Mistress of the Sheikh

by Sandra Marton

  “Call the pilot,” he said gruffly. “Have him ready the plane. You are to pack me some clothes, Abdul. Meet me at the hangar in an hour with the things I’ll need.”

  Abdul was still speaking when Nick hit the disconnect button, tossed the phone aside and tried to gather Amanda close to him again, but she was unyielding, moving only her arms, crossing them over her naked breasts in a classic feminine gesture that somehow went straight to his heart.

  “It’s good that you’re leaving.” Her voice was steady, but her face was pale. “You’re not to come here again, Lord Rashid. I know I agreed to the terms of our wager, but—”

  “The wager is off, Amanda. I came here to tell you that.” Her golden eyes widened; he knew it wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. He wanted to draw her close and kiss her until the color returned to her cheeks. Instead, he picked up her discarded shirt and wrapped it gently around her. “Here,” he said softly. “You must be cold.”

  Cold? She was swimming in heat from his touch, from imagining what would have happened if Abdul hadn’t called—but she knew better than to let him know that.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

  “I don’t want you as my mistress because of a bet,” Nick said, his eyes locked to hers. “I want you to be mine because you desire no other man but me. Because you find joy only in my arms.”

  Her heartbeat stumbled, but the look she gave him was sharp and clear.

  “You amaze me,” she said with a polite smile. “You’re always so sure you’ll get what you want.”

  “We’d be making love right now if that call hadn’t interrupted us.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you.”

  “No.” He smiled. “You won’t, because there’s nothing to argue about. You know that I’m right.”

  She took a step back. “I want you to leave. Right now.”

  “I don’t think that’s what you want at all.”

  He moved quickly, drew her into his arms and kissed her. She told herself his kisses meant nothing, that she wouldn’t respond…but it was Nick who ended the kiss, not she.

  “All right,” she said stiffly, “you’ve proved your point. Yes, I—I’ve thought about what it would be like to—to…” She gave a shuddering breath. “But it would be wrong. I know that. And, unlike you, I don’t always give in to my desires.”

  “Why would it be wrong?”

  “Why?” Her laugh was forced and abrupt. “Well, because…because…dammit, I don’t have to justify my decision to you!”

  “You can’t even justify it to yourself.” Nick put his hand under her chin and tipped her head up until their eyes met. “I can’t get out of this trip, Amanda. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not a child,” she said coldly. “Certainly I understand. You’re going away on business and you’d like me to be waiting for you when you get back. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lord Rashid, but I won’t be.”

  “You won’t have to be, not if you go with me.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll only be gone a day or two.” He bent his head, brushed his mouth over hers. “Come with me, Amanda.”

  “No!” She laughed again and tried to wrench free of his hands. “You must think I’m an idiot!”

  “I think you’re a woman with more courage than she gives herself credit for. And I think you want to say yes.”

  “Well, you think wrong. We’ve agreed our wager is—”

  “Off. And it is.” And what, exactly, was he doing? He never mixed business with pleasure. Then again, this wasn’t really a business trip. It was just a couple of days on a ranch in Texas. “Come with me,” he urged, rushing the words together, knowing that his thinking was somehow flawed, that it would be dangerous to think too long or hard about what he was asking her to do. “We’ll simply be a man and a woman, getting to know each other.”

  “I know you already. You’re a man who can’t take no for an answer. Besides, I can’t just—just up and leave. I have a business to run.”

  “And I’m your client. Don’t look so surprised, sweetheart. I said our wager was off. I didn’t say I wanted to go on living in an apartment that looks like an expensive hotel suite.” Nick linked his hands in the small of Amanda’s back. “If you come with me, you can ask me all the questions you like. About my tastes. My preferences. You need to know them in order to decorate my home, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She chewed on her lip. “But…”

  But what? He was making it sound as if going away with him was the most logical thing in the world, but it wasn’t. She’d just trembled in his arms. His hands had been on her breasts, and oh, she’d wanted more. Much more. She’d wanted to touch him as he’d touched her. To lie naked in his arms, to feel the weight of him as he filled her—

  “Amanda?”

  His voice was low and rough. She didn’t dare look at him because she knew what she’d see in his eyes.

  “We’ll talk. Only talk, if that’s what you want.” Nick raised her face to his. “Say you’ll come with me.”

  She knew what her answer should be. But she gave him the answer they both wanted—with her kiss.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NICK wouldn’t tell her where they were going.

  “It’s a surprise,” he said, when she asked.

  He knew it was crazy not to tell her, but what if he said they were flying to a ranch in Texas and she said she hated ranches and everything about them? What if she said she didn’t like riding fast and hard across the open range? It might turn out she’d never seen a horse except maybe in Central Park and that would be all right just so long as she smiled and said yes, that would be wonderful, when he offered to teach her to ride.

  “Hell,” Nick muttered as he paced the length of Amanda’s living room.

  Maybe he really was crazy. He’d met this woman last night. Well, he’d met her years ago, but he’d never gotten to know her until last night, never held her in his arms until then. What did it matter if she liked horses or hated them? If she didn’t want to sit behind him in the saddle, her arms wrapped around his waist, her breasts pressed to his back as they rode not across the green hills of north-central Texas but over the hot desert sands?

