Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  The first time she had seen Hashim, Sienna had been on her way to the hotel for a late shift. It had been a beautiful day, and she’d been enjoying the sunshine.

  She’d been wearing nothing out of the ordinary—a floaty kind of summer dress—but her hair had been down and she’d walked with the unconscious vigour of youth. In her daydream she’d barely noticed the slight commotion of people milling around the dark-windowed limousine of the world-renowned Granchester Hotel.

  And then she had seen the figure emerging from the car. He’d been tall, with a natural autocratic poise, dressed in a coolly pale suit which had made the dark olive of his skin look so silken. It had gleamed soft gold and contrasted with the hard ebony glitter of his eyes.

  For a split-second as they’d looked at one another it had been like something out of one of the old-fashioned films she’d always been a sucker for. As if she had been waiting all her life to see just that man looking at her in just that intent and interested way. His eyes had narrowed as a bodyguard had shot an arm out in front of her, bringing her to a halt.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she had protested, and the man had smiled a hard kind of smile, and then said something in a husky tongue which was foreign to her.

  ‘Let her pass,’ he clipped out, as if he was translating the command for her benefit, and the bodyguard grunted and moved aside. Sienna inclined her head.

  ‘Thank you.’ She walked off down the road, somehow aware that the black eyes watched her, burning into her back, branding her with their strange exotic power.

  And then, a few weeks later, he came into the hotel and Sienna just froze.

  He looked…she swallowed…he looked so vibrant…so different—as if someone had plucked a bright and very exotic bloom and placed it in a vase of white flowers. She could see people in the foyer giving him sly little glances, and others—women—giving not so shy ones. And his two bodyguards—ever-present in the background, solid as a brick wall and silently sending out messages to keep away.

  Experience had made Sienna wary of men, and so her unexpected reaction to this one took her by surprise. When desire had never really touched you it was a bit earth-shattering when it did. ‘Um, um…’ She could feel her cheeks growing pink. How unprofessional! ‘I mean, good morning, sir.’

  Hashim’s eyes narrowed with interest. It was the girl with the green eyes and the body! And what a body!

  Carelessly, he flicked his hand to indicate that the bodyguards should remain where they were, and he moved forward to the desk himself, fully aware of the impact he was making as he stared down into her face. ‘Hello again,’ he said softly.

  His accent was silky, rich and deep, and the tiny blush which had begun deepened to heat her cheeks. Her heart thumping in her chest as if it had just discovered how to beat, Sienna jabbed her finger at the booking diary. ‘Can I…can I help you, sir?’

  The side of him which had been indulged from the cradle wanted to lower his head and whisper that, yes, she could spend the afternoon in bed with him—but her innocent blush meant that he had unconsciously moved her into a category of women with whom it was not acceptable to flirt outrageously.

  ‘I am meeting one of your guests here for lunch,’ he said instead.

  ‘And the guest’s name, sir?’ she questioned, looking down at her booking list and wishing she could stop blushing.

  He gave it, and saw her eyes widen—for the politician he was meeting was well known, and Hashim knew very well the potency of power and connections. He had lived with them all his life.

  ‘He’s waiting at the table, sir. I’ll take you in to join him.’

  She stood up to show him the way, and he enjoyed following her into the restaurant, so that he could watch her unobserved.

  She was not tall, but he liked that—for he believed that a woman should look up to a man—and although her hips were narrow, her bottom was as curved as her breasts, and designed to be cupped by the warmth of a man’s hand.

  But it was her green eyes, shaped like almonds, and the pinkness of her cheeks and the rose pout of her lips which stayed in his mind. During lunch he gestured for one of his guards to approach, lowering his head to give an instruction in his native tongue, and the guard was dispatched to the reception desk to acquire her phone number.

  But Sienna refused to give it. What a cheek—sending his henchman! And in a way it just confirmed her rather jaundiced view of men. She wished she could go on her break right then, but it wasn’t for ages, and when he came out of the restaurant she was still sitting there.

