Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh. Trish Morey
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eyes became narrowed, opaque. ‘Like right now, if you like.’
His heartless words tore into her and Sienna recoiled from the blatant sexuality which shimmered from him like a halo. ‘Are you suggesting …suggesting that I go to bed with you?’
‘I’m not particularly fussy about the venue,’ he drawled, and nodded his dark head in the direction of a sumptuous scarlet velvet chaise-longue. ‘That might provide a stimulating setting, don’t you think? Ever done it on one of those?’
The question made her feel cheap, but presumably that had been his intention. ‘You have to be out of your mind,’ she breathed.
‘My mind has nothing to do with it,’ he said silkily. ‘So what do you say, Sienna—are going to risk all you’ve worked for going up in smoke, or are you going to do the sensible thing and accept the commission?’
Sensible? She suspected that jumping off a high cliff would have been more sensible, but Sienna cared desperately about the career she had worked so hard for. Her job relied almost entirely on word-of-mouth recommendations, and even if she fudged the real reasons for her reluctance to work for Hashim it would reflect badly on her. Very badly. People might start to think she had issues…that she was difficult to work with…
Did she have a choice?
No.
But if she was to be forced into a corner by his autocratic will, then it was vital that she stopped behaving like a victim. Was she going to let him think that she was scared of him? Cowed by him? Unable to resist his sensual lure?
Never!
She nodded, drawing in a deep breath to give her courage. ‘Very well. Since you give me little choice I will accept your commission. Satisfied?’
Hashim felt the stirring of excitement and anticipation. So he had won the first battle. A battle he had not been expecting—but when he stopped to think about it would instant capitulation have pleased him? No. Nothing in life felt so good as something which you had to fight for. ‘Oh, no, Sienna—not at all satisfied. But I intend to be. Believe me when I tell you that.’
She could hear the sultry note of desire which had deepened his voice and decided to ignore it. Act professionally, she reminded herself.
‘Right,’ she said coolly. ‘Let’s talk business—’
‘Alas!’
He cut her short with an imperious wave of his hand, though he didn’t look or sound in the least bit regretful.
‘It cannot be now,’ he murmured. ‘For I have another appointment.’
Sienna stared at him, knowing that he could have broken any darned appointment he wanted but was choosing not to.
‘So I will meet with you tomorrow to discuss the details of my…requirements. Over dinner, of course,’ he finished silkily.
She opened her mouth to say that she didn’t do dinner with clients—except that would not have been true. Of course she did. She could not refuse him— he knew it and she knew it. Never in her life had she felt so helpless—like a fish with a great big hook in its mouth, just about to be reeled in by a heartless man who would like to gobble her up for breakfast.
‘Very well. Dinner tomorrow it is. But you can wipe that triumphant smile off your face right now, Hashim—because the party is all you are getting and I mean that. There’s no way I’m going to sleep with you!’
He said nothing, but gave a mocking smile, lifting a thick brown envelope from the ornate table beside the door and handing it to her. ‘You may want to look at this,’ he said.
Something in his eyes told her that this was nothing to do with the party, and her heart began to pound. She realised the contents at the exact moment she asked the question. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, just an old calendar,’ he drawled. ‘You may recognise it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
SIENNA took the envelope downstairs to an empty office, then pulled out the calendar and stared at it dully. She hadn’t seen it for a long, long time, and she was scarcely able to recognise herself in the sexy and provocative poses. She guessed that by today’s standards it was pretty tame—but even so, nothing could disguise the earthy sensuality of the pictures.
They had flown her out to the Caribbean and dressed her in a variety of clothes—well, that wasn’t strictly true, for the garments had all been designed to reveal rather than conceal, and they had all left her breasts on show. But that had been the whole point.
A filmy kaftan soaked with water. The bottom half of a low-slung bikini. A glittery thong. Sienna closed her eyes, but was unable to block out the vivid, Technicolor images.
She remembered her initial feeling of panic when they had told her what they wanted her to do. It had taken two rum punches before she had been able to lie face down in the sand and smoulder at the camera for the first of the shots.
And Sienna would never forget the moment she’d seen a Polaroid of her pouting glossy self, with sand- sprinkled skin and messy hair, and dark, peeking nipples. How she had given a little gasp of disbelief and been slightly repulsed by the glinting approval in the eyes of the art director.
Even now she could squirm at how naïve she had been. And even now the photos still had the power to shock her. With trembling fingers she shoved the calendar into her briefcase and let herself out of the hotel, taking in great gulps of hot and sticky summer air.
She spent a restless night, and the following day there was a constant dull ache at her temples. When she walked through the hotel foyer dressed for dinner she felt as if she was going to her own execution.
‘Cheer up!’ said the night porter. ‘It might never happen! Going somewhere special, are you?’
Serena gave a wan smile. ‘I’m having dinner with one of the guests in the Rainbow Room.’
‘Lucky you!’
Sienna gave a hollow laugh. ‘Yes, lucky me!’ she echoed wryly. ‘Still, at least it’s beautifully air- conditioned up there. The temperature outside is claustrophobic.’
‘Tell me about it!’ said the porter.
Overnight a heatwave seemed to have descended on the capital, with all the force and stifling nature of a heavy fire blanket dropped down to envelop the city. The streets outside the cool hotel had been curiously airless, and Sienna’s throat felt as tight as if she were still out in them.
As she rode up in the lift she stared at herself in the tinted mirror. The cool linen dress she wore still looked fresh, and the apricot hue of the glass gave her face a healthy-looking glow which completely belied the way she was feeling inside. But she was not going to let that overwhelm her. And she was not going to let him intimidate her.
The nude photos were part of her past. She couldn’t change that, and neither could she rewrite her brief and confusing relationship with Hashim. But she had learned along the way, and that was the whole point of experience—good or bad.
Those had been pivotal events in her life which had made her into the cool and confident professional she was today. The change hadn’t been easy, or instant, and she was not going to throw it all away because Hashim wanted to exact some kind of erotic payback for what had happened all those years ago. Or rather, what had not happened.
He despised her—he had made that perfectly clear—even though his body still wanted her. And on some level she still wanted him, too. But she would not allow herself to be picked up and used like some kind of convenience—to be tossed away at the earliest opportunity. And she would not repeat the mistakes of yesterday.
If he said things to rile or provoke her she would not rise to them. They could not have a scene if she didn’t react to him. If he attempted to taunt her then she would just give him a cool and glacial smile. She would remain