Читать книгу Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh: Exposed: The Sheikh's Mistress / Stolen by the Sheikh / Fit For a Sheikh - Trish Morey, Carol Grace - Страница 15

CHAPTER TEN

Six months later

‘YOU are late,’ Hashim said coldly, as Sienna walked into the hotel bedroom.

‘Only a little.’

‘I have been waiting,’ he said ominously, ‘for over an hour.’

‘Sorry, darling.’ Sienna slipped off the soft green cashmere coat she had allowed him to buy her for Christmas, its emerald faux fur collar gleaming in the pale winter sunshine. It was the only thing she had allowed him to buy—and then only because it was Christmas. Even though—as she had teasingly pointed out—he didn’t actually celebrate Christmas.

‘But you do!’ he had growled.

In a way, it frustrated him that she had steadfastly refused to be showered with the gifts which he thought were her due—but then, he didn’t have a monopoly on frustration. She had discovered early on that it went hand-in-hand with the pleasures of being a mistress.

It was such an unreal existence.

So many of their meetings were conducted in secret —behind the closed doors of hotel rooms—while they lost themselves in each other’s arms. Sometimes they would slip out to a discreet restaurant for a meal—though always shadowed by the ever-present bodyguards.

It was easier in Paris or some of the Spanish cities —which afforded more anonymity—but being abroad only increased Sienna’s sense of unreality. The certainty that this relationship could not last, and her fear of when it would end. Whether it would be less painful if it happened sooner rather than later.

It was as though what they had between them was so fragile that any kind of analysis might shatter it. And it wasn’t even something she could talk to her girlfriends about—and certainly not her mother. When you had an ordinary relationship—were having those ordinary fears about where it was headed—then friendly advice was yours for the taking.

But being a mistress was an indeterminate occupation, frowned on by society in general—both his and hers. For it flew in the face of the family values which most people believed in, deep down.

Only in her case she was not strictly a mistress. Hashim didn’t have a wife waiting at home. Instead he had a country—which was far more demanding.

She turned to watch him as he pressed a button on the wall and the heavy drapes slid silently to a close, blocking out the daylight and enclosing them in their own private world.

Hand provocatively placed on her hip, Sienna raised her eyebrows as he turned round. ‘You complain that I’ve kept you waiting, and yet you haven’t even kissed me hello yet!’

Exasperated and turned on, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Hello.’

‘And hello to you, too.’

He rubbed his forehead against hers. ‘How you love to make me angry, Sienna.’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said seriously. ‘It’s just that you work yourself up into a complete state when I don’t do exactly what you say.’

‘But you never do what I say.’

‘Ask me something—anything—and I will!’

He took her face between his hands and looked down at her. ‘Will you kiss me again, my noncompliant and informal little mistress?’

She lifted her lips to his, winding her arms around his neck, giving a little yelp of pleasure as their mouths collided in a kiss which this time was much more than a greeting. It was a hard, hungry and frustrated kiss. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a month, and he wasn’t supposed to be here for another fortnight.

But he had sandwiched in an extra trip to London on the way back from the States and called her at the last minute. Sienna had decided not to play games for the sake of it and had agreed to change her diary around. And bought a new set of underwear.

In between the frantic unzipping and unbuttoning of their clothes there were fractured bursts of conversation.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he groaned.

‘Good.’

He reached down and slid off first one high-heeled shoe and then the other, caressing a silk-clad ankle on the way. ‘You’re supposed to tell me that you missed me, too.’

‘That…oh!’ She shivered as he rippled his fingers up over a stocking-top and circled the satin flesh above it. ‘That is what I would call fishing for a compliment.’ She gulped.

His hand halted. ‘So you didn’t?’

‘You’ve only been gone a month.’

‘Only?’ he questioned ominously.

She reached down and guided his hand back again. ‘Yes, yes, yes—I’ve missed you. I’ve thought about you constantly and dreamt of this moment! Is that better?’

‘Much better,’ he murmured. ‘If it is true.’

