The Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress. Sandra Marton
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take it out on me, but he won’t have to. He’ll have you.”
Tears shone in her eyes; one traced a path down her cheek. Salim fought the desire to gather her to him and comfort her. Only a fool would do that. Grace was an actress. A siren. Who knew that better than he?
“He won’t have me,” she said quickly. “I’m going back to the hotel, not to him.”
“It’s the same thing. You’re sharing his room.”
“His suite,” she said, even more quickly. “A company suite. I didn’t know anything about it until…” Grace clamped her lips together. Why was she explaining anything to Salim? Why was she letting him see her fear? See it? He was building on it. He didn’t give a damn about her. He only wanted her acquiescence but then, there was nothing new in that. He was a man who always wanted things done his way.
And, right now, he was doing whatever it took to make that happen. Her boss was a vile human being but Salim was trying to convince her the man was a monster. Well, it wasn’t going to work, she thought, and took a steadying breath.
“Let go of me,” she said coolly.
He hesitated. Then, slowly, his hand fell to his side.
“Nicely done,” she said with a little smile. “You almost had me in a panic. Sorry, but it won’t work. Lipton’s a pig, but there’s not a woman alive who can’t handle a pig on her own.”
“You’re always so sure of yourself, habiba. This time, though, you may be making a mistake. Just in case you are…” Salim took his key card from his pocket and tossed it to her. Grace caught it out of reflex. “I have one of the villas on the beach. Number 916.”
“I wouldn’t come to you if hell froze over.”
Such a pathetic rejoinder, but it was the best she could manage. Head high, she turned and made her way up the path toward the gardens. Was Salim watching her? She wanted to look over her shoulder to find out, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
What a cold-hearted bastard!
She’d always known that about him; she’d just refused to admit it. She’d told herself his arrogance was actually self-confidence. It wasn’t. Only an arrogant man with an overblown ego would come around the world just to prove that a woman couldn’t leave him until he was good and ready for it to happen.
That he actually believed she would fly to New York with him, that he saw her as a fugitive for leaving him…
Laughable, all of it.
Grace’s steps slowed as she entered the garden.
If it was laughable, why had she let him kiss her? Why had she kissed him back? Why had her foolish heart wished, even for a moment, that he had come for her because he needed her?
Stupid to even think such a thing. Salim didn’t need anyone. What he understood was passion. How to touch a woman so the most intimate part of her wept for his possession. How to make her beg for release.
And he knew how to respond. She didn’t want to remember, but she did.
His hard-muscled body, taut and powerful against hers. His shudder of delight when she caressed him, his soft groan when she used her tongue, her lips to pleasure him. The incredible moment when he’d part her thighs, sink deep, deep inside her.
And yet, there were times she’d had the feeling he was there physically but not emotionally, that he’d kept a part of himself locked away…
“There you are.”
She jumped as Lipton stepped out of the shadows. He caught her wrist, his fingers digging deep into the soft inner flesh.
“What happened, Grace? Didn’t the reconciliation go well?”
Grace’s heart was racing. It was difficult to pretend she wasn’t frightened but she knew it was what she had to do.
“Let go of me,” she said quietly.
“Or is it that the mighty sheikh only wanted a quickie on the beach? You’ll find I’m not like that. I believe in hours of pleasure, Grace. Some women find it excessive, but I’m sure you won’t be one of them.”
“Get this through your head,” she hissed. “I am not going to sleep with you.”
“I hope not. Sleeping isn’t what I have in mind.”
Grace used the only ace in the deck. She didn’t want to; falling back on Salim’s name made her feel helpless but she couldn’t see another way out.
“The sheikh will kill you if you touch me.”
Lipton smiled. “He’s finished with you, Grace. I don’t see a problem.”
His fingers moved to her upper arm; she felt their bite and she stifled a moan. What he was doing was incredibly painful, but she knew she’d sooner pass out from it than ask for mercy.
“You see, Grace, if he was a real threat to you and me—to our relationship…”
“We don’t have a relationship!”
“Of course we do, and wait until you see how exciting it’s going to be.” Lipton leaned toward her; his breath, whiskey-laden before, was soaked with it now. “As I was saying, if your ex was a real threat, he’d have kept you for the night instead of taking you outside and then sending you packing.”
“Let go of me or—”
“He did,” Lipton said with glee. “Send you packing. Poor Grace. Things just didn’t work out for you.”
“Listen to me,” Grace said. “If you think I’m afraid to make a scene—”
“That’s exactly what I think, and I’m right. You don’t want everyone to know what you’ve done, Grace. How you led me on. How you said you wanted to sleep with me.” His fingers dug deeper into the tender muscle of her biceps; the pain sent nausea roiling in her belly. “Because if I told people that, the only job you’d be able to get in finance would be one that involved standing behind a cash register and saying ‘Do you want fries with that?’”
Grace blinked. Then she laughed. She couldn’t help it. Hadn’t Hollywood once made movies like this? Cruel villains, helpless heroines…
Her laugh became a soft cry of pain as Lipton’s fingers clamped harder on her arm.
“I’m going to have another drink with my friends while you go to my bedroom and make yourself ready for me. I’ll be half an hour, not more, and when I open the door, you’d damned well better make this trip I paid for as well as tonight’s humiliation worth my while.”
“No. No! You’ll never touch me. You’ll never—”
Lipton backhanded her. Grace staggered. He came at her again and she summoned up the long-ago advice of her high school judo instructor.
A woman’s knee makes an excellent weapon.
She moved quickly. Lipton grunted, gagged and fell back.
And Grace turned and ran.
CHAPTER FOUR
SALIM had been told that the hotel’s villas were spacious and handsome.
Maybe, but he’d dismissed those amenities without a second thought. A man on his way to apprehend a thief didn’t give a damn about aesthetics.
Now, as he paced the floor of his villa, he thought that “spacious” might be a good thing. You could only march from room to room just so long before the walls began closing in.
Where was Grace?
Salim glowered at his watch. Was it working? Of course it was. The gold Cartier had been passed from his grandfather to his father to him. It was entirely—and, tonight, unfortunately—dependable.
His