Surrender in the Arms of the Sheikh. Trish MoreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
him to be late, but, no, there he was. Waiting. Making the rest of the room shrink into insignificance. At a shadowed corner table sat two of the ever-present bodyguards.
Sienna walked towards him, looking for some kind of acknowledgement—a nod of his dark head in greeting—but there was nothing. Just those black eyes trained on her like twin barrels of a hunter’s gun.
His hard, lean body was completely still, but his stance was tense, the powerful limbs coiled like a lion before pouncing. He seemed completely oblivious to the covert glances of the other diners in the room. To the almost tangible air of excitement among the normally celebrity-jaded waiters.
Hashim watched her approach, helpless and yet furious with himself for being unable to suppress the instant leap of lust he felt, for he had trained himself to control his desires. To be master of his wants and needs—not servant to them. A man who could control his sexual hunger was all-powerful, for sex made men weak. And his control had never failed him. How else could he have so ruthlessly given Sienna pleasure and then denied himself the relief of his own body? And bitterly regretted it ever since!
Yet on one level she remained a mystery to him. He had known women more beautiful than her—so what was the secret of her particular allure? The seductive sway of her hips? The too-big eyes which looked like those of a startled deer? Or just the fact that he had never had her when other men had? That he had paid homage to her virginity only to have its falseness revealed to him in the most humiliating way of all.
He let his eyes rove over the breasts themselves— so proud and magnificent and full. Yet she was hiding her most marketable asset beneath that rather unremarkable linen dress. His lips curled. How he hated linen—surely the most unflattering material a woman could wear, with its coarse feel and its tendency to crumple. And surely it was a little late in the day for such unwelcome modesty?
Yet the very familiarity of seeing her again was taking him into the unknown realms of fantasy. The past was a place he did not revisit. At least never before now. His restless and nomadic nature saw no point to it. For him there was not the comfort—nor the danger—of long-standing friendships. His destiny was to stand alone.
Then why are you breaking your own rules? taunted a small voice in his head.
He did not rise to greet her when she got to the table, and, interestingly, this small lack of courtesy wounded her. Could he not just have pretended— gone through the motions of normality?
‘Hello, Hashim,’ she said, as calmly as possible.
‘Sienna.’ Not a flicker of emotion crossed over the diamond-hard features. ‘Please sit down.’
‘Thank you.’ She glanced up at the waiter, who pulled her chair out, and then there was nowhere else to look other than into the enigmatic black eyes. Their dark light swept over her, and she felt a moment of sheer physical weakness until she remembered her vow of earlier. Professionalism. ‘So.’ She flicked him a quick smile. ‘Where shall we begin?’
‘So quick to do business?’ he murmured.
‘One should always strive for professionalism,’ she answered coolly.
‘Ironically, that is what Abdul-Aziz always says.’
Sienna remembered the aide who had seemed to so dislike her. ‘And is he here with you now?’
Hashim shook his head. Hot-headedly, he had blamed his aide for showing him the calendar, even though he had only been doing his job. But for a while the Sheikh had seen him as a bearer of bad tidings—and he was as superstitious as the next Qudamah man. So he had sent him home, and in a way the split had been necessary—for the older man had begun to see himself in a role which was not befitting a royal aide. He had begun to love the fatherless Hashim as a son. And Hashim had no need of extra love.
‘Abdul-Aziz was posted back to Qudamah,’ he said. ‘He is married now, with a son of his own.’
‘Married?’
‘Yes.’ And then, because this exchange seemed almost too cosy, too familiar, he allowed his eyes to drift over her face. ‘Aren’t you going to thank me for the calendar?’ he questioned deliberately.
She had wondered when he would get around to mentioning it, and she had practised her response until she had it word-perfect. ‘No, I’m not. And if you continue to talk about it then I will walk out of here right now.’
He gave a faint smile. ‘Then I guess we’d better get the ordering out of the way.’
She glanced down at the menu, which was like a blur though she knew it backwards. ‘I’d like the Dover Sole, please. Grilled, no sauce. With a side salad.’
‘The choice of a woman on a diet,’ he observed.
‘Not at all. A woman who is careful about what she eats, that’s all.’
‘Careful?’ His black eyes glittered. ‘How very curious. Not a word I would have associated with you.’
She leaned forward. Big mistake—for now she was in full range of his subtle, spicy scent, and it crept over her like sensual fingers. She sat right back again. ‘Why don’t we clear something up before we go any further? You don’t know me. Maybe you never did— but you certainly don’t now. So you aren’t qualified to make any judgments about me. Understand?’
The waiter reappeared as Hashim glittered her a look which said Aren’t I? Sienna watched as he gave the order quickly, almost impatiently—like someone who had spent much of his life eating in expensive restaurants and was bored by them. She guessed he had.
And now take charge, she told herself. Behave like you would with any other new client. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a notebook. He eyed it with distaste.
‘Is that really necessary?’ he questioned acidly.
‘I’m afraid so. You wouldn’t be very happy if I forgot everything you told me, would you? And so far you haven’t told me anything.’
‘But you look like you’re interviewing me—and we’re in a restaurant!’
‘Well, you chose it.’
‘I know I did—but would you have agreed to dine in my suite if I had asked you?’
‘Not a snowball’s chance in hell.’ She looked at him, daring him to defy her. ‘Presumably you wanted me to be a captive audience?’
Hashim’s eyes narrowed as he considered her quickfire responses. Smart. And sassy. No matter how good an actress she was, she couldn’t play smart unless she really was smart. ‘Captive?’ he mused. ‘Yes, perhaps I did.’ He imagined her tied to his bed with black satin ribbons, wearing nothing but scarlet underwear and a pair of matching high heels, and he felt the heavy stab of an erection.
‘So, is it going to be a big party?’ Sienna asked, cutting into his erotic thoughts.
‘Party?’ With a distracted movement of his shoulders Hashim brought himself back to the subject in hand with an effort. ‘No. Very small. A private dinner party for ten.’
‘And the guest list?’
‘One of my assistants will organise that side of it. I am afraid that most of my guests will refuse to deal with a stranger.’
Defensively, Sienna picked up her water glass. ‘In that case I’m surprised I’ll be any use at all.’
‘But that is where you are wrong. You will be responsible for the event itself,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to organise the music—I thought perhaps a string quartet. And the lighting—I like lots of candles, by the way. And the wine and the food—of which there must be an interesting and imaginative vegetarian selection. The mood of the evening will be down to you, Sienna. Everything you need you must ask for, and it will be supplied.’
How effortless everything was when you were rich! You snapped your fingers and got what you wanted.