The Sultan's Choice

Samia wasn’t sure what she meant until she opened it in the privacy of the back of the car. She had no idea where she was going, and was too tired to ask, and yet felt bizarrely secure in the knowledge that Sadiq would know exactly where she was.

And then she saw what was in the bag: a selection of silky underwear and pyjamas. There was a smaller bag, with exquisite toiletries and a change of clothes for the next day. She’d lost her own favourite jeans somewhere along the way today, and was now wearing a beautifully tailored pair of designer trousers and an indecently soft cashmere jumper. Together with the new lace bra she wore underneath it all felt far too decadent, and not her.

By the time the car pulled up outside a very expensive looking townhouse, with the iconic Al-Omar flag flying at the entrance, Samia was feeling decidedly prickly.

CHAPTER FIVE

SAMIA walked into a hushed, dimly lit and luxurious reception hall. A huge chandelier twinkled above her and a massive winding staircase led upwards. There were exquisite oriental rugs on polished parquet floors, and small antique tables with Chinese vases which she guessed were Ming. Delicate rococco design was everywhere, and expensive looking art on the walls. One of the bodyguards closed the main door behind her softly and Samia put her leather bag down, forgetting all about her discomfort in the face of this sheer opulence.

She took a moment drinking it in before she realised that Sadiq was lounging against a wall nearby, hands in pockets, half hid

den in the gloom like some dark knight. Samia put her hand to her suddenly pounding heart, knowing that it had more to do with the immediate kick of her pulse at the sight of that powerful body than fright.

That prickliness was back. ‘You scared me half to death. Do you normally sneak up on people like that?’

Sadiq pushed himself off the wall and strolled towards her, half coming into the light, so his face was all dark shadows and hard planes, his white shirt making those blue eyes pop out. ‘I came back to take care of some work in the office, but I left you in good hands.’ His eyes flicked down and Samia felt it almost like the faint lash of a whip. ‘The clothes suit you … we should have come to Simone in the first place.’

His tone of voice, as if he was talking about an inanimate object, made Samia irrationally angry. Her hands were clenched. ‘My jeans are gone. I liked those jeans. Do you know how long it takes to break in a pair of jeans? And my top and jacket … they were perfectly good. How can I go for a walk in Hyde Park in these?’

She stuck her foot out to indicate the beautiful but impractical soft leather ankle boots with high heels. Sadiq came closer and Samia stumbled backwards, off balance for a second.

‘I’m afraid your days of walking in Hyde Park unaccompanied are gone, Samia. Do you want to tell me what’s really wrong? You must be the only woman on this earth who can spend the day shopping with an unlimited credit card and not emerge from the experience ecstatic with joy.’

Samia diverted her gaze, suddenly ashamed at her petulance. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful … but it’s just not me.’ She plucked at the luxurious jumper which clung so lovingly to her body and looked back up, unaware of the beseeching look on her face. ‘I was never into this sort of thing. I feel like … I don’t know who I am any more. I’m losing myself.’

To Samia’s surprise, Sadiq came and put his hands on her shoulders and propelled her gently but firmly to a long mirror on a panel of the wall nearby. He stood her in front of it. Immediately she saw her reflection and Samia winced and looked away, but Sadiq held her fast.

‘Look at yourself, Samia.’

She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. She’d managed to avoid it so far. Too many memories of her stepmother standing her in front of a mirror and pointing out all of her failings were threatening to swamp her. She’d never felt so vulnerable. Especially with Sadiq’s big warm hands on her shoulders, sending all sorts of shockwaves down her arms and between her legs where a pulse throbbed. She could feel her breasts grow heavy, and the lace bra chafed against suddenly stinging nipples. Oh, God.

‘Open your eyes, Samia. We’re not moving till you do.’ Recognising that steel tone, Samia knew she had no choice. With the utmost reluctance she opened her eyes and then heard a dry, ‘Now, look in the mirror.’

Why was it that this man was the one person who seemed to have been given the unique ability to make herself face up to all her innermost demons? She’d only known him for a week, and yet he already knew more about her than anyone else. Thanks to her futile attempts to persuade him that she wasn’t suitable for him which had backfired in spectacular fashion.

She turned her head and looked defiantly into the blue eyes in the dark face above hers. The heels lessened the height difference between them, but it was still substantial. He was a whole head and shoulders above her.

Sadiq arched a brow. ‘You can gaze into my eyes all you want, Samia, but the object of this exercise is for you to look at yourself.’ He smiled, and it was mocking. ‘However, if you would prefer to look at me, then …’

Her face flaming, Samia quickly diverted her gaze and looked at herself—because right now that was the lesser of two evils. Somewhere along the way her hair had come down and she’d lost her clip, so now it lay in long wavy tendrils over her shoulders and down her back. The little curly pieces she could never control were framing her face. Her hair had been down more often in the past week than it had since she’d been a child. Her eyes were glittering almost feverishly in her too-pale face, with two bright spots of pink in her cheeks. She groaned inwardly; she looked as if she’d just been picking apples off a tree in an orchard. About as unsophisticated as you could possibly get.

And then she saw where the clinging material of her jumper moulded lovingly to her breasts, which suddenly seemed huge, the hard points of her nipples clearly pushing against the fabric. This should have been the point when she pulled away, made some facetious comment and broke the tension. But a heavy langour seemed to have invaded her veins, a curious lethargy, and yet there was an energy too, fizzing and jumping in her blood.

The trousers lay flat against her pelvis and then skimmed her legs, elongating them and making them look almost slender.

Sadiq’s voice sounded rough, and his hands tightened marginally on her shoulders. ‘Perhaps, Samia, it’s about you finding yourself, not losing yourself at all. The image in that mirror is one of a woman who is about to become a queen, and the sooner you can see that too, the better. I can see it, so you really shouldn’t doubt yourself.’

His hands were suddenly gone, and so was the warmth from his body behind her. She turned around and saw he was walking away, throwing over his shoulder carelessly, ‘Helene will show you to your room. We’ll eat in an hour.’

As if by magic a small wizened woman appeared and beckoned with a smile for Samia to follow her. She already had her bag in her hand. Sadiq’s words about finding herself were ringing in her ears and affecting her at a very visceral level as she followed the housekeeper.

Sadiq closed the door behind him in his huge study and leant back against it for a moment, shutting his eyes. But it was no good. All he could see was the provocative fullness of Samia’s breasts pushing against that flimsy top. They weren’t even clothes designed to drive a man wild with desire! What would he do when she appeared in the long strapless evening dress she’d worn earlier, which had pushed the pale swells of her breasts high above the bodice?

When Samia had disappeared for another change he’d made a fool of himself by asking Simone tersely if it was entirely appropriate for any kind of function they’d be attending, and Simone had looked at him with dry amusement. ‘Chéri, that dress alone contains about three hundred more yards of material than the excuse for a dress you bought the last time you were here—so, yes, it’s fine.’

His eyes snapped open again but that image of Samia—one long slender leg revealed in a thigh-high slit, bare shoulders and that enticing cleavage—was burned onto his retinas. He went and poured himself a shot of whisky and walked to the window, which looked out over the immaculate floodlit gardens. How long had she been keeping that body hidden under those boxy suits? All her life, he’d guess, and yet for all of her apparent shyness and insecurity he was seeing more and more tantalising flashes of something much more feisty.

It had been some kind of torture today, watching her parade in front of him in a range of outfits. And he couldn’t fathom it. He’d watched women parade in front of him for years and it had never had such a profound effect on him.