Sleeping with the Sultan

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“Ah ha! We’re really cooking with—”

“Fifteen thousand pounds.”

It was the sheikh again, speaking as flatly as if he were giving an underling an order. The skin on Dana’s body shivered into goose bumps. He was making it so obvious.

“Well, well, Sheikh Durran! I see you’re pretty determined to get what you want. Do I hear any bids over fifteen thousand?” cried Roddy, just a little nonplussed, because it suddenly was difficult to inject the humour and good-natured ribaldry he was such at expert at into the proceedings. The room was filled with an excited buzz. Dana, standing in a bright spot, just kept smiling.

It was a struggle. What on earth did the man think he was doing? To be the highest bidder was one thing. To carry on like this meant everyone would be talking! They’d be the subject of endless speculation, and the story would probably make it into the tabloids. They’d never get any peace if they appeared in public.

And yet part of her couldn’t resist the lure of being thought so attractive. Fifteen thousand pounds in a couple of minutes! And such a powerful, influential man! It was like a fairy tale.

She saw Jenny and the others at the Brick Lane table gazing at her in blank, slightly reproachful astonishment, as if a secret part of her life had been revealed and they felt they should have known about it.

“…and gone! To Sheikh Ashraf Durran. I’m told you’re one of Prince Omar of Central Barakat’s most trusted advisors, Sheikh Durran, and I’m sure he’ll agree you’ve shown excellent judgement tonight!”

The applause was thunderous as Dana was escorted back to her seat, a follow spot on her all the way.

“Whew!” exclaimed Roddy, wiping the not-so-imaginary sweat from his brow. “Ladies and gentlemen, what can we do to beat that? You’ll have to work hard and bid high! And that won’t be too difficult for our next prize—Prince Karim of West Barakat himself has actually donated this one, ladies and gentlemen. It’s the one you’ve all been waiting for—well, except for a certain fairly obvious exception, who’s already snaffled his prize! Here it is, a two-week holiday for two in the fabulous…”

“What on earth did you do that for?” Dana hissed, as she sank into her chair. Everyone at the table was gazing at them in slightly stunned speculation. They must now believe one of two things—that Dana and the handsome sheikh already had a relationship, or that the sheikh was smitten and they were about to have one.

Nothing she could say was going to convince anyone otherwise, she was sure, but the moment she looked into his eyes she realized that it wasn’t true. Whatever his reasons were, she knew damned well that Sheikh Ashraf Durran was anything but smitten with her. The expression in his eyes was anything but sexual interest.

A little seed of anger was born then.

He shrugged, and his next words confirmed her suspicions. “Why not? That is what we are here for, to raise money.”

Inarguable. “Well, after a display like that, I will not go out with you!” she retorted childishly, in a low voice meant for his ears alone. “We’d have every paparazzo in the city following us!”

He lifted his hands in a gesture that said it mattered not a jot whether she did or did not. “Things are rarely what they promise to be. Buyer Beware I am sure is the first rule at such auctions.”

She could not get lighthearted about it. “You have not bought me.”

He looked at her. “No? But you were for sale, were you not? Or should we say for rent?”

That made her grit her teeth. “I’ll speak to the organizer, and you won’t have to—”

He lifted a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t trouble, Miss Morningstar. I will not in any case be in the country beyond tomorrow. Take a friend and enjoy the lobster and the limousine without me.”

This made her even angrier, though she could dimly see that it shouldn’t. She should have smiled graciously and said how generous he was and how the starving children in the Qermez Desert at least would benefit and that was what mattered. But she couldn’t get the words past her teeth.

Maybe because she was gritting them.

“More coffee, Miss Morningstar?”

She was grateful for the excuse to turn her head. She nodded, and the waiter poured more sweet black sludge into her little cup. There was a plate of sugary Turkish delight which she had previously avoided, but now her irritation drove her to pick up a little cube. She bit it irritably in half. It was an unreal bright pink.

Meanwhile the holiday in Barakat was going for at least as much as it was probably worth.

She really couldn’t have said why she was so irritated with him. To throw fifteen thousand pounds away like that—well, of course at first she had imagined it was because he was interested. And of course that had piqued her own interest. But why should she care if all he was interested in was making a show of his wealth while passing on money to charity?

The auction was over, but the wine was still flowing and there were more high jinks in store. People joined in with delight.

Not Dana. And not the stone-cold-sober Sheikh Ashraf. They stood up and sat down as instructed, and put their hands on their heads or their bums, and paraded around. But she noticed that when he turned out to be one of the group of men instructed to drop their trousers to their ankles and shuffle up onto the dance floor, he did not comply, and no one at the table even thought of challenging him on his dereliction.