  She looked straight through him, as if he wasn’t there—something which had never happened to him before. But he was too intrigued to be outraged, and some alien emotion directed his steps towards her.

  ‘You wouldn’t give me your phone number,’ he mused.

  ‘You didn’t ask me.’

  ‘And was that such an unforgivable sin?’ he teased.

  She turned her head away, unsure how to cope with him, this powerfully built and exotic man who was making her feel things she wasn’t used to feeling.

  ‘What is your name?’ he asked, without warning, and she turned back to find herself imprisoned in the blazing ebony spotlight of his eyes.

  ‘Sienna,’ she whispered, as if he had sucked the word clean out of her, without her permission.

  ‘Sienna,’ he repeated softly, and nodded. ‘So, are you going to have dinner with me, Sienna?’

  Somewhere in the recess of her mind was the thought that staff definitely weren’t supposed to fraternise with the guests—until she remembered that he wasn’t actually a guest. And even further back was another thought—that she was rather good at getting out of her depth. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Why not?’ he questioned softly.

  ‘Because I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Ah! Did not one of your finest poets once ask: “What’s in a name?”’ His black eyes narrowed. ‘My name is Sheikh Hashim Al Aswad.’

  Sheikh? Sheikh? Something in his eyes made her stare at him, aghast. ‘You’re not really a sheikh, are you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I am,’ he replied gravely.

  Sienna stared up at him. Now his dark looks and foreign air and the unmistakable aura of authority made sense. ‘But what on earth would I wear?’

  And he laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said truthfully. ‘You are so young and so beautiful that you would look wonderful in anything.’ Or nothing, of course.

  That night he took her to a restaurant which overlooked the silver snake of the river which wound its way through the city. The stars outside seemed close enough to touch. And the evening felt magical enough for Sienna to feel that she could.

  She had thought she might feel awkward and out of her depth, but instead she was so—excited, and determined to enjoy every second of it. Even the simple little cotton dress she chose seemed okay, because her thick dark hair reached almost to her waist, and she wore it loose and saw the narrow-eyed look of approval he gave and knew she’d got it just right.

  It felt like an old-fashioned date was supposed to feel. Hashim ignored the fact that there were two armed bodyguards seated a few tables away, and more outside. This felt different, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Because she seemed so transparently innocent?

  ‘So tell me about yourself,’ he instructed.

  Sienna hesitated, wondering where to begin. Was this true lives or true confessions? She had once done something she didn’t feel too great about—but that one-off act didn’t define her as a person, surely? She’d probably never see him again after tonight—so why let him in on a secret which might ruin the evening?

  She thought about what a man born to a sheikhdom would most like to hear. Well, she couldn’t compete on a material front, that was for sure! She leaned forward and clasped her hands on the starched linen tablecloth, and tried to paint a picture of a very different life.

  ‘I grew up in a little village. You know—a proper English vill
age, with lambs gambolling around the meadows in the springtime and cherry blossom on the trees.’

  ‘And in summer?’

  ‘It rained!’ She wriggled her shoulders. ‘Well, actually, it didn’t—it just seems to now, whenever I go back. But maybe that’s because I’m an adult now. When I was little the sun always seemed to be shining and golden.’ She stared into his face, thinking that she had never seen eyes quite so black. ‘I suppose that most people’s childhoods are like that. We view them through rose-tinted glasses.’

  He thought not. Certainly his own had been nothing like that, but he would not describe it, nor compare the two. He would not have dreamed of expressing his own thoughts about growing up. Privacy was second nature to him and always had been—drilled into him from the very beginning. Instead, he picked up on the wisftfulness in her voice. ‘If it was so idyllic, then why did you leave?’

  Sienna fiddled with her napkin. ‘Birds need to fly the nest.’

  ‘Indeed they do.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘And is life outside the nest all you dreamed it would be?’

