Sandra Marton - The Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress

Laughable, all of it.

Grace’s steps slowed as she entered the garden.

If it was laughable, why had she let him kiss her? Why had she kissed him back? Why had her foolish heart wished, even for a moment, that he had come for her because he needed her?

Stupid to even think such a thing. Salim didn’t need anyone. What he understood was passion. How to touch a woman so the most intimate part of her wept for his possession. How to make her beg for release.

And he knew how to respond. She didn’t want to remember, but she did.

His hard-muscled body, taut and powerful against hers. His shudder of delight when she caressed him, his soft groan when she used her tongue, her lips to pleasure him. The incredible moment when he’d part her thighs, sink deep, deep inside her.

And yet, there were times she’d had the feeling he was there physically but not emotionally, that he’d kept a part of himself locked away…

“There you are.”

She jumped as Lipton stepped out of the shadows. He caught her wrist, his fingers digging deep into the soft inner flesh.

“What happened, Grace? Didn’t the reconciliation go well?”

Grace’s heart was racing. It was difficult to pretend she wasn’t frightened but she knew it was what she had to do.

“Let go of me,” she said quietly.

“Or is it that the mighty sheikh only wanted a quickie on the beach? You’ll find I’m not like that. I believe in hours of pleasure, Grace. Some women find it excessive, but I’m sure you won’t be one of them.”

“Get this through your head,” she hissed. “I am not going to sleep with you.”

“I hope not. Sleeping isn’t what I have in mind.”

Grace used the only ace in the deck. She didn’t want to; falling back on Salim’s name made her feel helpless but she couldn’t see another way out.

“The sheikh will kill you if you touch me.”

Lipton smiled. “He’s finished with you, Grace. I don’t see a problem.”

His fingers moved to her upper arm; she felt their bite and she stifled a moan. What he was doing was incredibly painful, but she knew she’d sooner pass out from it than ask for mercy.

“You see, Grace, if he was a real threat to you and me—to our relationship…”

“We don’t have a relationship!”

“Of course we do, and wait until you see how exciting it’s going to be.” Lipton leaned toward her; his breath, whiskey-laden before, was soaked with it now. “As I was saying, if your ex was a real threat, he’d have kept you for the night instead of taking you outside and then sending you packing.”

“Let go of me or—”

“He did,” Lipton said with glee. “Send you packing. Poor Grace. Things just didn’t work out for you.”

“Listen to me,” Grace said. “If you think I’m afraid to make a scene—”

“That’s exactly what I think, and I’m right. You don’t want everyone to know what you’ve done, Grace. How you led me on. How you said you wanted to sleep with me.” His fingers dug deeper into the tender muscle of her biceps; the pain sent nausea roiling in her belly. “Because if I told people that, the only job you’d be able to get in finance would be one that involved standing behind a cash register and saying ‘Do you want fries with that?’”

Grace blinked. Then she laughed. She couldn’t help it. Hadn’t Hollywood once made movies like this? Cruel villains, helpless heroines…

Her laugh became a soft cry of pain as Lipton’s fingers clamped harder on her arm.

“I’m going to have another drink with my friends while you go to my bedroom and make yourself ready for me. I’ll be half an hour, not more, and when I open the door, you’d damned well better make this trip I paid for as well as tonight’s humiliation worth my while.”

“No. No! You’ll never touch me. You’ll never—”

Lipton backhanded her. Grace staggered. He came at her again and she summoned up the long-ago advice of her high school judo instructor.

A woman’s knee makes an excellent weapon.

She moved quickly. Lipton grunted, gagged and fell back.

And Grace turned and ran.

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