But everybody else was having a marvellous time with all the nonsense, and the money was rolling in.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, a little earlier in the evening, you were all handed out cards asking how much you would donate to Bagestan Drought Relief for the fun of a kiss. Yes? You were given the names of our six magic couples tonight—the men who bid for an evening with our lovely actress volunteers—and you voted for the couple you would most like to see kiss.”

Dana felt a prickling of her skin, like a warning of doom. She flicked a glance at Sheikh Durran, and saw his mouth tighten. He knew, too. And was looking forward to it as much as she was.

“Now, while we’ve all been having such a fabulous good time, volunteers have been adding up all the votes and tallying them.”

She had agreed to it—of course they wouldn’t pull a thing like this without getting all the actresses’ permission first. But she had agreed with a shrug, thinking it would be just one more thing. A one-in-six chance of having to kiss some smitten stranger in public—how bad could it be? No worse than the auction itself.

But it was going to be a whole lot worse.

“And ladies and gentlemen, at the risk of shattering some delicate egos, I can tell you, it was no contest. The pair you most want to see giving each other a kiss, ladies and gentlemen, is Dana Morningstar and Sheikh Ashraf Durran!”

The bright light of the follow spot fell on them. Sheikh Ashraf was sitting like a statue. Dana realized suddenly that he of course had not been consulted. For the sheikh this was coming totally out of left field.

And he liked it even less than she did. She knew that by his face. Sheikh Ashraf Durran looked like nothing so much as the masks of Hawk her Ojibwa grandfather carved.

But this was a pressure even the coldly disapproving sheikh would not be able to resist.

Four

“Now, first, I’m going to ask you all to put your money where your mouths are. Let’s see how much you’re willing to pay….”

Dana smiled. Sheikh Ashraf was still looking as though sparks would fly off if you hit him with a hammer.

She looked into his face and smiled deliberately at him. Everyone was watching. “It’s inevitable,” she murmured, her eyebrow giving a flirtatious flicker as if she were joking with him. “Let’s just get it over with.”

He hesitated. “We will look far less foolish if we give in gracefully,” she warned him.

Meanwhile, Roddy was good-naturedly chivvying the audience into one last fit of generosity, reminding them of the starving children and the drought-stricken farms, making jokes about how poor old Sheikh Ashraf was going to have to kiss Dana, and what a terrible thing that was, while all the audience had to do was pay him to do it.

Someone drunkenly volunteered to stand in for the sheikh, and was speedily subdued by a witty rejoinder from Roddy that put off anyone else with that idea.

And the money buckets were going the rounds. At the edge of the stage someone was counting the cash and cheques and keeping Roddy advised as to the total.

Through it all the spotlight was on them. Dana smiled and laughed at the jokes. She no longer knew how Sheikh Ashraf was reacting, because although she smiled and flicked her eyes his way she didn’t actually focus on him. Roddy was being decent, his patter was very lighthearted and without innuendo, and she didn’t really understand why the whole thing was so hard to take.

Finally Roddy seemed to have milked them dry. He instructed the money-gatherers to pour all the money into a huge bucket at the front of the stage.

“Now, Dana, and Your Excellency, can I have you both up here on stage, please?”

Dana bit her lip and bent her head, taking a deep breath. Her blood was pounding in her head. She really didn’t understand why. It was nothing. A quick kiss was all that was required. And yet…

She let the breath out on a sigh, lifted her head, and, as one of the waiters appeared behind her chair, prepared to stand.

A hand clamped on her arm, keeping her seated. Dana looked down stupidly, noting the strength in the square fingers that curled around her flesh, the tawny skin against the shimmery white fabric of her dress, the heat that burned through it.

“Wait here,” he ordered softly.

He got to his feet, crossed the dance floor and moved up onto the little stage. Such was his presence, his charisma, Dana noted with awe, that the rowdy audience fell immediately silent and expectant.

“You know me,” he said, in his deep, firm voice. “You know who I am.” She heard a gasp from a table behind her, and a murmur rustled through the room. He waited, looking around at the audience with the unsmiling, calm confidence of…she wasn’t sure who she had ever seen with that kind of bone-deep authority.

The air seemed suddenly too heavy with expectation.

“I am Sheikh Ashraf Durran, Cup Companion to Prince Omar of Central Barakat. I am going to do what you want me to do, have no fear.”

There was a massive roar of voices and applause, led, she saw, by the Bagestani contingent. He let it soar and peak, then cut it off with a raised hand.

