Promised to the Sheikh

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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.

She nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said heavily.

He had known that she would not refuse. ‘And I have brought you something.’ He indicated the box with a stabbing movement of his finger.

‘What is it?’

He opened it up and row upon row of glittering diamond brooches lay there in dazzling array against a backdrop of dark velvet. He saw the look of natural indulgent pleasure as she surveyed them, before lifting her eyes to his in cool appraisal.

‘For services rendered?’ she enquired, with a wry smile.

He shook his head. ‘As a small symbol of my gratitude for such an enjoyable relationship.’

The pleasure was replaced by alarm. ‘It needn’t be over, Rashid,’ she said urgently. ‘You know that.’

Yes, he knew that. She could be his for the taking, whenever and wherever he wanted. Jenna need never know, need never find out—he had countless people who would cover for him without question. It would be almost expected of him to behave as his father had done.

But he shook his head. ‘It is over, Chantal,’ he said roughly, and indicated the jewellery with a casual wave of his dark-skinned hand. ‘Take your time. Choose the one which pleases you most, and I will arrange to have the remainder collected by Abdullah.’

She nodded and stared at him. ‘So that’s it?’

‘You knew that this would happen some day. It was as inevitable as the dawn which follows night. So let us have no regrets, and let us remember the past with affection.’ He glanced down at the costly timepiece which gleamed so palely gold against his dark wrist. ‘It is time for me to leave. My plane is waiting.’

She nodded, and abruptly turned away from him. ‘Goodbye, chéri,’ she whispered, but he heard the hint of tears in her voice.

‘Goodbye, Chantal,’ he said softly.

He was almost at the door when she halted him with a word.

‘Wait!’

He turned around, but he didn’t need to look into her face to know what was coming next.