Oh, yes, it was true, she thought as he carried her over to the bed and put her down in the centre of it. She had missed him more than he would ever know and more than she would ever tell him. She might have been a novice when she started her affair with Hashim—but she was growing to learn the rules. And the number one rule seemed to be always keep something back.

She had recognised early on that her Sheikh was a natural hunter—and that like all hunters he enjoyed the thrill of the chase. He was never more passionate than when she didn’t leap into line. It wasn’t the hardest psychology in the world to work out that a man for whom the world jumped would be fascinated by someone who didn’t.

And for Sienna it was less about game-playing than protecting herself. Stopping herself falling deeper in love with a man who could never reciprocate the emotion. But holding back love wasn’t as easy as playing hard to get. Love was like sunlight outside the dark of a barn—there were always cracks and crevices for it to come flooding inside.

She pushed the thoughts away as he took off her dress, her bra and her panties—though he left her stockings and suspender belt on. Lying back against the cushions, she watched as he removed his clothes, peeling off his suit and shirt and skimming off his silken underwear until he was formidably and powerfully naked.

Sometimes she touched herself while he undressed, as he had taught her to—rubbing at her breasts or teasing him with the tantalising stroke of a finger between her legs. Sometimes he even liked to watch her bring herself to orgasm—but today she could see a tight tension in his muscular body, and she frowned and did not tease him.

When he came to lie beside her she noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes and lifted a finger to touch them. ‘You’re tired,’ she observed softly.

‘Then make me untired.’

‘Is there such a word as untired?’

‘There is now.’ He closed his eyes as she licked with her tongue from nipple to belly and then beyond, to where he was unbearably hard. ‘Ah, Sienna,’ he groaned. ‘Where the hell did you learn to do that?’

‘You taught me, Hashim,’ she murmured, before taking him slowly into her mouth. ‘Remember? You taught me everything.’

Afterwards he thought that he had taught her perhaps too well…She was like a whore in the bedroom —as a woman should be. She was everything he had ever dreamed of—and more. And one day another man would benefit from his tutition—perhaps sooner than either of them had anticipated. Another man would see her head bobbing up and down on his lap, her mouth working sweet spells while she took him to paradise and back. His lips twisted as a sting of pain caught him unawares, but then fatigue wrapped him in its gritty arms and he slept.

When he awoke it was to see Sienna lying propped on one elbow watching him, her hair spilling down all over the rosy flush of her breasts, and in that hazy moment between sleep and waking he gave an instinctive smile—for this was the place in which he most liked to find himself.

She thought that he looked like a lion who had temporarily sated his huge appetite. A fleeting look of contentment before the relentless and ruthless search for sustenance once more. He drove himself, she had realized, more than most men would even be capable of doing. And, whilst he had a huge capacity for hard work and long hours, she had never seen that weary tinge to his smile before.

She touched his lips with a gentle finger. ‘So, is it jet-lag?’

‘Maybe.’ He kissed the finger. She was so easy. So perceptive. Sometimes it was hard not to tell her the things on his mind, but he rarely gave voice to his innermost thoughts. For a ruler it was preferable to keep your own counsel, but sometimes—in the aftermath of making love to Sienna—he found himself wanting to offload his problems, as other men apparently did. He wondered what had changed, and when it had happened.

Something had crept up on him unawares. Maybe it was like the shadow on your jaw. You didn’t notice it—and it wasn’t until your chin was grazed with the dark rasp of stubble that you remembered it was well on its way to becoming a beard.

Sienna brushed away a lock of the dark hair which had tumbled onto his forehead. Against the white sheets his body looked so golden and erotically dark—like a rich oil painting brought into vibrant and glowing life before her eyes. ‘You don’t usually suffer from jet-lag,’ she observed quietly.

‘No.’

There was silence for a moment, and Sienna knew that she could do one of two things: she could get up and go into the plush kitchen of the hotel suite and make them both a cup of the iced jasmine tea he so loved and which she had learned to love, too. She could put on soft and soothing music and run him a deep, deep bath and then join him in it. And later they would make love again. And again. That was what a mistress would and should do.

