace was an actress. A siren. Who knew that better than he?

“He won’t have me,” she said quickly. “I’m going back to the hotel, not to him.”

“It’s the same thing. You’re sharing his room.”

“His suite,” she said, even more quickly. “A company suite. I didn’t know anything about it until…” Grace clamped her lips together. Why was she explaining anything to Salim? Why was she letting him see her fear? See it? He was building on it. He didn’t give a damn about her. He only wanted her acquiescence but then, there was nothing new in that. He was a man who always wanted things done his way.

And, right now, he was doing whatever it took to make that happen. Her boss was a vile human being but Salim was trying to convince her the man was a monster. Well, it wasn’t going to work, she thought, and took a steadying breath.

“Let go of me,” she said coolly.

He hesitated. Then, slowly, his hand fell to his side.

“Nicely done,” she said with a little smile. “You almost had me in a panic. Sorry, but it won’t work. Lipton’s a pig, but there’s not a woman alive who can’t handle a pig on her own.”

“You’re always so sure of yourself, habiba . This time, though, you may be making a mistake. Just in case you are…” Salim took his key card from his pocket and tossed it to her. Grace caught it out of reflex. “I have one of the villas on the beach. Number 916.”

“I wouldn’t come to you if hell froze over.”

Such a pathetic rejoinder, but it was the best she could manage. Head high, she turned and made her way up the path toward the gardens. Was Salim watching her? She wanted to look over her shoulder to find out, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

What a cold-hearted bastard!

She’d always known that about him; she’d just refused to admit it. She’d told herself his arrogance was actually self-confidence. It wasn’t. Only an arrogant man with an overblown ego would come around the world just to prove that a woman couldn’t leave him until he was good and ready for it to happen.

That he actually believed she would fly to New York with him, that he saw her as a fugitive for leaving him…