Читать книгу Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh - Trish Morey - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

SIENNA took the envelope downstairs to an empty office, then pulled out the calendar and stared at it dully. She hadn’t seen it for a long, long time, and she was scarcely able to recognise herself in the sexy and provocative poses. She guessed that by today’s standards it was pretty tame—but even so, nothing could disguise the earthy sensuality of the pictures.

They had flown her out to the Caribbean and dressed her in a variety of clothes—well, that wasn’t strictly true, for the garments had all been designed to reveal rather than conceal, and they had all left her breasts on show. But that had been the whole point.

A filmy kaftan soaked with water. The bottom half of a low-slung bikini. A glittery thong. Sienna closed her eyes, but was unable to block out the vivid, Technicolor images.

She remembered her initial feeling of panic when they had told her what they wanted her to do. It had taken two rum punches before she had been able to lie face down in the sand and smoulder at the camera for the first of the shots.

And Sienna would never forget the moment she’d seen a Polaroid of her pouting glossy self, with sand- sprinkled skin and messy hair, and dark, peeking nipples. How she had given a little gasp of disbelief and been slightly repulsed by the glinting approval in the eyes of the art director.

Even now she could squirm at how naïve she had been. And even now the photos still had the power to shock her. With trembling fingers she shoved the calendar into her briefcase and let herself out of the hotel, taking in great gulps of hot and sticky summer air.

She spent a restless night, and the following day there was a constant dull ache at her temples. When she walked through the hotel foyer dressed for dinner she felt as if she was going to her own execution.

‘Cheer up!’ said the night porter. ‘It might never happen! Going somewhere special, are you?’

Serena gave a wan smile. ‘I’m having dinner with one of the guests in the Rainbow Room.’

‘Lucky you!’

Sienna gave a hollow laugh. ‘Yes, lucky me!’ she echoed wryly. ‘Still, at least it’s beautifully air- conditioned up there. The temperature outside is claustrophobic.’

‘Tell me about it!’ said the porter.

Overnight a heatwave seemed to have descended on the capital, with all the force and stifling nature of a heavy fire blanket dropped down to envelop the city. The streets outside the cool hotel had been curiously airless, and Sienna’s throat felt as tight as if she were still out in them.

As she rode up in the lift she stared at herself in the tinted mirror. The cool linen dress she wore still looked fresh, and the apricot hue of the glass gave her face a healthy-looking glow which completely belied the way she was feeling inside. But she was not going to let that overwhelm her. And she was not going to let him intimidate her.

The nude photos were part of her past. She couldn’t change that, and neither could she rewrite her brief and confusing relationship with Hashim. But she had learned along the way, and that was the whole point of experience—good or bad.

Those had been pivotal events in her life which had made her into the cool and confident professional she was today. The change hadn’t been easy, or instant, and she was not going to throw it all away because Hashim wanted to exact some kind of erotic payback for what had happened all those years ago. Or rather, what had not happened.

He despised her—he had made that perfectly clear—even though his body still wanted her. And on some level she still wanted him, too. But she would not allow herself to be picked up and used like some kind of convenience—to be tossed away at the earliest opportunity. And she would not repeat the mistakes of yesterday.

If he said things to rile or provoke her she would not rise to them. They could not have a scene if she didn’t react to him. If he attempted to taunt her then she would just give him a cool and glacial smile. She would remain brisk, crisp and polite—in short, she would be utterly professional, and he would be unable to find fault with her.

Surprisingly, he was already at the table. She was a little early, and had expected him to be late, but, no, there he was. Waiting. Making the rest of the room shrink into insignificance. At a shadowed corner table sat two of the ever-present bodyguards.

Sienna walked towards him, looking for some kind of acknowledgement—a nod of his dark head in greeting—but there was nothing. Just those black eyes trained on her like twin barrels of a hunter’s gun.

His hard, lean body was completely still, but his stance was tense, the powerful limbs coiled like a lion before pouncing. He seemed completely oblivious to the covert glances of the other diners in the room. To the almost tangible air of excitement among the normally celebrity-jaded waiters.

Hashim watched her approach, helpless and yet furious with himself for being unable to suppress the instant leap of lust he felt, for he had trained himself to control his desires. To be master of his wants and needs—not servant to them. A man who could control his sexual hunger was all-powerful, for sex made men weak. And his control had never failed him. How else could he have so ruthlessly given Sienna pleasure and then denied himself the relief of his own body? And bitterly regretted it ever since!

Yet on one level she remained a mystery to him. He had known women more beautiful than her—so what was the secret of her particular allure? The seductive sway of her hips? The too-big eyes which looked like those of a startled deer? Or just the fact that he had never had her when other men had? That he had paid homage to her virginity only to have its falseness revealed to him in the most humiliating way of all.

He let his eyes rove over the breasts themselves— so proud and magnificent and full. Yet she was hiding her most marketable asset beneath that rather unremarkable linen dress. His lips curled. How he hated linen—surely the most unflattering material a woman could wear, with its coarse feel and its tendency to crumple. And surely it was a little late in the day for such unwelcome modesty?

