Exposed: The Sheikh's Mistress

And then she saw the man standing completely still with his back to her, silhouetted against the London skyline—tall and dark and lean and proud, as if he had been carved from some black and unforgiving rock—and Sienna felt the blood drain from her face as he moved, like a statue coming to life.

She sucked in a breath of disbelief as her eyes flickered over him, her mind screaming out its protest as she began to register every detail about him. The slick black hair with the faint wave to it. The broad shoulders and the long legs. The arrogant and autocratic stance. Oh, please, no. Please. No. But now the scent which pervaded the suite became more understand-able—and wasn’t smell supposed to be the most evocative of all the senses?

Did she whimper or make a sound? Was that why he had begun to turn around? And now the breath caught in her throat as she began to issue a silent and heartfelt prayer. She prayed like she hadn’t done for a long, long time, since she had been begging some mysterious presence to take the pain away. If no one had been listening then, then let them be listening now.

Don’t let it be him. Oh, please don’t let it be him. But her heart plummeted like a stone as he turned to face her.

Hashim surveyed her with cold and glittering black eyes, acknowledging the heavy stab of desire in his loins with a grim kind of pleasure, remembering the splayed abandon of her legs the last time he had seen her, and the aching only increased.

He had long denied himself this moment because he had told himself that he could, but in the end desire had proved irresistible. Hashim despised the weakness which made him want her, yet he embraced it, too. And he intended to savour every moment of it. This woman who had deceived him would pay, and she would pay with her body!

He let the narrowed ebony gleam of his eyes linger on her figure, to see if time had marred its perfection, but it was as firm and as lushly slim as a prized young Saluki—the silky-sleek hunting dogs much favoured by the tribes of his native land.

It was hard to pin down what made her quite so desirable—for hers was not a fashionable look. She was too petite and curvy for modern tastes, yet her body was to die for. And if you added to that the ingredients of innocence and sensuality…

Innocence!

Hashim’s mouth hardened as he thought of what a sham appearances could be.

He let his gaze drift upwards, to her face. How white her skin was, he observed with impartial interest—and how contrasting the deep rose of her lips. Ah, those lips! One of the very first things he had noticed about her had been her natural pout, which some women spent thousands of dollars at plastic surgeons trying to recreate.

Now those same lips trembled under his scrutiny, and he longed to crush their petal softness beneath the hard, seeking warmth of his own. But that would have to wait…and the waiting would only increase his eventual pleasure.

‘Sienna,’ he murmured as the warm throb of blood beat between his legs.

The way he said it took her back to somewhere which was out of bounds, and her heart buckled with pain as she stared at the man she had once believed herself to be in love with.

He was both ugly and beautiful, his face unique—defined by hard contours and the ravages of warfare. An exotic, foreign face. The cruel beak of a nose and harsh slash of his mouth only added to his allure, and those clever black eyes could make a woman feel as if he was slowly stripping her bare…

Seeing him again was a moment she had lived out in her mind over and over again—though not much lately, it was true. But wasn’t it simply human nature to wonder how she would react if ever she saw him again? As time had passed she had convinced herself that the sobbing wreck of her early days had been replaced by a confident woman who would give him a cool smile and say, Hashim! Well, long time no see!

How wrong she had been. How very wrong and how very stupid. As if any woman could look at a man like that without wanting to melt into a helpless puddle of longing at his feet. But the longing was eclipsed by another emotion, and that was wariness…or was it fear? What the hell was he doing here?

‘Hashim,’ she whispered, like someone waking from a long dream. ‘Is it really you?’

‘It really is.’ His hard eyes mocked her, enjoying her discomfiture in a way he had not enjoyed anything for a long time. ‘You seem surprised, Sienna.’

‘Surprise implies something pleasant,’ she said shakily.

He arched heavy black brows in sardonic query. ‘And this is not?’

‘Of course it’s not!’ Nervously, she flicked her tongue over her lips to moisten them, and then wished she hadn’t, for his black eyes were drawn to the movement as a snake to the charmer’s pipe. ‘I’m shocked—like anyone would be.’