  Crazy was the word, he thought grimly, and swung toward the closed bedroom door. All right. He’d knock on the door, tell her politely that he’d changed his mind. She was right. There was no reason for her to go with him. He’d phone when he got back and they’d have drinks, perhaps dinner….

  The door opened just as he reached it. Amanda stood in the opening, holding a small carry-on bag. “I packed only what you said I’d need. Jeans. Shirts.” She gave a little laugh. “I don’t know why you’re being so mysterious about this trip. I mean, it’s hard to know what to take when you don’t know the destination. What is it, Nick?”

  Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. She was wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, she hadn’t bothered putting any makeup on her face, and he wanted to tell her he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

  “Whatever you’ve packed is fine,” he said gruffly, and he took the carry-on from her, linked his fingers through hers and tried to figure out exactly what was happening to him.

  * * *

  His plane was a small, sleek jet.

  Amanda had flown in private aircraft before. Two of her stepbrothers owned their own planes. Her stepfather did, too; in fact, Jonas had a small jet, similar to Nick’s in size—but Jonas’s plane didn’t have a fierce lion painted on the fuselage.

  Nobody bowed to Jonas, either, but half a dozen people bowed as Nick approached the jet, half-prostrating themselves even though he waved them all quickly to their feet.

  The Lion of the Desert, Amanda thought. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Yesterday, the words had been nothing but a title. A silly one, at that. Now, for the first time, she looked at the stern profile of the man walking beside her and realized that he was, in fact, a prince.

  She tore her h
and from his and stumbled to a halt.

  “Amanda?”

  “Nick.” She spoke quickly, breathlessly. Her heart was racing as if she’d run here from her apartment instead of riding in Nick’s Ferrari. “I can’t go with you. I can’t—”

  Nick clasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “My people won’t blink an eye if I lift you into my arms and carry you on board,” he said softly. “You could scream and kick, but they’d ignore you. Kidnapping a woman and keeping her in his harem is still the prerogative of the prince of the realm.”

  He was smiling. He was teasing her; she knew that. Still, she could imagine it happening. Nick, scooping her up in his arms. Carrying her onto the plane. Taking her high into the clouds, stripping away her defenses as he stripped away her clothes because yes, she wanted him. Wanted him…

  “I made you a promise, sweetheart. And I’ll keep it. You’ll be safe. I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

  He held out his hand. She hesitated.

  Have you ever gambled, Amanda?

  The question, and her answer, were laughable. What was losing a hundred dollars at the roulette wheel compared to what she stood to lose now? And, thinking it, she put her hand in his.

  He led her into a luxurious compartment done in deep shades of blue and gold. A pair of comfortable upholstered chairs flanked a small sofa. Everywhere she looked she saw the embroidered image of the same fierce lion that was painted on the outside of the plane.

  “The Lion of the Desert,” she said softly.

  To her surprise, Nick blushed. “I suppose it seems melodramatic to someone who’s lived only in the United States, but it’s the seal of Quidar. It’s been the emblem of my people for three thousand years.”

  “It’s not melodramatic at all.” Amanda looked at him. “It must be wonderful, being part of something so ancient and honorable.”

  “Yes,” he said after a few seconds, “it is. Not everyone understands that. In this age of computers and satellites—”

  “Of small, swift jets,” she said with a little smile.

  “Yes. In these times, it would be easy to forget the old ways. But they’re important. They’re to be honored even when it’s difficult…” He paused in midsentence and smiled back at her. “Forgive me. I don’t normally make speeches so early in the day.” He bent down, pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweetheart. I just want to talk with Tom.”

  Who was Tom? she wondered. More importantly, who was this man who spoke with such conviction of the past? This man who’d taken to calling her “sweetheart”? It was far too soon for him to address her that way. She could tell him that, but it would have seemed silly, even prissy, and what was there in a word, anyway? He’d probably called a hundred other women “sweetheart.” Set a hundred other women’s hearts to beating high and fast in their throats.

  Taken them away with him, as he was taking her.

  But she wasn’t those other women. She wasn’t going to let anything happen between them. This was just a trip. A chance for her to discuss business with Nick. Business, she reminded herself when he came back into the cabin, sat on the sofa and drew her down beside him.

  “We’ll be in the air in a few minutes.”

  “Good,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Who’s Tom?”

  “The pilot.” Nick laced his fingers through hers. “I’m usually up there in the cockpit. But today I decided I’d rather be back here, with you.”

  “Ah,” she said with a little smile. “So the prince sits beside his pilot and makes him nervous, hmm?”

  He grinned. “The prince sits beside his co-pilot and flies the plane himself.”

  “You know how to fly?”

  Nick settled back, put his feet up on the low table before the sofa and nodded. “I learned when I was just a kid. Distances are so vast in Quidar…flying is the easiest way to get from place to place.”

  “My stepbrothers say the same thing.”

  “It’s the logical thing to do, especially when you’re expected to put in appearances.”

  “Expected?”

  “Uh-huh. It was one of my earliest responsibilities back home. Standing in for my father.”