Yet the very familiarity of seeing her again was taking him into the unknown realms of fantasy. The past was a place he did not revisit. At least never before now. His restless and nomadic nature saw no point to it. For him there was not the comfort—nor the danger—of long-standing friendships. His destiny was to stand alone.

Then why are you breaking your own rules? taunted a small voice in his head.

He did not rise to greet her when she got to the table, and, interestingly, this small lack of courtesy wounded her. Could he not just have pretended— gone through the motions of normality?

‘Hello, Hashim,’ she said, as calmly as possible.

‘Sienna.’ Not a flicker of emotion crossed over the diamond-hard features. ‘Please sit down.’

‘Thank you.’ She glanced up at the waiter, who pulled her chair out, and then there was nowhere else to look other than into the enigmatic black eyes. Their dark light swept over her, and she felt a moment of sheer physical weakness until she remembered her vow of earlier. Professionalism. ‘So.’ She flicked him a quick smile. ‘Where shall we begin?’

‘So quick to do business?’ he murmured.

‘One should always strive for professionalism,’ she answered coolly.

‘Ironically, that is what Abdul-Aziz always says.’

Sienna remembered the aide who had seemed to so dislike her. ‘And is he here with you now?’

Hashim shook his head. Hot-headedly, he had blamed his aide for showing him the calendar, even though he had only been doing his job. But for a while the Sheikh had seen him as a bearer of bad tidings—and he was as superstitious as the next Qudamah man. So he had sent him home, and in a way the split had been necessary—for the older man had begun to see himself in a role which was not befitting a royal aide. He had begun to love the fatherless Hashim as a son. And Hashim had no need of extra love.

‘Abdul-Aziz was posted back to Qudamah,’ he said. ‘He is married now, with a son of his own.’

‘Married?’

‘Yes.’ And then, because this exchange seemed almost too cosy, too familiar, he allowed his eyes to drift over her face. ‘Aren’t you going to thank me for the calendar?’ he questioned deliberately.

She had wondered when he would get around to mentioning it, and she had practised her response until she had it word-perfect. ‘No, I’m not. And if you continue to talk about it then I will walk out of here right now.’

He gave a faint smile. ‘Then I guess we’d better get the ordering out of the way.’

She glanced down at the menu, which was like a blur though she knew it backwards. ‘I’d like the Dover Sole, please. Grilled, no sauce. With a side salad.’

‘The choice of a woman on a diet,’ he observed.

‘Not at all. A woman who is careful about what she eats, that’s all.’

‘Careful?’ His black eyes glittered. ‘How very curious. Not a word I would have associated with you.’

She leaned forward. Big mistake—for now she was in full range of his subtle, spicy scent, and it crept over her like sensual fingers. She sat right back again. ‘Why don’t we clear something up before we go any further? You don’t know me. Maybe you never did— but you certainly don’t now. So you aren’t qualified to make any judgments about me. Understand?’

The waiter reappeared as Hashim glittered her a look which said Aren’t I? Sienna watched as he gave the order quickly, almost impatiently—like someone who had spent much of his life eating in expensive restaurants and was bored by them. She guessed he had.

And now take charge, she told herself. Behave like you would with any other new client. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a notebook. He eyed it with distaste.

‘Is that really necessary?’ he questioned acidly.

‘I’m afraid so. You wouldn’t be very happy if I forgot everything you told me, would you? And so far you haven’t told me anything.’

‘But you look like you’re interviewing me—and we’re in a restaurant!’

‘Well, you chose it.’

‘I know I did—but would you have agreed to dine in my suite if I had asked you?’

‘Not a snowball’s chance in hell.’ She looked at him, daring him to defy her. ‘Presumably you wanted me to be a captive audience?’

Hashim’s eyes narrowed as he considered her quickfire responses. Smart. And sassy. No matter how good an actress she was, she couldn’t play smart unless she really was smart. ‘Captive?’ he mused. ‘Yes, perhaps I did.’ He imagined her tied to his bed with black satin ribbons, wearing nothing but scarlet underwear and a pair of matching high heels, and he felt the heavy stab of an erection.

‘So, is it going to be a big party?’ Sienna asked, cutting into his erotic thoughts.

‘Party?’ With a distracted movement of his shoulders Hashim brought himself back to the subject in hand with an effort. ‘No. Very small. A private dinner party for ten.’

‘And the guest list?’

‘One of my assistants will organise that side of it. I am afraid that most of my guests will refuse to deal with a stranger.’

Defensively, Sienna picked up her water glass. ‘In that case I’m surprised I’ll be any use at all.’

‘But that is where you are wrong. You will be responsible for the event itself,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to organise the music—I thought perhaps a string quartet. And the lighting—I like lots of candles, by the way. And the wine and the food—of which there must be an interesting and imaginative vegetarian selection. The mood of the evening will be down to you, Sienna. Everything you need you must ask for, and it will be supplied.’

How effortless everything was when you were rich! You snapped your fingers and got what you wanted. Sienna allowed herself a small smile. Well, not quite everything. He couldn’t have her.

‘And what kind of ambience do you want?’ she questioned. ‘Is there any particular reason why you’re giving this party?’