Or she could venture onto the always precarious path of finding out just what was going on in that clever, quick mind of his. Six months ago she wouldn’t have dreamed of contemplating it—but hadn’t Hashim been softer of late? Didn’t the enigmatic and formidable side of his nature sometimes seem less dominant, so that sometimes he seemed much more accessible?

‘So, do you want to tell me what’s wrong, or do you want me to run away and do womanly things?’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, you know…tea, a bath, music.’

A smile edged the hardness away from his mouth. ‘No, don’t go. Stay here. You’ve just done the most important thing a woman can do for a man.’

There was another silence, and Sienna tried hard not to read too much into his words. Just because he had sounded uncharacteristically tender it did not mean anything. He was basically applauding her rapidly improving skills as a lover and thus his own skills as an expert tutor—that was all. Or he was being slightly more affectionate because they hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks. There were any number of reasons.

But the shadows were still beneath his eyes; the weariness still outlined his mouth. She thought about what he had taught her, and about her refusal to just jump when he snapped his fingers. Hashim respected that, she knew. What he would not countenance was fear or timidity.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’

He shifted position a little, so that he was lying gazing into the huge green glitter of her almond- shaped eyes. The breasts he had once been so obsessed with now seemed just a part of the beautiful whole of her, but still their pert rosiness reminded him of how she had used them, how that could never be undone—at least not for him.

‘Just tired. It’s nothing,’ he murmured—which was true, though only part of the story. There was growing opposition in Qudamah to his Western lifestyle—a demand from some factions that he settle down and embrace completely the culture of his ancestors. There had been views expressed that his trips abroad should be curtailed, with all his energies focused on his homeland.

And didn’t Sienna herself exemplify everything that the more traditional elements in his country loathed about the West? Hadn’t Abdul-Aziz increasingly been hinting that the liaison was damaging his credibility? That things would blow up if some resolution were not reached? And Hashim knew what that resolution should be.

‘It’s nothing,’ he repeated firmly.

Sienna did her best not to let her face crumple with disappointment. She had asked him and he had closed up—she could tell from the shuttering of his face. Well, that was up to him. It had been her choice to ask and his not to tell her. Asking was one thing, and perfectly acceptable. Prying was something completely different.

She took his words at face value, as he clearly wanted her to. ‘So, when did you last have a holiday?’

‘A holiday?’ he questioned, as surprised by the choice of topic as by her sudden change of subject.

She laughed, pleased to have perplexed him. ‘Yes, a holiday. That’s the thing that most people do when they’re tired and they want to relax.’

He screwed up his eyes. ‘I don’t remember,’ he said.

‘No recent bucket and spade job in Spain?’ she teased.

‘Bucket and spade job?’ He frowned.

‘Have you never built sandcastles, Hashim?’ she questioned.

He laughed. ‘Sand is not a big deal in Qudamah— not with so much of it around. We tend to escape from it rather than build our leisure time around it,’ he added drily.

‘I’d never thought of that.’ She snuggled up to him. ‘So what kind of holidays did you have when you were a child?’

He frowned. ‘You don’t really want to know.’

Which meant he didn’t really want to tell her. But a woman could not exist on sex alone, no matter what her status. ‘Oh, yes, I do!’ she said firmly.

And Hashim found himself smiling as he allowed himself a rare dip into nostalgia. How long ago a childhood could seem, and yet how astonishingly clear the memories if you opened the floodgates on them. ‘My male kin and I used to take our falcons up into the forests, where we trained them to kill.’

‘Nice!’

Idly, he circled the pad of his finger around one of her nipples, feeling it instantly point and peak, and he felt the heavy stir of desire returning. ‘There we learned to be men,’ he said dreamily.

‘No women?’

‘Not one.’

‘But what about your mother? Didn’t she want to go along?’

He remembered the very first trip, being torn from his mother’s arms. He had been just five years old and had cried his eyes out. How remorselessly the others had teased him! And his father had told him that the painful separation was all part of the process of learning to be a man. He could imagine what a Western psychologist would say about that!

