Promised to the Sheikh. Sharon Kendrick

shuddering breath as she remembered the newspaper clippings. ‘The truth hurt,’ she told him quietly.

      ‘What truth?’ Brad questioned.

      ‘The truth about his lifestyle. How very foolish I was,’ she said with a bitter laugh. ‘I thought that as I was promised to him he would forsake all others. How naive could you get? I soon discovered that Rashid had been involved with super-models and actresses since he was a teenager. The news had been kept from me while I lived in Quador, but I found out soon enough once I moved away. Why, he even has a mistress at the moment—it is well documented enough. He shares another woman’s bed in Paris even while he summons me back for our wedding!’

      ‘Are you sure?’ asked Brad, in a horrified voice.

      ‘Perfectly sure. Her name is Chantal and she is his favourite. No doubt she will occupy a nearby hotel even during our honeymoon—such are the customs in Quador!’

      He flinched. ‘So what the hell are you going to do, Jenna? Surely you aren’t going to allow yourself to tolerate a union like that?’

      ‘Oh, no,’ she said with quiet fervour, and allowed herself a small smile of determination. ‘I shall go back to Quador and convince Rashid that I am not the woman he wishes to marry.’

      ‘And how will you do that?’

      The smile died on her lips. She must waste no more time, and neither must she involve Nadia or Brad in her decisions—for Rashid would not tolerate collusion. She shivered. The consequences for her sister would be unimaginable. ‘I’ll think of something,’ she said airily, and smiled as she stood up. ‘Don’t worry about me, Brad,’ she said.

      ‘But I do,’ he said, with a shrug.

      She looked affectionately at the man her sister loved with such a passion. ‘Well, don’t,’ she remonstrated softly. ‘I do not intend to let him bully me into doing something to which I am morally opposed.’

      He didn’t look convinced. ‘Sure,’ he said. And neither did he sound it.

      Jenna tossed the golden-brown hair off her shoulders like a feisty young mare preparing for flight. ‘And now I’m going to book my flight and pay a visit to the stores.’

      Rashid’s plane touched down in Paris and a darkened limousine was waiting to whisk him away to the luxurious apartment situated in the sixth arrondissement, the city’s most prestigious area.

      As always, one discreet bodyguard preceded him while another hovered unseen to the rear. When they reached the door Rashid nodded his head and held his hand out for the leather case the other man carried.

      ‘You may leave me now,’ he instructed.

      ‘But Exalted One—’

      ‘Leave me!’ Rashid rasped. ‘I will make my presence known to you shortly.’

      The bodyguard narrowed him a look which said that he objected to the Sheikh’s insistence, but he knew that such objection was pointless.

      ‘Yes, Excellency.’

      Rashid rang the bell. He had his own key, but he knew that he could no longer use it.

      The door opened and Chantal stood before him. She had been expecting him—his phone call earlier that day had been rapturously received, as was normal. Just for a moment his mouth tightened as he thought how Chantal would have responded to his proposal of marriage. With pleasure, and joy, and with hunger. And the contrast between the almost insulting uninterest which Jenna had displayed filled him once more with the slow burn of anger.

      ‘Chéri, your unexpected visit has brought me much pleasure,’ murmured Chantal, and like a vixen she moved towards him, all perfume and silk and shockingly provocative experience as she held her arms out.

      But he took a step back and shook his head, and although she shrugged with disappointment she still followed him unquestioningly into the huge sitting room with its spectacular views over Paris.

      He watched her for one last time. As a mistress she had been matchless. Utterly matchless. Her looks belied her forty-four years and her body was sleeker and more toned than that of a woman half her age. The raven hair gleamed and moved with the careless abandon which only the finest hairdresser could construct, and the deceptively simple green silk dress must have cost a king’s ransom. And what Chantal didn’t know about the art of lovemaking simply wasn’t worth knowing.

      His mouth tightened again.

      ‘A drink, chéri?’ she murmured, and her voice dropped into husky entreaty. ‘Or shall I run you a bath?’

      In the past he might have had both. Or neither. He might rip the expensive dress from her body and it would simply excite her, make her part her pale thighs eagerly for him.

      But no more.

      He shook his head. ‘My car is waiting.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘Chantal, there is something that I must tell you—’

      She stilled, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as something in the tone of his voice must have warned her, and he realised that she was woman of the world enough to know that the news he had come to bring to her today would not be to her liking.

      Defiantly, she reached for her cigarettes and lit one. ‘Then tell me, chéri—do not keep me in suspense!’

      ‘I’m getting married.’

      She didn’t react, just blew the smoke out in one long, deep breath, the perfect arch of her eyebrows elevating only very slightly.

      ‘So I must offer my congratulations, must I?’ she questioned coolly.

      He smiled. From the almost supercilious mask she wore it was impossible to guess at her true feelings. But then, she had never shown him her true feelings—and hadn’t that been one of qualities he had most admired about her? ‘Thank you.’

      She drew deeply on the cigarette. ‘Who is she?’

      ‘Jenna.’

      She nodded, and then the mask slipped and a calculating look sharpened her beautiful features. ‘The girl who is half-American? She lives in New York?’

      Rashid frowned. Had he told her so much? ‘The very same.’

      ‘She must be overjoyed.’

      Rashid’s mouth tightened again. She should be overjoyed, though her attitude had been a million miles away from the gratitude he had been expecting. But Jenna would soon learn never to try to resist his wishes again!

      ‘What woman wouldn’t be?’ asked Chantal sadly, before he could answer. She stubbed the cigarette out with a vicious movement of her fingers and began to unbutton her dress. ‘So this will be the last time for us, chéri? Or will you still have time for me once you are married?’

      He could see the pale thrust of her breasts contrasted against the lace of the exquisite lingerie she wore and he felt his body hardening with the slow, relentless pulse of desire. But he quashed it as ruthlessly he would a scorpion which could sometimes be found lurking beneath stones in the unforgiving desert.

      ‘No,’ he said roughly. ‘Stop that!’

      She moved her fingers beneath her dress, drifting her fingertips provocatively against herself, and her eyes widened alluringly as she began to move her hips with slow, sensual rhythm. ‘Are you sure, chéri?’ she whispered huskily.

      A muscle worked in his cheek as he dropped the leather case he was carrying onto the chair in front of her. ‘Yes, I am certain!’ His voice was harsh. ‘Do your dress up! Now!’

      She stared into his face for a long moment and began to do as he had ordered, the pallor of her cheeks the only outward sign of her distress.

      ‘The apartment is yours to keep,’ he said.