There was one brief moment of hesitation. ‘As a thank-you,’ he said smoothly, running the tip of one finger reflectively along the soft linen of his napkin. ‘For some of the many people in England who have done me favours.’

Bizarrely, Sienna found herself wondering if that included sexual favours—but since his dark, lean looks were attracting all kinds of predatory glances maybe it wasn’t such a bizarre thought after all. ‘Have you thought which of the hotel’s function rooms you’d like? There are several.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘Or do you just want to me to choose?’

He stared at her. ‘But that is the whole point, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want it held here—or indeed in any hotel. A hotel is too impersonal for the needs of this particular event. I want you to find me a house.’

Sienna looked up from her pad and met the dark steel of his eyes. ‘What kind of house?’

‘A fine country house—with gardens and a view— a very English house. It should have at least ten bedrooms, so that my guests can stay overnight should they so desire it. There should be a lake which will magnify the light of the moon and double the number of stars. Somewhere that symbolises everything which is beautiful about your country. Can you do that for me, Sienna?’

The poetry of his words momentarily threw her, as did that fleeting, dreamy look which had softened his hard face, and she swallowed. ‘How long have I got?’

‘A month.’

‘A month? That isn’t long. Certainly not to find the kind of house you’re looking for.’

‘Are you saying you can’t do it?’

‘Oh, I can do it,’ she said. ‘But you might have trouble getting your guests there if they’ve only got four weeks. Important people have busy diaries—especially the kind of people I imagine you’ll be inviting.’

He gave a low laugh. ‘Please do not concern yourself on that score. They will attend,’ he said softly. ‘If I so wish it.’

‘By royal command?’ she mocked, resting her wrist against her water glass and enjoying the sudden cool sensation. ‘Tell me—just out of interest—have you spent your whole life getting exactly what you want?’

‘Material things, yes. That is, I imagine, what you meant?’

‘It wasn’t, actually.’

‘No?’ He studied the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Was he responsible for those? Or had some lover shared her bed last night—making use of her body and denying her sleep? He found himself unprepared for the dark jealousy which twisted his gut, and his voice hardened. ‘Money is the preoccupation of most women,’ he said harshly. ‘Surely not even you would deny that?’

How cynical he sounded. Sienna felt a wave of something like regret wash over her—for she had only helped to convince him that women would do all kinds of things for money. She wished the food would arrive, so that she could eat it and go. Yet wasn’t there a tiny part of her which was revelling in the opportunity to be this close to him again? To feast her eyes on a man she had once loved to distraction— and told him so.

Briefly she closed her eyes as she remembered whispering it to him, on that last, terrible evening. And the way he had just ignored her trembling statement.

Try and obliterate the past, she told herself, but she stared down at the food on her plate without really seeing it.

‘You aren’t really hungry at all, are you, Sienna?’ he said, his silken voice weaving its way into her troubled thoughts.

He breathed her name in a way she remembered him once breathing it in passion, putting the emphasis on the last syllable and holding it in his mouth as if it were a mouthful of fine wine.

‘Not really, no.’ He was looking at her in a way which was making whispers of longing tiptoe over her flesh—and she had to snap out of it.

She needed to protect herself against his enchantment, and she found herself wondering how other women coped. Surely she couldn’t be the only woman he bewitched with his curiously old-fashioned air of mastery and chauvinism? And women weren’t supposed to be bewitched by qualities such as those. They were supposed to look for tolerance and compassion —not simply the desire to be swept off their feet by a flashing-eyed Alpha man.

She laid her fork down and pushed her plate away. ‘Well, since we’ve tied up the business side of things, and neither of us looks as if we’re about to tuck into the food, then you’ll forgive me if I take my leave—’

‘No.’ The word was emphatic. ‘I will not. You aren’t going anywhere because I haven’t finished with you. Not yet.’

Did he mean to make her sound disposable? she wondered. Like something he could just crumple up and throw away? And suddenly it wasn’t easy not to be intimidated, to take charge and be calm and unflappable —all the things she had learnt to do in order to survive and succeed.

Maybe this was one conversation she couldn’t get out of having, and maybe it was a waste of time to try. Like having a tooth pulled—wasn’t that ravaging moment of pain worth it just for the blessed relief you felt afterwards?

‘Well, fire away, Hashim,’ she said, using her last bit of bravado. ‘And get whatever it is you want to say off your chest.’

He traced a thoughtful forefinger along the edge of his lips. ‘I simply cannot understand why you chose obscurity,’ he said.

She stared at him. ‘Excuse me?’

He gestured towards her, as if he was about to introduce her to someone at a party. ‘Oh, there is no doubt that you have become successful—’

‘Why, thank you,’ she said drily.

‘But only in a purely relative sense.’ His gaze was very steady. ‘It puzzles me that you have stayed working in hotels.’

‘Lots of girls do.’

‘But lots of girls do not look the way you do.’

‘Hashim, please—’

‘You could have earned a fortune by capitalising on your body, and yet you chose this. So tell me…’ His question hung on the air and Sienna waited breathlessly. When it came out it was disguised with the silken cloak of civility, but the look of disgust which hardened the ebony eyes told its own story. ‘Why did you never pursue your career in topless modelling?’