The Unlikely Mistress

‘I don’t imagine that’s going to be a problem for either of us, do you?’ he questioned pleasantly.

She found herself thinking that even when he was trying to be agreeable, he still managed to be insulting. ‘Not for me,’ she admitted, hoping she was managing to convey the fact that he repulsed her, rather than the more disturbing revelation that she was still a virgin. ‘But rather more so for you, I imagine—since you don’t strike me as the kind of man who would choose to embrace a self-imposed period of celibacy.’

‘You are a very perceptive woman,’ he said silkily. ‘For it is true that I cannot live without sex. But you strike me as intelligent enough to understand my appetites—even if you do not share them—and to discreetly look the other way.’

The near smirk which accompanied this remark gave Jane all the confirmation she needed and, although inwardly she was fuming, she hid her feelings beneath an air of composure.

‘I will only agree to this if you vow not to sleep with other women.’

‘Not to sleep with other women,’ he repeated, as if she had just asked him to scale the north face of the Eiger without any climbing equipment.

‘That’s right.’

‘You’re jealous?’ he questioned in surprise.

‘Not at all. But I refuse to be made a fool of and there will be no deal unless you agree to cut all contact with your American mistress or, indeed, any other mistress, until after we are divorced. I don’t want people laughing at me behind my back.’

Frustration vied with admiration in his jet-dark eyes as he shook his head slightly. ‘You drive a hard bargain, Miss Smith.’

‘Did you expect me to simply agree to everything you suggested?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’

His candour momentarily disarmed her, enough to make her ask an unnecessary question—even though afterwards she would wish she hadn’t bothered.

‘And what would you have done if I’d had a boyfriend?’ she asked. ‘If I’d been unable to marry you at such short notice?’

His slow smile was more revealing than any words could have been, but that didn’t stop him from saying them. ‘I would have talked you into it anyway,’ he boasted softly. ‘Though I was fairly certain you didn’t have a boyfriend.’

Don’t ask it.

She asked it.

‘Oh? Why’s that?’

He looked at her assessingly—the way she’d seen farmers look in country markets when they were sizing up how much to offer for a cow. And even though it was a cold and calculating look, that didn’t seem to deter her body from reacting to it. There was a brief tingle in her breasts as his gaze skated over them and a heavy pulse started beating at her groin. For a moment she felt helpless. Weak and vulnerable—and yet it was a gorgeous feeling. As if she were drowning in his gleaming black eyes yet wanting to go even deeper. She wondered if he realised the effect he was having on her—as if she were some tightly closed flower bud slowly unfurling its petals beneath the warmth of his scrutiny. As if the world would suddenly feel like a very different place if he pulled her into his arms and crushed her hard against his muscular chest. And didn’t she suddenly wish she could wave a magic wand just to have one brief and tiny taste of it? To test-drive her body to see whether there were any traces of the sensuality which other women of her age took for granted.

But she clamped down on her wistful feelings, reminding herself that while Cleo’s dreams had always been outsized, she’d kept her own modest and achievable. She knew her limitations, and Zayed must never become aware of the way he made her feel—that much was vital. She wasn’t quite sure why—she just knew it was dangerous. Keeping her expression prim, she met his mocking gaze as she prepared to hear his answer, which instinct told her she wasn’t going to like.

‘Why am I so sure you don’t have a boyfriend?’ he drawled. ‘Because you have an uptightness about you which is unusual. Both in your manner and in the way you dress. You don’t strike me as a woman who is particularly satisfied.’

His black eyes gleamed with mischief and something else. Something which whispered over her skin with another warm lick of danger.

‘In fact,’ he continued softly, ‘it wouldn’t surprise me one bit to discover you were a virgin.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE SHOULD HAVE been excited.

Down below, where the tiny shadowed version of their plane was making its own parallel journey, lay the stark magnificence of the Kafalahian desert with its endless ripples of golden sand punctuated by the occasional crop of palm trees. Soon they would reach the ancient city of Tirabah, which housed the Sheikh’s famous palace and which Jane had wanted to see ever since she’d first gone to college. Going to Kafalah had been a dream she’d never thought she’d realise so, yes, she should have been very excited. But she wasn’t.

She was scared.

Scared of what lay ahead. Of blindly having agreed to marry someone who was everything she despised in a man. Of being in such close proximity to Zayed Al Zawba and at the mercy of the unexpected feelings which flooded over her whenever he looked at her.

She told herself she’d had no choice. Because hadn’t accepting the Sheikh’s proposal meant she’d been able to give her sister the money she needed, having first extracted the promise that she would start living within her means? She had batted off Cleo’s questions about how she’d obtained the money but her twin’s face had been unforgettable when Jane had whispered the news she’d requested be kept quiet for the time being.

‘You’re marrying the Sheikh of Kafalah?’