Beauty and the Sheikh

chapter 4



Rafiq waited for her response, so close to Holly he could see the way her mouth pinched with horror and her closed eyelids twitched. His heart gave a little kick at just how lovely she was. Yesterday she’d hidden her body within the burka, but today she wore her Americanized clothing and style defiantly. Did she realize the sight enticed him as if she waved a red flag in front of a bull?

Her blue jeans molded to the gentle swell of her hips and bottom, and the blouse hugged her breasts. Breasts which he could still remember the softness of in his hands—his mouth.

She’d always had fuller breasts than seemed usual for most models, but her beauty was classic. Striking. Breathtaking and innocent. She’d been a sexual bombshell merged into the American girl next door. Top designers had fought over her, because she was so refreshing from the traditional gaunt, almost skeletal women.

Holly’s eyes opened once more, but there was no shock or fear in them. Instead, anger and disgust flashed so potently it almost felt like red-hot pokers were thrust into him. “I would never agree to such terms.”

The reminder she found him repulsive wasn’t as painful this time; he’d already braced for it. Prepared for it.

“Not even for your brother’s freedom?”

Her fury deflated instantly, dismay and hesitation replacing it. “You would truly force me to be your lover in exchange for my brother’s freedom?”

“Holly, I have never forced myself upon a woman, and I certainly have no intention of starting with you.” His mouth curved slightly and he reached out to catch a strand of silky hair that taunted him.

He heard her swift inhalation and the flicker of awareness in her eyes. Then there was the heat he knew she wouldn’t want him to see.

“When you come to my bed, it will be willingly. That I can promise you.”

Her expression became one of panic and she gave a vigorous shake of her head. “Never.”

She tried to move past him but he caught her arm, spinning her back around and into his arms.

With a cry of surprise, her palms flattened against his chest. Even through the fabric of his robe, he feel the heat and electricity that seemed to sizzle from her touch. Her soft gasp was a pretty clear indication she’d felt it as well.

“Never is such a final word. You should not be so liberal with its use, habiba.”

It felt too right to have her in his arms again. To want to taste her, touch her, and explore her mouth with his until her defiance and stubbornness melted away into soft submission. Last night’s brief kiss had only whet his appetite.

“You are a beautiful woman.” He kept one arm about her waist while using the other hand to trace the delicate skin on her cheek. “Undoubtedly one of the most beautiful I have ever known. Being seen with you on my arm out in public, letting the paparazzi film us, can only help my reputation.”

“But that’s absurd. You don’t court the tabloids.” She seemed to struggle for words. “You avoid them. I never find your picture in the magazines.”

Had she been looking? The idea sent a stab of pleasure through him, which he swept aside. The notion was ridiculous. “No, you are right. I do not court them. In fact, generally I avoid them at all costs, but they will be of use to me now.” He paused. “It is time I took a wife and considered producing an heir.”

Shock and then something close to pain flickered across her face before she looked away. “How utterly old-fashioned of you. What could that possibly have to do with me?”

“The women of my culture are wary of me.”

“Perhaps that’s because you’re intimidating and a bit of a jerk.”

Amusement pricked that she’d have the courage to refer to him so insultingly—she couldn’t possibly know the punishment her defiance could bring. But more so, he lingered on her first words as the scar on his face seemed to tingle. “I don’t believe it’s my personality they fear.”

She glanced up at him again, and her mouth curved downward. Finally, disbelief flickered in her gaze.

Rafiq continued before she could make some comment of sarcasm or, worse, sympathy. “Having you on my arm will make these women curious. Perhaps even evoke rivalry.”

“Oh.” She pulled back slightly. “Wait. So then, you’re asking for me to pose as your mistress, not actually sleep with you?”

“If it makes you feel better to tell yourself that, then you may.” He stroked his thumb over the lush fullness of her bottom lip and enjoyed watching it quiver beneath his touch. “But I have no doubt that you being my mistress will become the reality.”

“I won’t be your lover.” But her words were belied by the tremble rocking her thin body and the flicker of heat in her eyes.

“Oh, indeed, you will.” He moved his fingers to capture her chin when she tried to turn her head away. “The media will devour our new relationship like the wolves they are. How can they not believe it? We already have passion, habiba.”

“Stop calling me that,” she cried, almost desperately now. “And didn’t you consider for one moment that maybe I faked it? Kissed you back deliberately yesterday? You know I would do anything to make you release my brother.”

Rafiq’s gut clenched as if she’d kicked him and he offered a grim smile. “The way you faked it two years ago, perhaps?”

Her mouth parted and the hurt in her expression was almost believable. “What happened between us then was real.”

It was amazing how easily she lied.

“Whether your passion is faked or real, you’ll do perfectly as my mistress.”