“I am willing, even without your very generous donations.” More cheers. “But this—” he gestured at the bucket of money at his feet with a flickering smile “—this is not by any means enough money to convince Miss Morningstar to make such a sacrifice as to kiss me.”

She laughed along with everyone else. God, he should be a preacher! He was absolutely mesmerizing them! People began to shout and wave money and cheques, which the hostesses hurried to collect. Sheikh Durran stood with his arms folded, watching.

Roddy, she saw, was gazing at him in stunned admiration. He absently accepted a note passed to him by one of the hostesses, read it, then, with a glance at Sheikh Ashraf, put the mike to his lips.

“I have a note here from Ahmed Bashir of Ahmed Bashir Motors on the Edgware Road, pledging to double the amount raised! So come on, ladies and gentlemen, this is your chance to give double your money!”

Sheikh Ashraf looked and nodded towards the table where Ahmed Bashir was sitting, and another cheer went up. For a man who had started out looking as if he were carved in oak, he sure learned fast, Dana reflected.

“What does he do for Prince Omar?” someone at the table leaned to ask Dana.

It was a natural assumption, the way things had gone tonight. But there was too much noise for explanation, and she simply smiled and shook her head.

“Miss Morningstar,” said Sheikh Ashraf from the stage, and Dana’s head whipped around as if she were a puppet and he had caught her string. He put out a hand. In the room suddenly the sound of the air conditioning seemed loud.

“They give all this to the starving if you will kiss me, Dana. Do you agree?”

A waiter pulled out her chair. Dana got to her feet, feeling half hypnotized, and moved with swift grace towards him. Her heart was pounding, and the smile playing on her lips now was involuntary.

“Not everyone knows, I think, that Miss Morningstar herself has very close ties with Bagestan. Her father is Colonel Golbahn,” said Sheikh Ashraf.

The Bagestanis in the audience were by now delirious. They screamed and cheered her up to the stage. Dana was totally bemused by the reaction.

“That is why—” They fell silent again, as if he held their strings, too. “That is why Miss Morningstar agrees to this blackmail. Because the money is going to a cause that is very close to all our hearts.” Wild, almost hysterical applause. “The hungry, desperate children—all the hungry and desperate people—of Bagestan.”

She reached the dais and lifted her hand. The platform was only a foot high, but Sheikh Ashraf seemed to tower over her. “You should take this kiss, therefore, as a symbol of our love for Bagestan, and our determination to fill the hungry ache of its people.”

And with that he bent over her, wrapped his arms around her, lifted her bodily up against him, and clamped his mouth to hers with a passion and a thirst that made the world go black.

“You are such a sneak!” the voice carolled down the receiver.

Dana had answered the phone automatically, still half asleep. Now she rolled over and blinked at the clock. Seven thirty-eight. “Jenny, why are you calling at this hour?” she protested. Scraping her hair away from her ear, she punched a pillow into shape and slid up to a half sitting position in the bed.

“Oh, sorry, darling, I’m in Makeup! Are you in bed? I forgot how early it was,” Jenny lied cheerfully.

“In a pig’s eye,” Dana muttered direfully.

“Is he there?” her friend hissed excitedly. “I really actually phoned thinking you wouldn’t be home, to be honest.”

“No, he is not here!” Dana told her indignantly. “Give me a break! I only met the man last night.”

“Ha. That kiss had been building up steam for longer than a few hours. That kiss had History.”

Dana shivered. “It didn’t have steam at all,” she protested weakly. “It was all set decoration, entirely for the multitude.”

“Balls. Sorry, love, but you could see the heat rising. Everybody was absolutely entranced.”

She had certainly felt the heat. Her whole body seemed to liquefy as his lips smothered hers, and then turn to scalding steam. She had never experienced such a transformation in her emotions in all her life before. She could barely remember now how they had got off the stage and back to their seats again. She could still hear the cheers, but why the crowd had got so excited by a kiss, she couldn’t guess. Something to do with his magnetism, she supposed.

“It didn’t make the morning editions, of course, but it’ll be in the Standard and the Mail for sure,” Jenny informed her gleefully. “I’ve already been called by both papers, for the background. They’ll be calling you in a minute, I bet.”

On cue, the phone gave the Call Waiting beep in Dana’s ear. “Hell,” she said mildly. “That’s one of them now. What did they ask you?”

“Oh, the usual—how long you’ve been seeing each other. When you gave Mickey the push.”

Dana rolled her eyes. “Oh, ouch!” This was a complication that hadn’t occurred to her. “I suppose he’ll be furious.”

“It was open to him to get on his horse some time ago, as I recall,” Jenny said pitilessly. “If it’s now come to a point where he’s made to look redundant, whose fault is that?”