Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh. Trish Morey

them.’

      ‘No, I will not.’

      ‘Sienna, you are stretching my patience!’

      ‘And you’re stretching mine! Do you imagine for a moment that I can be bought?’

      There was a moment of silence. ‘Everyone can be bought—you of all people should know that.’

      ‘Are you still on about those wretched photographs? Can’t you just let it go?’ She stared at him and then reached for the door. ‘I won’t be insulted by you any more. And I don’t have to be. You’ve had your pound of flesh, Hashim—just be satisfied with that.’

      Suddenly he found himself wishing that he could bite the words back. ‘Sienna. Don’t go.’ He caught her arm and began to caress it with his fingers. ‘Please.’

      She closed her eyes, her inner turmoil lulled by the touch of his hand, recognising that his plea was an unfamiliar one. She had made her stand and demonstrated her independence and her pride—but nothing could change the effect he had always had on her, and still did. The melting way he made her feel inside whenever he touched her. The way his very presence made her feel so alive. If she took that out of the equation there would be nothing to consider, but it was far too powerful to disregard.

      She opened her eyes again. ‘It’s not all about what you want, is it, Hashim? It’s about what I want, too.’

      He had been almost certain that she was—incredibly! —going to turn him down, and it was Hashim’s turn to be surprised. Was she playing games with him? ‘You mean you are giving consideration to my proposal?’

      ‘Of course I am. A woman would have to be pretty stupid not to, wouldn’t she? It isn’t every day that she is offered a chance to play the starring role in Cinderella!’

      But, inexplicably, his triumph was now tempered by a fleeting sense of disappointment—for it now appeared that she was going to give in, and he had been enjoying doing battle with her. ‘So you will agree?’

      ‘Only if you agree to my terms.’

      ‘Your terms?’ he repeated, outraged.

      ‘But of course. Why should it all go your way?’

      Because it always had done—all his life! ‘Name them,’ he snapped.

      ‘Well, you can forget the idea of a charge card, for a start—I don’t want it, thank you all the same. I don’t earn a fortune, but what I do has been honestly come by—and I usually manage to scrub up well enough without the benefit of costly clothes. And I will only fly to see you if it is convenient. To me.’ Because soon it would be over, and when it was she would need her livelihood just the same as she always had. ‘I will continue with my life as normal—if you want to see me then you will have to fit in around me.’

      ‘But what you ask of me is outrageous!’ he protested.

      She shrugged. ‘Then forget the whole idea. In fact,’ she added truthfully, ‘that would be much better for me in the long-term.’

      ‘But in the short-term you do not want to forget it,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms. ‘Right now your body is screaming out for me. You know that I am growing hard even now, just as you are wet with wanting. Aren’t you?’

      ‘Hashim, you’re…you’re…’ But her words were forgotten, for he had put his hands underneath her T-shirt to cup the aching mounds of her breasts.

      ‘No bra?’ he questioned shakily, torn between excitement and disapproval as he felt their velvet weight against his palms.

      ‘I never wear one when I’m working at home. Oh!’ She gasped as he bent his mouth to one hardened nipple and began to suckle it. His hand was skimming the narrow indentation of her waist, which led down to an unforgiving waistband. And now his hand had moved to the fork of her thighs, and he was touching her through the denim…touching her and touching her. ‘Hashim, wh—what do you think you’re doing?’

      ‘Guess.’

      ‘But…but we’re in the car.’

      ‘The driver can’t see. Do you want me to stop?’

      She squirmed with pleasure beneath his touch. Not yet. Just a couple of minutes more and then she would stop him. ‘We can’t actually do anything if I’m wearing jeans, can we?’ she asked breathlessly.

      ‘Can’t we?’ He laughed, skating a featherlight fingertip over the most intimate part of her.

      How could she feel this way? As though he was touching her flesh instead of the thick material of her jeans. ‘Hashim—’

      ‘Shh. Let go,’ he urged, excited now as he watched her. ‘Just let go.’

      And to her eternal shame she did just that. Forgot the fact that she was writhing around in the back of a car in the middle of heaven only knew where. Forgot that she might have salvaged a little pride by returning his cheque and refusing his calls. She just went right along with the demands of her body, allowing herself to be carried along by the sweet and irresistible torrent.

      ‘Oh!’ She half sobbed as he increased the movement of his finger.

      ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘You are so close, Sienna. So beautifully close. Let me watch you as I give you pleasure. Let me see you orgasm in your blue jeans.’

      And then that feeling was upon her again—that out-of-this-world, flying-to-paradise feeling was sweeping her up and away, orchestrated by the relentless and expert caress of his fingers. And suddenly she had begun to cry out—little cries of astounded pleasure—until the fierce pressure of his mouth blocked out the sound and her body shattered into a million beautiful pieces.

      For countless seconds she felt the spasms of her body shuddering to a slow halt, the sticky warmth of contentment. She was aware of Hashim stroking away the hair from her sweat-sheened brow.

      ‘How can that have happened?’ she whispered, half to herself. ‘How?’

      Unseen, he smiled. How little she knew—and how much he had to show her! He lifted her chin so that he could stare down at her with black eyes which mocked and lanced. ‘Ah, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘Do you see how much you have to learn?’

      Lying curled in his arms in the aftermath of her orgasm, she was at her most vulnerable. ‘Perhaps I do,’ she agreed drowsily.

      Maybe when you first gave your heart to someone it was difficult to claw it back again. With Hashim there had always been a sense of something left uncompleted —hadn’t he said so himself? Maybe this really was the answer. If she saw more of him then mightn’t it diminish some of the magic which surrounded him? Which made her see him as she failed to see other men?

      ‘So you will agree to be my mistress?’

      She turned her face up to his and opened her eyes very wide. ‘Only on a strictly informal basis.’

      ‘And will you come back to my hotel now and let me give you dinner?’

      And, presumably, bed. But that was what a mistress should do—and who was she to complain if it meant that Hashim would make love to her?

      ‘I’ll need to go home and get showered first.’

      He gave a slow smile of anticipation. ‘We’ll have a bath together,’ he said. And he would send out those disgusting clothes of hers to be laundered.