  Amanda tried to imagine a boy with silver eyes taking on the burden of representing an absolute monarch.

  “Back home. You mean, in Quidar.”

  “Yes.” He lifted her hand, brought it to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “I’ve spent a lot of my life in the States. My mother kept a home in California even after she married my father. But Quidar has always been ‘home’. What about you?”

  “Don’t…” Her breath hitched. “Nick, don’t do that.”

  His brows rose. “Don’t ask about your childhood?”

  She made a sound she hoped would pass for a laugh. “Don’t do—what you’re doing. Kissing my hand. You said you wouldn’t. You said—”

  “You’re right.” He closed his fingers over hers, then put her hand in her lap and folded his arms. “Tell me about yourself. Where is home for you?”

  Her hand tingled. She could almost feel the warmth of his mouth still on her skin.

  “I don’t really think of anyplace as ‘home’,” she said briskly. “I was born in Chicago, but my parents were divorced when I was ten.” Why had she stopped him from holding her hand? There was nothing sexual in it.

  “And?”

  “And,” she said, even more briskly, “my mother got a job in St. Louis, so we moved there. After a year or so, she sent us—my two sisters and me—to boarding school. We’d go to visit her some holidays and my father on others.” Take my hand, Nick. It was silly telling you not to. I like the feel of your fingers entwined with mine. “So, when I think of ‘home’,” she said, stumbling a little on the words, “sometimes it’s Chicago. Sometimes it’s St. Louis. Sometimes it’s Connecticut, where I went to school. And there are times it’s Dallas, where I lived when I was married.”

  “What was he like? Your husband?”

  “Like my father,” she said, and laughed. “I didn’t realize it, of course, when I married him, but he was. Self-centered, removed…I don’t think he ever thought of anyone but himself.” Her breath hitched. Nick had taken her hand again. He was playing with her fingers, examining them as if they were new and remarkable objects.

  “Did you love him?”

  She blinked. He’d lifted his head. He was looking at her now, not at her hand, and he was still smiling, but the smile was false. She could see the tautness in his face, the glint of ice in his silver eyes.

  “I thought I did. I mean, I wouldn’t have married him if I—”

  “Do you still?”

  “No. Actually, I don’t think I ever really…Nick? You’re hurting my hand.”

  Nick looked at their joined hands. “Sorry,” he said quickly, “I just—I…” He frowned, wondered why it should matter if Amanda Benning still carried the torch for her ex, then answered the question by telling himself he wouldn’t want to bed any woman if she was still thinking about another man. “Sorry,” he said again, and let go of her hand. “So.” His tone was brisk, his smile polite. “You left Dallas and moved east. That must have been quite a change.”

  Amanda smiled. “Not as big a change as it must have been for you, going from Quidar to New York.”

  “Well, I spent lots of time in the States, growing up. And I went to school here.” His smile softened. “But you’re right. New York is nothing like Quidar.”

  “What’s it like? Your country?”

  He hesitated. Did she really want to hear about the desert, about the jagged mountains to the north and the sapphire sea to the south? She looked as if she did and, slowly, he began telling her about his homeland, and the wild beauty of it.

  “I’m boring you,” he said after he’d been talking for a long time.

  “Oh, no.” She reached for his hand, curled her fingers around his. “You’re not. It sounds magnificent. Where do you
live when you’re there? In the desert, or in the mountains?”

  So he told her more, about Zamidar and the Ivory Palace set against the backdrop of the mountains, about the scented gardens that surrounded it, about long summer nights in the endless expanse of the desert.

  He told her more than he’d ever told anyone about his homeland and, he suddenly realized, about himself. And when he fell silent and she looked at him, her golden eyes shining, her lips bowed in a smile, and said Quidar must be incredibly beautiful, he came close to saying yes, it was. Very beautiful, and he longed to show it to her.

  At that moment, the phone beside him buzzed. He picked it up, listened to his pilot give him an update on their speed and the projected time of arrival. He let out his breath and knew he’d never been so grateful to hear such dry statistics. The interruption had come at just the right time. Who knew what he might have said, otherwise?

  The path back to reality lay in the sheaf of papers he knew he’d find inside the leather briefcase on the table beside him.

  Carefully, he let go of Amanda’s hand, reached for the case and opened it. “Forgive me,” he said politely. “But I have a lot of reading to do before we reach our destination.”

  She nodded. “You don’t have to explain,” she said, just as politely. “I understand.”

  She didn’t. He could see that in the way she shifted away from him. He’d hurt her. Embarrassed her. Taking his hand was the first gesture she’d made toward him and he’d rejected it.

  Nick frowned and stared at the papers in his lap as if he really gave a damn about what they said. He was the one who’d direct their relationship. He would make no move unless she made it clear that was what she wanted, but inevitably, the start—and the finish—of an affair was up to him. It had always been that way, would always be that way.

  Nick stopped thinking. He reached out, put his arm around Amanda’s shoulders and drew her close.

  “Come here,” he said a little gruffly. “Put your head on my shoulder and keep me company while I wade through this stuff.”

  “Really, Nick, it’s all right. I don’t want to distract you.”