Exposed: The Sheikh's Mistress

And Cara was a delight—homing in on Sienna straight away, her eyes wide when it was explained that Mummy and Sienna had been just the same age as her once upon a time!

She had a habit of sticking her little tongue out of the corner of her mouth when she was thinking.

‘Can I play with Sienna, Mummy?’ she asked one day.

Kirsty shot her a glance. ‘Oh, Sienna’s far too busy—’

‘No,’ said Sienna firmly. ‘No, I’m not, and I want Cara to come and play. We could make cupcakes one day if you like?’

‘With chocolate chips?’

‘Yes, darling—I love chocolate chips—and we can use those little silver balls too, if you’re very good.’

At least there was plenty to keep her occupied—leaving little time for wafting around the house missing her lover. But probably the hardest part of all was accepting that it really was over. Because in a way things seemed just the same. Their feelings hadn’t changed and they normally had weeks in between seeing one another anyway.

If only they could have rowed—or stopped speaking entirely—then she might have found it easier to believe that it was over. Easier? Well, maybe not. That was asking too much. What’s it going to take to forget him? she asked herself. An announcement that he’s going to marry someone else, as one day you know he will?

Sienna was making more cakes with Cara one afternoon when her mother came rushing into the kitchen.

‘One of the bodyguards has just knocked!’ she babbled excitedly. ‘There is a visitor on the way to see you!’

Sienna’s heart missed a beat. She held the wooden spoon in the air as if it was a magic wand—and, oh, how she wished it was. She would wave it, and…

‘Is it Hashim?’ she breathed.

‘Oh, darling, no—I’m afraid it isn’t. It’s a man called…’ Her mother frowned as she concentrated on saying his name correctly. ‘Abdul-Aziz.’

Sienna hoped her face did not betray her disappointment. ‘Then you’d better show him in,’ she said courteously.

Abdul-Aziz swept into her mother’s low-beamed kitchen as if he owned the place. It had been a long time since Sienna had seen him, and in his way he was no less formidable—his eyes still looked like raisins which had been created in the Arctic and his mouth was set in such a way as to show he meant business.

But some of the hardness of his features had dissolved, and Sienna found herself wondering if that was down to the calming effects of married life. Or was she in danger of attributing her own wistfulness to other people?

Five years ago she had been utterly intimidated by him, but a lot had changed since then. For a start she had grown up—but, more importantly, she had shared something very special with Hashim. He had given her confidence and belief in herself as a woman—and nothing could take that away from her.

Abdul-Aziz’s eyes narrowed as he saw her, and Sienna was aware that she could not have looked worse—old clothes, no make-up, covered in cake mix, with a tiny girl clinging onto her apron and demanding to know, ‘Who’s that cross man?’

‘It’s someone I know,’ she whispered, and looked at her mother. ‘Would you mind finishing the cakes with Cara while I take my visitor into the sitting room?’

Cara snuffled a bit, and her mother looked disappointed that she wasn’t going to get a ringside seat to hear whatever the ‘cross man’ had to say, but Sienna felt strangely serene as she led Abdul-Aziz across the hall and into the chintzy room. The worst had already happened and Hashim was not with her. Nothing could touch her now.

She looked across the room at him, and she’d have been lying if she hadn’t admitted deriving a little pleasure from the look of perplexity on Abdul-Aziz’s face. Had he been expecting her to be lolling around in some over-the-top boudoir, wearing nothing but a pair of racy stockings and suspenders?

‘Would you like tea, Mr Aziz?’ she asked politely. ‘I’m not quite sure how to address you.’

‘You can call me Abdul,’ he said grudgingly. ‘And, no, I don’t want tea. Thank you,’ he added, as if he had just remembered something.

Like his manners, thought Sienna wryly—for he gave the distinct impression of a man who was struggling to contain himself.

‘What can I do for you?’ she murmured.

‘That child.’ He cocked his head in the direction of the door. ‘She is your child?’

Sienna started to say of course not—but there was no ‘of course’ about it—not in his eyes. If she suddenly produced a spellbook and started chanting incantations she didn’t think he’d bat an eyelid.