‘Females were not part of the endeavour,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Their place was at the Palace.’

‘And didn’t they mind?’

He hesitated. ‘My mother did mind, as it happens,’ he admitted. ‘And she made vocal her concerns. It caused a great deal of conflict between her and my father—but she was determined that the women of Qudamah should make some of the changes which women over the world were initiating at the time. Nothing like burning their bras, of course,’ he added hastily.

Sienna laughed. ‘Well, no.’

‘But through her efforts the women of Qudamah were gradually granted small freedoms.’

‘Such as?’

He shrugged. ‘Oh, they were allowed to walk in the capital unaccompanied by a man—though many still prefer not to.’ He saw her face. ‘To you this probably means nothing—a woman who has grown up with personal freedom and takes it for granted probably cannot comprehend that in my country it was a kind of revolution.’

‘She sounds like an amazing woman,’ she said.

‘She is.’ The words I should like you to meet her hung unsaid on the air. For, no matter how true they were, how could he possibly utter them in the circumstances?

Sienna was quiet for a moment. She had heard the deliberate omission and she wouldn’t have been human if it hadn’t hurt her. What a different world he painted, and how his words emphasised the huge gulf between their cultures. If she had never understood his extreme reaction to her calendar shoot she certainly did now. If it was considered a mighty advance for a woman to go out on her own, then how must the baring of her breasts for an erotic calendar have seemed to a man of such a traditional upbringing?

But if ever she succumbed to the hopeless temptation of thinking what if—then all she had to do was remind herself of the insurmountable differences which had always been there and always would. No matter what they did—it was doomed.

And Sienna had realised something else, too— Hashim might have been bordering on the brink of love all those years ago, but his feelings—and hers— had been nothing but a violent rush of emotion which had nothing to do with their real lives. Even now nothing had really changed. Their brief time together was spent in a vacuum.

He saw the clouds which had shadowed her eyes, but he did not enquire what had caused them. He had a pretty good idea, and some things were best left unspoken. Why go out and find hurt when it waited like a shadowy figure just around the corner? Instead, he touched her cheek. ‘And when did you last have a holiday?’

‘Last year. I went to Australia to visit an old schoolfriend. She’s settled down there—married an Aussie.’ The spark of an idea began to form in her mind. ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a break together, Hashim?’ She looked around at the lavish yet soulless bedroom. ‘Somewhere that wasn’t in a hotel?’

He played along with her fantasy as she had played along with so many of his. ‘And where would we go?’

Sienna put her head to one side and considered. ‘I guess we’d stay in England. Travelling abroad would be too much hassle, and you travel too much anyway. It would be somewhere you could be completely in cognito—completely free.’

‘Does such a place exist?’ he mocked.

Sienna nodded. ‘I know of a beautiful old converted farmhouse—it’s right in the middle of nowhere. I hired it once for a rock star’s fortieth birthday and everyone was raving on about it.’

‘But where would my bodyguards stay?’

‘There’s a cottage in the grounds. Not too far and yet far enough…’

Her voice tailed off and he read the erotic promise in her eyes. An unbearable temptation crept over him. Something was going to have to give in his life soon, and he knew that it was going to be his relationship with Sienna. But before it did…

Couldn’t he have the briefest taste of what it was like to be ‘normal’? Just an ordinary man taking a holiday with a woman who excited and calmed and provoked and stimulated him in dizzying succession? Someone who was part of his past and now his present, but could never be part of his future…

‘Can you arrange it?’ he questioned suddenly.

Sienna blinked. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Yes.’ He did a quick calculation in his head. ‘I can manage next weekend, if that fits in with your job?’

She was too excited to notice the faint sarcasm in his voice. Or to question whether two weekends on the trot was not pushing their luck.

She nodded. ‘Well, yes—of course I can. If we can get it. It’s quite short notice—but it should be fine. I mean—who in their right mind wants to holiday in the English countryside in the middle of February?’