The Sheik's Mistress

by Brittany Young

  “Hello, Jen,” Michael said without turning around.

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Brittany Young

  BRITTANY YOUNG

  RULES OF A SHEIK’S MISTRESS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “Hello, Jen,” Michael said without turning around.

  Jen moved to stand beside him. “How did you know I was behind you?”

  “I think there are some people in this world that others are simply aware of.”

  “In general terms?”

  “Oh, no,” he said quietly. “In very specific terms.” He turned his head and looked at her for a long moment. “I just know where you are without having to see you.”

  Their eyes locked. Things had changed between them since their first meeting. In fact, things had changed dramatically since last night. They were both aware of each other in new ways.

  Ways they shouldn’t be.

  Ways they needed to avoid.

  Dear Reader,

  What would July be without fun in the sun, dazzling fireworks displays—or heartwarming love stories from the Special Edition line? Romance seems even more irresistible in the balmy days of summer, and our six books for this month are sure to provide hours of reading pleasure.

  This July, MyRNa Temte continues her HEARTS OF WYOMING series with an engaging story about best friends turned lovers. THAT SPECIAL WOMAN! Alexandra McBride Talbot is determined not to get involved with her handsome next-door, neighbor, but he goes to extraordinary lengths to win this single mom’s stubborn heart in Urban Cowboy.

  Sometimes true love knows no rhyme or reason. Take for instance the headstrong heroine in Hannah and the Hellion by Christine Flynn. Everyone warned this sweetheart away from the resident outcast, but she refused to abandon the rogue of her dreams. Or check out the romance-minded rancher who’s driven to claim the heart of his childhood crush in The Cowboy’s Ideal Wife by bestselling author Victoria Pade—the next installment in her popular A RANCHING FAMILY series. And Martha Hix’s transformation story proves how love can give a gruff, emotionally scarred hero a new lease on life in Terrific Tom.

  Rounding off the month, we’ve got The Sheik’s Mistress by Brittany Young—a forbidden-love saga about a soon-to-be betrothed sheik and a feisty American beauty. And pure, platonic friendship turns into something far greater in Baby Starts the Wedding March by Amy Frazier.

  I hope you enjoy each and every story to come!

  Sincerely,

  Tara Gavin,

  Editorial Manager

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  BRITTANY YOUNG

  THE SHEIK’S MISTRESS

  Books by Brittany Young

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Jenni Finds a Father #941

  Brave Heart #996

  Mistaken Bride #1076

  The Sheik’s Mistress #1187

  Silhouette Romance

  Arranged Marriage #165

  A Separate Happiness #297

  No Special Consideration #308

  The Karas Cup #336

  An Honorable Man #357

  A Deeper Meaning #375

  No Ordinary Man #388

  To Catch a Thief #424

  Gallagher’s Lady #454

  All or Nothing #484

  Far from Over #537

  A Matter of Honor #550

  Worth the Risk #574

  The Kiss of a Stranger #597

  A Man Called Travers #622

  The White Rose #640

  A Woman in Love #658

  The Ambassador’s Daughter #700

  The Seduction of Anna #729

  The House by the Lake #759

  One Man’s Destiny #807

  Lady in Distress #831

  A Holiday To Remember #885

  Silhouette Books

  Silhouette Christmas Stories 1989

  “Silent Night”

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  The Ice Man #849

  BRITTANY YOUNG

  lives and writes in Racine, Wisconsin. She has traveled to most of the countries that serve as the settings for her books and finds the research into the language, customs, history and literature of these countries among the most demanding and rewarding aspects of her writing.

  RULES OF A SHEIK’S MISTRESS:

  1. Do not be intimidated by his intense appraisal, his feral need to protect, his possessive caress.

  2. Do speak your mind—sure, he’s a king, but at heart he is a man.

  3. Do welcome his touch in the dark of night when there are no rules, no restrictions... only passion.

  4. Never forget he is betrothed to another.

  5. Avoid falling in love at all costs.

  THE JEN O’HARA CLAUSE:

  After following the above and still losing

  your heart, make that sheik yearn

  for your laugh, your love—and, against all odds,

  your hand in marriage.

  Chapter One

  Jensen stood in front of the Sumaru airport, just miles from the capital city of Sumara, set seemingly right in the middle of the Sahara Desert, and waited. Heat rose lazily from the pavement and washed over her in nauseating waves. She’d never felt heat like this; never breathed heat like this. It was suffocating.

