Exposed: The Sheikh's Mistress

The words were there in his mouth, just begging to be said. But words could be dishonest—even if you meant them. They could open up all kinds of unrealistic expectations. If he tried to explain how much she had come to mean to him then would that not tie her to him anyway—no matter how much he tried not to let it? What if she started seeing them as star-crossed lovers instead of just getting on with her life?

She saw the discomfiture on his face and jumped in to rescue the situation—or rather to rescue herself. She had had more with him than any woman could have hoped to have, and she would ensure that he remembered her with dignity.

‘It’s been wonderful. Gorgeous. It was a fine affair,’ she said softly. ‘But now it’s over.’

His eyes narrowed. He had expected…what? That she might at least shed a tear for him! Or that her face might indicate some feelings of dejection! His pride was hurt, yet his pain came from deeper feelings than pride. He pushed them away with an instinct borne out of self-protection. ‘You seem almost pleased about it,’ he observed coolly.

‘Oh, Hashim,’ she said impatiently. ‘Of course I’m not pleased about it—but I recognise that it has to be, so what’s the alternative?’

Women had begged him before—many times. They had shed tears and clung to him. Hadn’t there been a selfish side which had thought that Sienna might do the same? For if she behaved like all the others, then wouldn’t that make it easier for him to walk away from her without another thought?

But there had never been another relationship like this one, he recognised. Nor ever would be again. His destiny would not allow it—for his flings and his freedom must now be curtailed. The luxurious but weighty doors of his royal prison were waiting to clang shut on him, and if he took himself down the path of useless and indulgent analysis then what good would it do him? Or her?

‘Come here,’ he said simply, and opened his arms.

Sienna didn’t need to be told that this was the last time. It was written in his eyes and spoken in every lingering kiss and caress. His hands and his fingers seemed as though they were discovering her for the first time, and yet bidding her farewell as they did so.

‘Oh, Hashim,’ she said, in a choked kind of voice.

‘Let us lie once more in that old bed,’ he whispered, and she nodded.

He carried her up the rickety staircase towards the room they had shared, bending his head so as not to knock it on one of the dark beams, and put her down as carefully as if she had been a cherished and delicate piece of filagree.

Their undressing was slow and silent, and as she sank back into feather pillows his dark body moved over hers. She thought about how many couples had lain in this bed, like this. How many children had been conceived—maybe even born here? Ghostly generations of long-ago lovers joined them—wordlessly entering the indefinable space between past and present. For at what point did the present become the past?

Their climax would bring an end to it all, and the sex would become just a memory. As would the rest. She trembled as Hashim thrust into her with a hunger and a poignancy which made hot salt tears slide from beneath her eyelids.

‘Ah, Sienna. Don’t cry,’ he said afterwards, wiping the tracks away with his finger.

They lay there for a while without sleeping, and then Sienna stirred. Be the first to make a move, she told herself. Don’t put yourself in the position of being the deserted one.

‘I’d better go and pack up the kitchen.’

He tightened his hold on her waist. ‘I can have one of the guards come over and do it.’

But she shook her head and prised his fingers away as if she was removing a clam from the side of a rock. ‘No, Hashim—that will defeat the object of our ordinary weekend. I’ll go and chuck all the leftover food away—you can wash the dishes.’

He was torn between outrage and humour. ‘Yes, Sienna,’ he murmured, but his heart was heavy.

They were quiet in the car on the drive back, even though the driver was firmly locked away behind soundproof glass. It had begun to rain, and through the tinted windows she could see droplets battering against the glass, as if the heavens themselves were sobbing.

It was only when they were approaching South Kensington that he laid one dark hand on hers.

‘You will come back to the hotel with me?’

‘No.’

He asked for no explanation; but then he had known what her answer would be. ‘Sienna?’

She turned her head back to face him and her green eyes were sombre, but there was a soft dignity about her which took his breath away. He thought about how often in the past he had been able to persuade her to do something against her will just by the sheer power of the sexual chemistry which existed between them, but he recognised now that nothing he could do would change her mind. Not this time.