  Sienna hesitated. It could be scary. It gave you opportunities, and they could be scarier still. ‘Well, you gain freedom, of course—but you lose stability. I guess that’s what life is like, though—gains and losses—hopefully it all balances out in the end.’

  ‘You have a very wise head on such young shoulders,’ he said gravely.

  ‘You’re making fun of me.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head and gave a gentle smile. ‘No, I am not. I find your attitude quite charming, if you must know. How old are you, by the way?’

  Would he think her too young? Too young for what, Sienna? ‘Nearly twenty.’

  But he smiled. ‘Only nearly?’ he teased.

  ‘Now you,’ she said. ‘What on earth do sheikhs do?’

  His mouth twitched. She really was irresistible. ‘Sometimes I ask myself the very same question. Mainly, they rule a country, and that involves much fighting and the quest for power—but they also oversee oil exports, which is why I am here.’ And they are surrounded by a wealth that most people couldn’t begin to comprehend. Especially not her.

  Sienna crumbled a piece of unwanted bread. ‘So where’s home?’

  For a moment he said nothing, and then gave an odd kind of smile. ‘Qudamah is my home—but I come from a race of nomadic people.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘We do not settle easily.’

  If she had been older she would have recognised that he was defining boundaries—but as it was his romantic words simply fired up her already overworking imagination.

  Later, in the darkened limousine, his hard thigh brushed against hers and Sienna could hardly breathe. But there was no kiss, merely the request—no, the demand that he see her again.

  It all happened so fast—Hashim’s life slipped into a different timescale and he found himself experiencing something which was unknown to him: a tumult of feelings which he was too seasoned and too cynical to call love. Yet his ancestors had been poets and sages, as well as warriors, and he was prepared to acknowledge that somehow Sienna touched a part of him which had before gone neglected. It was as if her innocence and her beauty had begun a slow melt of something he had not known was frozen.

  Maybe it was his heart.

  She trembled when he kissed her, and he could feel the tension of both eagerness and fear when he took her in his arms. It seemed unbelievable—given her age and her liberal Western upbringing—but something told him that his instinct was correct.

  One evening his eyes burned into her as he stared down into her flushed face. ‘You are innocent of men?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted in a low voice, wondering if that admission would drive him away from her. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Innocent virgin,’ he moaned as he kissed her. ‘My innocent virgin.’

  Of course that changed everything. The knowledge of her purity filled him with delight, but there was also the certainty that he now bore a heavy responsibility towards her. For a man whose life had been burdened with responsibility, it was another he could have done without—and yet he found himself embracing it.

  He saw her whenever he could, wondering if the frequency of their meetings would remove some of the magic, but the magic remained. He had spent his life avoiding any kind of commitment, yet now he saw that as a deficiency, not a blessing.

  He took her to discreet restaurants and she showed him the hidden, secret places of the city. She made him feel alive. Never before had sex been denied him, but this was a self-imposed restraint, and he discovered that doing without something you really wanted could be unbearably erotic.

  And yet her innocence made her suitable. Eminently suitable. Of course many bridges must first be crossed, and the first of those would be to introduce her to his family. But without pressure on either side. On neutral territory.

  ‘How would you like to accompany me to a wedding, sweet Sienna?’ he asked her one afternoon, looping his arms around her waist.

  Sienna looked up into his black eyes. ‘Whose? Where? When?’

  ‘My cousin’s,’ he murmured. ‘In the South of France, next month. My mother and sisters will be there.’ He glittered a smile at her. ‘Will you come as my guest?’

  Sienna knew that this was important. A statement. An indication that things were getting serious. She gave him a slow smile of delight. ‘I’d love to,’ she said simply.

  Hashim spoke to one of his aides. ‘Will you arrange it, please?’

  ‘But, Your Highness, you are quite sure?’