  A man in long white robes and traditional headdress walked past her carrying a briefcase, rudely eyeing her up and down. Jensen was tall and long legged, with nearly waist length blond hair pulled straight away from her heat-flushed face into a thick ponytail. Those legs were bare, as were her arms. And even though the blue sundress was modestly cut with a fairly full skirt that hit just above her knees, the man made her feel as though she were naked.

  She stared back at him with narrowed green eyes that silently challenged him.

  It had no effect.

  She should have read up on this place before coming here. It was clear she was going to be crashing into thousand-year-old customs and traditions all over the place.

  Of course, if it weren’t for her brother Henry, she wouldn’t have to be here at all.

  Henry.

  Jensen sank onto the edge of her largest suitcase while she waited for a taxi to show up.

  She was so angry with him.

  And frightened.

  Was it only two days earlier that she’d been sitting peacefully in her renovated Wisconsin farmhouse with its vast green lawn and even its own small lake set in the forest....

  Jensen wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. That sounded like paradise at the moment.

  She could still hear her housekeeper’s voice calling through the door of her home office to tell her there was a telephone call she should take. Jensen looked around. The call that would bring her to this forsaken place in the middle of nowhere....

  “Jen?” said the housekeeper as she knocked on the closed door. “Sorry to disturb you, dear. I know you’re trying to finish your book, but there’s a telephone call and it sounds important.”

  Jensen O’Hara typed a few more w
ords into her computer. “That’s all right, Mrs. Sherman. I’ll get it.” She reached over and punched the speaker button on the phone. “Hello,” she said absently, still looking at her computer screen.

  “Ms. O’Hara?” asked a foreign-sounding voice.

  “Yes?”

  “I have some news of your brother.”

  That got her attention. Her brother had been in the Middle East working on a story for his magazine for more than a month. Two weeks earlier he’d called her to say he was coming to Wisconsin to visit her between stories but hadn’t yet shown up. That wasn’t all that unusual. Henry could be fairly unreliable when it came to time. In fact, he seemed to have no sense of it at all. So when a few days had gone by and there was no Henry, Jensen wasn’t too concerned.

  Then the few days turned into a week, and Jensen had begun to get really worried. She hadn’t tried to track him down, though. Not at that point. The last time she’d done that, he’d given her a lecture that had left her ears ringing.

  Now two weeks had passed and, lecture or not, she’d started making phone calls in an effort to find him. She had a very bad feeling about this, and if there was one thing Jensen had learned over the years, it was to trust her feelings.

  She grabbed the receiver and held it to her ear. “What about Henry? Has something happened?”

  “He seems to have disappeared.”

  “What?”

  “We can’t find him.”

  “We who? Who are you?”

  “My apologies. I’m with the American Embassy in the country of Sumaru, city of Sumara.”

  “It took you long enough to return my calls!”

  “We wanted to do some investigating before contacting you.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “He was indeed in the city, staying at the Metropole Hotel. He checked out approximately five days ago without saying where he was headed.”

  “Then he should have been on his way to Wisconsin.”

  “Perhaps he is.”

  “Sir, he most certainly would have arrived by now if that were the case. He’s not exactly traveling here by camel. Did you check the outbound airline passenger lists?”

  “Of course.”

  “And?”

  “His name wasn’t on any of them.”

  “So he’s still in Sumaru.”

  “We don’t think so. No one has seen him. It’s entirely possible he left by car and departed from some other city.”

  “Why would he do that? He told me he was coming here directly from Sumaru.”

  “Your brother is a journalist, Miss O’Hara. They’re known to follow stories. He did, in fact, suggest that very thing to some people at the hotel.”

  “What people?”

  “The gentleman who checked him out of his room, for one.”

  Jensen shook her head. “Henry knew I was expecting him. He would have called me if that were the case.”

  “I suggest you call his employer.”

  Jensen dragged her fingers through her hair. “The magazine was the first place I called. They said he was due in New York this past week and didn’t show up.”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you, miss. There’s nothing more we can do from this end.”

  “But...”

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help.”

  The line went dead before she could say anything else.

  Jensen hung up the phone and just sat there. She had to do something. Call someone.

  Even as she had the thought, the phone rang again.

  She grabbed it. “Listen,” she said, thinking she was speaking to the man from the embassy, “you can’t just proclaim that my brother has dropped from the face of the earth—your country to be precise—and leave it at that.”

