The Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress. Sandra Marton

His hands bit into her shoulders. To steady her? To let out some of his rage? It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way the moonlight cast an ivory glow over her skin, the way her eyes glittered, her lips trembled.

      He’d expected to find her… What? Looking like the criminal she was? Pale? Desperate? Driven? Instead she looked no different than when she had been his. Beautiful. Elegant. Innocent, and wasn’t that a fine choice of words to use for such a woman?

      What she had done to him had truly meant nothing to her. If anything, she was lovelier than ever, or was it only that his dreams of her were no match for the reality?

      “Why are you looking at me like that?”

      He barked a laugh. “Like what, habiba? How, exactly, is one supposed to look at a fugitive?”

      Oh, the expression on her face was priceless! Stunned. Horrified. And then—and then, by Ishtar, was that a smile? Was she laughing? At him? Did she dare laugh at him?

      Salim’s grip on her tightened as he lifted her to her toes. “What are you laughing at?”

      “You’re hurting me!”

      “Answer the question. What do you find so amusing?”

      “You,” Grace snapped. “You and that—that supersized ego.”

      “You want to discuss egos, habiba? How about yours? Did you really think you’d cover your trail so well that I wouldn’t find you?”

      “I didn’t cover anything!”

      “Really? Since when is your name Grace Hunter?”

      “Since I figured out that I didn’t want you finding me. Not that I really thought you’d even try. I mean, why would you give a damn that I’d decided our relationship had run its course?” She tossed her head, a gesture of defiance he remembered all too well. “You just didn’t like me being the one who made the first move.”

      He hadn’t liked it, not one bit. But that wasn’t why he’d looked for her. He’d had ten million reasons to find her, and what she’d called a relationship was definitely not one of them.

      “Leaving something out, aren’t you, darling?” he said, his tone silken.

      “Not a thing.” She raised her chin. “Our affair ended. I knew it and so did you. What did I leave out?”

      Salim’s mouth thinned. He should have expected she’d react like this. Grace was not stupid. There was no way she would admit to the embezzlement and he wasn’t a fool. This was not a bad TV movie; she would not blurt out the truth if he insisted on it.

      “You left out the part where I find you and take you back to New York.”

      Her eyes widened. “Is that why you came here?”

      “Did you think I came to be bored out of my mind at a conference?”

      “But—but why would you want to take me to New York?”

      “That’s fine, Grace. Keep playing games.” Salim tugged her toward him. She struggled but he was too tall, too big, too powerful. Her struggles got her nowhere except exactly where he’d wanted her, pressed tightly against him. “But they won’t work. How many times do you think you can make a fool of the same man?”

      “What are you talking about? Why would you think I’d agree to go back with you?”

      “Who said anything about agreement?” His voice was low and dangerous. “You will go with me and face the consequences of your actions because it is what I demand, habiba.”

      She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

      Maybe he had.

      Holding her like this, so close against him, brought back far too many memories.

      The feel of her in his arms. The softness of her breasts against his chest. The delicate flare of her hips. Even the remembered floral scent that was woman and Grace, a scent that brought back images of her moving beneath him, her skin heated by passion as he cupped her breasts, drew the pale pink nipples into his mouth…

      “Don’t,” she whispered, and he realized he’d turned hard as stone, that his erection was pressed against her belly…

      That she was looking up at him in a way that told him all he needed to know.

      “Don’t,” she said again, and he cupped her face in one hand.

      “Don’t what, habiba?” he said thickly, and he stopped thinking, bent his head and sought her mouth.

      In a second, in a heartbeat, she was his again.

      Her lips parted under his. Her breath whispered against his mouth. Her hands rose, caught his dinner jacket, curled into the lapels as she rose to him.

      Salim groaned. Grasped her skirt. Shoved it high on her thighs. Grace whispered something, pressed herself closer, whimpered as he slid his hand up her legs, between her thighs, cupped her, felt the sweet moisture of her arousal.

      She was his. His, his, his…

      What in hell was he doing?

      Salim cursed, caught Grace by the shoulders and thrust her from him. She swayed unsteadily. Her dark lashes lifted. Her eyes had the blurred look of a woman swept away by desire, but he knew better. He had been the one in the raw clutches of desire; she had been the one who’d planned the scene.

      “Damn you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Do you really think that’s going to work again?”

      She stared at him, shook her head as if to clear it. Oh, she was good!

      “What did you say?”

      “You heard me. It won’t work, habiba. I’m on to the game.”

      Her mouth trembled. She looked devastated. He fought back the stupid desire to take her in his arms again. Just as well. A second later, she was all cool composure. The vulnerable waif had been replaced by the real woman. He had to give her points for quick recovery.

      “And so am I, Sheikh Salim. You’ve come all this distance for nothing. I am not going back to New York.”

      He smiled. “Really.”

      “I am not going to New York, and I have no intention of prolonging this discussion.”

      She turned on her heel and strode away. He waited, then called her name.

      “Grace.”

      She didn’t pause. Salim raised his voice.

      “You have no choice, habiba. You’re finished here.”

      That did the trick. She stopped walking and swung toward him.

      “Ah,” he said softly, “just look at your face, darling. Such an expression of shock. Really, though, what would you expect? Did you play Lipton along? Did you promise more than you intended to deliver? Is that what that little scene was all about?”

      “How dare you say such a thing to me?”

      “Maybe not. Maybe he really was hitting on you.” Salim walked to where she stood, put his hand under her chin and jerked her head up. “But why should I care? The point is, I won’t have to lift a finger to get you onto my plane and off this island now. You’re in trouble, Grace. He’s going to get even, either by using his influence against you…” His face lowered to hers. “Or by waiting for you at the hotel. He’ll be all over you the minute he gets you alone.”

      Grace went very still. “No. He won’t do anything. He’s afraid of you.”

      “I humiliated him. There’s a difference. He’ll want to get even and if you walk away from me and go back to him, he’ll figure I’m done with you. That will put him back in the game.”

      “You’re despicable,” she whispered,