Exposed: The Sheikh's Mistress

HASHIM rang her. Repeatedly. Sienna kept the phone on ‘divert’, but once she picked it up without checking and heard his voice, and quietly terminated the connection with a trembling hand.

He sent her a cheque—such a grossly inflated cheque that the businesswoman side of her momentarily weakened, until she allowed her righteous fury to put it in an envelope and send it back to him. She supposed she could have torn it up—but returning it might help to get the message through loud and clear.

He even tried flowers—and for some reason those riled her more than anything. How dared he think he could buy her off with a bunch of flowers?

‘They’re lovely,’ Kat said wistfully, sniffing at the lily-of-the-valley and freesia and roses.

‘Have them—they’re yours!’ And Sienna unceremoniously dumped the monster bouquet into her bemused lodger’s arms.

Her work, which had previously fulfilled her, suddenly seemed a chore, and her life felt like a punctured balloon, coloured grey. Kat had taken to asking if she was sickening for something, and Sienna knew that she really was going to have to snap out of it. She had a business to run and she couldn’t divert her phone for ever. And Hashim seemed to have got the message at last, since he had left her alone for nearly a week.

She was sitting in her minuscule office, trying to concentrate on an engagement party which seemed to mock her with its celebration of love, when the telephone on her desk rang. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle as she heard a disturbingly familiar dark, silken voice, and she wavered for a second. She could hang up, of course—or she could have the courage to tell him to leave her alone. And she couldn’t keep running away for ever.

‘What can I do for you, Hashim?’ she questioned coolly.

‘Why have you failed to cash my cheque?’ he demanded.

‘Because I don’t want your money!’

‘Ah, Sienna,’ he purred, like a trainee lion cub. ‘Don’t you realise that resistance turns a man on?’

Especially a man who wasn’t used to being resisted. ‘That isn’t why I’m doing it,’ came her icy reply.

He knew that. As a ploy it would have failed, because he would have seen through it. As a genuine wish it excited him. Greatly. ‘I want to see you,’ he said softly.

Images of his dark mocking eyes swam into her unwilling memory. ‘Well, you can’t.’

Did she not realise that he could hear her breathless note of hesitation—and the reluctant longing which matched his own? His voice dipped into a mocking caress as he felt the hot, hard jerk of desire. ‘Then say it like you mean it.’

Sienna closed her eyes, but that only made it worse. Now the images were of a hard body entering hers with almost heartbreaking sweetness. ‘There’s no point,’ she said wildly.

‘On the contrary. There is every point. I have a proposition to put to you.’

‘A proposition?’ Suspicion crept into her voice. ‘Planning another fictitious party, are you?’

He gave a low laugh. ‘Now, that’s an idea! Meet me and I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘Have you listened to a word I’ve been saying? I don’t want your phone calls or your flowers, and I certainly don’t want to see you, Hashim!’

‘Yes, you do,’ he murmured. ‘You know that and I know that. You are unsettled and so am I. Why keep fighting it? Your work will suffer, for a start.’

And he was right, damn him! She had almost more work than she could reasonably cope with, and—ironically—no inclination to do it. It had taken every bit of concentration she had to prevent herself from sitting staring into space and thinking about the dark Sheikh, trying to school herself away from wanting him, but in reality…Oh, the reality was so different.

‘If I meet you, will you promise to leave me alone?’

He gave a wry smile. How had she managed to get so far with such an appalling sense of logic? ‘If that is what you desire,’ he said carefully.

Desire. What a dangerous and provocative word that was. Sienna clenched her fist as she felt the empty little tug of her heart. ‘Name a time and place.’

‘Now.’

‘Now?’

‘I am very close to your house. I will be waiting.’

‘You are joking!’

‘What’s the matter, Sienna?’ he mocked. ‘Are you never spontaneous?’

She was wearing her oldest jeans and a T-shirt which one of the football team had given her at college. There was a rip at the hem and a stain on it which she thought might be crème de menthe, but she wasn’t entirely sure. She glanced in the mirror at her unwashed hair, which was caught back in a ponytail. Maybe if he saw her like this—the real, basic Sienna—then he would get the message.