  “Is this Miss O‘Hara? Miss Jensen O’Hara?” asked a voice that definitely didn’t belong to the previous caller.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice echoing her uncertainty. “Who’s this?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a friend of your brother’s. You don’t need to know any more than that.”

  “You know Henry? Do you know where he is?”

  “I can tell you that he isn’t where he’s supposed to be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He’s not running down a story. He’s missing.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “You’re not telling me anything,” said Jensen as she stood up, too agitated to stay seated any longer. “Is Henry safe?”

  “The answer to all of your questions are in Sumaru. All you have to do is go there.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Your brother might be lost to you forever.”

  “Is that a threat? Do you have Henry? Is it money you’re after? I have some. Not a lot...”

  The line went dead.

  Jensen stared at it for a moment, then quickly started rummaging through her desk drawers. Her brother used her office sometimes when he visited. The last time, he’d left his address book behind.

  She found it and quickly opened it to the page that listed Henry’s best friend from college, Michael Hassan. Michael lived somewhere in Sumaru, though she understood he was an engineer and worked all over the world. Henry had mentioned that he might look up Michael before leaving the country.

  She pressed the numbers and waited through fifteen seconds of silence before there was a ring.

  A man answered in Arabic.

  “Do you speak English?” asked Jensen.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank heavens. I need to speak with Michael Hassan.”

  “I’m sorry but he is not available for telephone calls.”

  “This is really important. Perhaps if you tell him it’s Henry O’Hara’s sister calling from America, he’d take the call.”

  “He is taking no calls at this time.”

  Jensen sighed. There seemed to be no way through the man’s cool formality. “May I leave a message?”

  “If that is your wish.”

  “Please tell him that Henry was in Sumaru but appears to be missing. It’s urgent that I speak with Michael to find out what he knows and whether or not he can help. Have him call me at home any time of the day or night. If I’m not here, my housekeeper will know where to find me.” She gave him the number.

  “I’ll give him the message.”

  “Thank you.”

  As soon as she hung up, Jensen started calling the magazine and anyone else she could think of who might be able to help track Henry down.

  And to make arrangements for her own flight to Sumaru.

  So here she was, a woman who lived a basically cloistered life writing about other people’s lives, who had never really been anywhere except through those characters, here, in this place.

  Talk about being thrown in at the deep end of the pool.

  Good grief.

  Henry was going to pay dearly for this when she found him.

  Bang!

  Jensen jumped at the loud report and turned her head to locate the source of the backfire. Her heart sank when she saw the rusting hulk of a thirty-year-old taxi grinding its way noisily toward her. The sideview mirror on the passenger side dangled precariously by a wire. What appeared to have once been a vinyl roof was now nothing but sun-bleached flakes. Choking black exhaust billowed from its tailpipe.

  It stopped at the curb in front of her and a young man in Western dress came bounding energetically out. “You come with me lady, okay?”

  Jensen looked from the skinny, black-haired boy who appeared to be no more than thirteen to the rusting disaster of a taxi he’d pulled up in. “I don’t think so,” she said politely.

  “You have to. It’s your turn for ride, my turn for pick up. You come with me.” His face was split by an utterly infectious smile as he reached for her luggage.

  Jensen put her hand on her suitcase to stop him from lifting it. “How old are you?”

 
“Sixteen.”

  “And how long have you been sixteen?”

  “Two weeks. Big party. Lots of people.”

  Jensen’s mouth twitched into an involuntary smile. “Is this your taxi?”

  “No, no. My uncle’s. He’s sick today, so I take over.”

  “How long have you been driving?”

  “Since this morning. Early.”

  “No. I mean how old were you when you started driving?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. Sorry. Ten,” he said proudly. “My uncle taught me. He very great man.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  “So you come now.”

  She reluctantly took away her hand and let him heave her suitcase into the trunk, then watched as he fastened the trunk lid closed with a narrow rope.

  Oh, God.

  She reached for the door handle, but the boy brushed her hand away. “No, no. I get it.”

  The door opened with a loud creak. She took a deep breath and climbed inside. The interior wasn’t much better than the exterior, but it was clean.

  The boy closed the door, walked quickly around the car and hopped—that’s the only word Jensen could think of to describe it—onto the driver’s seat. Turning around he grinned at her. “Where you want me take you?”

  “The Metropole Hotel in Sumara. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yusef,” he said, apparently referring to himself, “know where everything is. You see. I get you there fast.”

  “I don’t need fast I just want to arrive in one piece,” she said as she automatically gripped the armrest on the door.