  Hashim frowned. He would not be dictated to! The history of his country was studded with examples of sheikhs who had taken commoners as wives…

  But a couple of days later there was a rap on the door when he was working in his study, and Hashim looked up to see the Arctic dark eyes of his equerry, who was carrying what looked like a glossy magazine between his fingers, as if it was contaminated.

  ‘Yes, what is it, Abdul-Aziz?’ he demanded imperiously. ‘I am going out shortly.’

  His equerry’s face was grim. ‘Before you do, Your Highness, there is something I must draw your attention to.’

  For the umpteenth time, Sienna raked her hands back through her hair—fizzing over with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

  Hashim was sending a car for her and they were having dinner at the Granchester Hotel, where he was staying.

  She was still reeling from his invitation to the family wedding—so excited at the prospect of going public with him that she hadn’t had time to worry about what she was going to say to his mother.

  She would just be herself, without artifice or airs, for that was who Hashim liked her to be. She gave herself a little shiver of excitement as she walked up the imposing marble stairs of the Granchester Hotel.

  But Hashim was not there to greet her, and neither were any of his staff. Not even the hatchet-faced Abdul-Aziz. Instead, she got a message delivered with a rather knowing look from the receptionist as she was directed up to his suite.

  It isn’t the way you think it is! Sienna wanted to say to her. Hashim has never treated me with anything but respect! But as she rode up in the private lift which led to the penthouse she wondered why he had changed the pattern of their meetings.

  Hashim opened the door himself, and Sienna was taken aback when she saw him—for she had never seen him dressed like this before. Tonight he looked exactly as she had imagined a sheikh would look.

  Gone were the immaculate hand-made suits he usually favoured—which contrasted with his exotic looks and made him such a tantalising combination of East and West. Instead he was wearing a pair of filmy silk trousers in a deep claret colour, with a silky top in the same material. The rich hue made the most of his exotic colouring, and Sienna felt the roof of her mouth dry—for he was barefoot and the shirt was open, and through it she could see his olive hair-roughened chest, darkened with contours of muscle and sinew.

  She had never been confronted quite so vividly
by his overt masculinity before, and her heart gave a startled little leap as she found herself wondering if he was actually wearing any underwear at all.

  But it was more than his state of undress which unsettled her—for his eyes looked dangerous tonight. Steely and brittle. Like jet. Something stopped her from hurling herself into his arms in the breathless way which always made him laugh—and she wasn’t sure whether it was excitement or fear. But why on earth would she be frightened?

  ‘You look beautiful tonight, Sienna,’ he said deliberately.

  Were nerves getting the better of her, or was there an odd undertone to his voice? ‘Thank you. I—’ But her words were lost beneath the hard, heady pressure of his mouth, for he had pulled her into his arms without warning and had begun to kiss her in a way which took her breath away. ‘Hashim!’ she gasped.

  Her mouth opened up beneath his and it was enough to ignite all the fire and the fury which had been smouldering away inside him. He kissed her until she was melting and aching and moaning beneath his seasoned touch, and only then did he lift his head and glitter a hard, bright question down at her.

  ‘Hashim…what?’ he questioned huskily, moving his mouth to her throat to trace a featherlight kiss along its silken path.

  It would be madness to protest that he had never kissed her like this before—not when she had spent hours wondering why.

  ‘Oh-oh-oh!’ She shuddered as he lightly drifted his hand over her breast.

  A grim, silent smile of triumph curved his hard lips as his fingertips returned to whisper over their pert lushness. ‘Oh, what, Sienna?’ came the silken query. ‘Is that good?’

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ she gasped. ‘So good!’

  A tiny pulse flickered in the centre of one tensed olive cheek. ‘Tell me what it is you want,’ he grated.

  Instinct took over from reservation and sent the words spilling out of their own accord. ‘That,’ she sighed, as his fingers brushed fleetingly against the aching mounds of her breasts. ‘That’s what I want!’

  He cupped the magnificent swell in his hand and rubbed a slow and deliberate circle with his thumb. ‘Like this, you mean?’