Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh. Trish Morey
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and so was I. So I took the easy way out—I admit that. I had once been told that I could make a lot of money—that I wasn’t tall enough for the catwalk but that my face and figure could make my fortune. I wasn’t at all interested at the time, but I remembered it when I needed to. And I did it. A one-off which I never repeated nor ever would.’ She stared at him, braving that dark-eyed look of censure. ‘And that’s the truth. I swear it.’
There was silence for a moment while he brooded on what she had told him. An interesting development —if it was true. And if it was then perhaps it made her actions slightly less contemptible. But did it actually change anything? Make him forgive her for what she had done?
Never!
In the world Hashim inhabited women were modest and demure, and it was unimaginable to think of them posing naked for money and men’s pleasure. He closed his mind as he pictured the calendar as clearly as if someone had just put it down on the table in front of him. Because they weren’t just nude shots— no matter how ‘artistic’ the photographer had tried to make them. She looked…she looked…He felt an involuntary shudder run through his big body and the pooling of lust in his groin.
She looked as if she was begging the viewer to drive himself between her silken thighs!
And no matter what had motivated her it didn’t change the fact that she had posed for the erotic shots. But neither did it change the fact that he wanted her— and he would not rest until he had lost himself in that exquisite body. And only when he had done that, could he cast her aside and forget her.
He was calm again when he spoke. ‘And your mother—she approved of your actions? Condoned them, perhaps?’
‘Of course she didn’t! She didn’t know. Not until afterwards.’ Sienna shrugged and stared down at the fish congealing on her plate. She wanted to say that she had regretted it bitterly ever since—but that wouldn’t be true. She had been glad to help her mother—the only bitterness she had felt was against Hashim, and the way he had made her feel about herself. But even that could not seem to rid her of her longing for him.
Stupid, hopeless longing. How was it possible for this man to deride her, to criticise and pour scorn on her, and yet she was still drawn to that dark, lean body, wanted to see those black eyes soften with passion once more? ‘So that’s it. Subject closed.’ She lifted her eyes and met his stare with a steady gaze. ‘So now you know—can we please just forget about this whole farce? You can’t possibly want me to work for you—not really. Get someone else to arrange your wretched party for you.’
The corners of his mouth lifted upwards in a cruel imitation of a smile. She still did not get it! Oh, foolish, foolish woman. ‘On the contrary, Sienna,’ he said softly. ‘I do not want anyone else. It is you I want and you that I shall have.’
And Sienna began to tremble.
CHAPTER SIX
A MONTH was no time at all—but in a way Sienna was glad that Hashim had demanded such an outrageously short time to arrange his party. If it had dragged on over weeks, then what kind of state might she have found herself in?
As it was, she had her work cut out to find a venue—and there certainly wasn’t time to think about his thinly veiled threat, or the sensual way he had looked at her.
Determinedly, she put him out of her mind and holed herself up in her tiny office at her home in Kennington and rang round, using every contact she’d ever made until at last she struck lucky. She could have the use of Bolland House, set in a hundred acres in the glorious Hampshire countryside. She had driven down to see it and had pronounced it perfect.
She had found a local acclaimed chef who cooked using fresh organic produce sourced from nearby farms. She had chosen flowers, and was bussing in her favourite sommelier—though she had warned him that some of the guests might not be drinking alcohol and asked him to provide a wide selection of soft drinks which were rather more exciting than orange juice!
In fact everything was now in place…and with just three days to go it felt a bit as she imagined the atmosphere in one of the giant space stations just before they sent a rocket into flight—the tension of the countdown was almost unbearable. Especially in this heat.
‘I’m making coffee!’ called a voice from the kitchen. ‘Do you want some?’
‘Love some!’ Sienna called back, and sat back in her chair and sighed. It was funny how circumstances could change out of all recognition in such a short time. Up until that meeting with Hashim, Sienna had been utterly contented. She had her little terraced house in Kennington, which she had bought as a neglected and nearly derelict wreck. She had spent every spare minute doing it up—stripping the walls, sanding the paintwork and painting it in light colours, filling it with mirrors to make it seem bigger and brighter. She had saved up to have a new bathroom and kitchen put in and had painted the front door in a deep, dark blue.
When the house had been habitable, she had taken in a lodger to help with the mortgage—Kat, who was now in her last year of studying languages at a nearby university. And only then had Sienna given herself the luxury of turning her attention to the garden and the challenge of making something pretty out of the small square of ground which had looked like a builders’ yard.
‘Coffee’s ready!’ called Kat.
‘Coming!’
Sienna got up and went through to the kitchen, where Kat was just putting the cafetière and mugs onto a pretty spotted tray, her red hair falling over her shoulders. She looked up as Sienna came in and smiled. ‘Shall we drink it in the garden?’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Sienna, but she could hear the flatness in her own voice as she went out into the sunshine.
She felt like an outsider to the rest of the world. Usually she revelled in pride and pleasure at the small oasis she had created in the middle of the city, but not today. She could see the sunlight dappling through the honeysuckle, but she couldn’t seem to smell the fragrant blooms, nor appreciate its simple beauty. Hashim’s reappearance in her life seemed to have sucked the vibrancy out of everything except the memory of his dark and cruel face, and his hard, virile body.
She took the coffee that Kat poured for her and stared into the cup as gloomily as someone with a fear of heights being told to do a high dive.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ said Kat.
Sienna looked up. Her teeth gritted into the bright, cheery smile which she had become rather good at perfecting. ‘Oh, just work. You know. It’s frantic at the moment.’
‘You don’t usually complain,’ observed Kat, her eyes narrowing. ‘You’re usually glad when it’s like that.’
‘Well, it’s hot, too. Isn’t it?’ Sienna wiped her damp brow with a jokey and exaggerated gesture— because how could she tell Kat what was troubling her, and what could she tell her?
Oh, I had a fling with a sheikh until he discovered that I’d done some topless photos, and then he…he…
Little beads of sweat studded her forehead and she wiped them away with an angry hand. How awful it sounded when pared down to the basic facts.
She wouldn’t tell Kat. Because if she told Kat about Hashim then that would give him an identity which would live on for ever. Kat would want to know all about him—who wouldn’t? No, she wouldn’t tell anyone. She would do what he wanted her to do and then hopefully he would leave her alone.
Hopefully?
That was part of the trouble, too. He had forced her into this corner and yet a part of her wanted to impress him. To engineer the most wonderful dinner party for him and dazzle him—leaving him with an altogether better memory of her than he currently had.
And wasn’t there another part of her—a stubborn and stupid and romantic one—which wished that she could just go back and rewrite history?
Sometimes she started