Her face drained of color. “I haven’t yet agreed to anything.”

“You will. For your brother’s sake, you will agree.”

“Why me, Rafiq? You can have any woman.” Frustration and panic laced her tone. “You’re a Sheikh, for goodness sake. Aren’t you supposed to have a harem or something?”

A harem. How presumptuous.

His gut twisted painfully as a memory floated through his head from back when he’d first become the ruler of Raljahar. His ministers had encouraged him to consider some Arabic traditions, including starting a harem, a practice he’d been quite skeptical of and that his father hadn’t used either.

He’d already been wary of the idea, and a conversation he’d overheard while passing by the long-abandoned harem room had made up his mind.

“You have been chosen for the sheikh,” his minister had admonished harshly. “Do you not realize what an honor this is, you pathetic woman?”

The woman’s terrified sobs had forever lived in Rafiq’s mind. An agonizing reminder that even wealth and power wouldn’t always entice members of the opposite sex to share the bed of a man who had the face of a monster. The assassination attempt had been so recent back then even the stitches in his disfigured face had not been removed.

He’d dismissed the idea of a harem the next day. Never revealing he’d overheard the commotion, instead he proclaimed he would choose his mistresses when and if he wanted them.

There had been women over the years, but he never kept them in his life for very long. It was easier that way.

Staring down into Holly’s expectant expression, he murmured flatly, “A harem woman wouldn’t quite do for what I need.”

Her face turned scarlet, while her eyes flashed with fury. She must have taken that to mean he kept a harem inside the palace. “You’re despicable.”

He could inform her of the misconception, but perhaps it was better this way. It would help in reminding Holly of her place. Which was temporary.

Though her barbed words about faking her pleasure had struck their mark, planted the seedling of doubt, he was more inclined to believe she’d been lying. Perhaps she was desperate to deny she’d enjoyed the moment of passion as much as he had.

Soon the world would see Holly as his mistress, and even if she fought it now, she would ultimately share his bed. Though he had no doubt the sex between them would be explosive, it would also be fleeting. Just as every other woman who’d come before her. When he finally did chose a wife, there would be no complicated emotions to muss up the arrangement.

“I want you, Holly,” he finally said with cold bluntness. “You need your brother’s freedom, and I want the world to see you as my lover. This arrangement will work to both our benefit quite well.”

“The tabloids will never believe it. Not after you humiliated me the last time I was here.”

“Humiliated you?” He arched a brow. “How so? By refusing your request for permission to hold a tawdry photo shoot in my country?”

Twin stains of pink hit her cheeks and her mouth tightened. “You and I both know it was in the manner of refusal.”



Holly tried not to flinch as she recalled what he’d said that day, the words he’d hurled at her in front of all the people she’d worked with.

What the hell was wrong with her? She hated being held in his arms like this and yet reveled in it at the same time. Every inch of her was awake with need and awareness, but the moment was demeaned, knowing he held her for no other purpose than to demonstrate his control and desire to make her his possession.

Rafiq gave a nonchalant shrug as his heavily hooded gaze slid to her mouth. “You can hardly deny what your intent was when you first came to Raljahar.”

“My intent was never to seduce you. For goodness sake, I wouldn’t have even known where to begin.” The confession was out before she could stop it, but it didn’t matter. He’d never believed in her innocence.

“Still the same lies, I see.”

He released her so abruptly she almost stumbled backward. The look on his face was filled with such loathing, she could almost believe he hated himself for wanting her.

Holly swallowed the lump in her throat, mourning the loss of the closeness of his body more than she cared to admit.

No one had realized Rafiq had been outside the room that day. She’d been horrified to discover he’d overhead the conversation between her and her manager. The topic had been ugly and degrading. Holly had been about to deliver a blistering refusal to her manager’s suggestion that she sleep with Rafiq to get him to agree to the photo shoot, and then Rafiq had walked in the door.

He’d heard what he’d wanted to hear. Made assumptions not only about her manager, but about her. Even after the intimate moments they’d shared, or perhaps because of them. He’d refused to listen to her protests or explanation and instead had delivered that vulgar, emotionally devastating verbal blow.

“Perhaps in your industry it is quite common to trade sex for something you want. But having sampled your offerings, I am afraid I would be getting the short end of the bargain,” he’d said contemptuously. “No, you may not shoot in my country, and I ask that you and your entourage leave at once. Or I will have my police forcefully remove you.”

Holly glanced up at him again, saw the disgust in his eyes and knew he was remembering the same scene.

“You always were an accomplished actress, which is another reason why you’ll do well in the position as my mistress.” He shook his head and gave a weary sigh, gesturing to her chair. “Please, sit down in your chair. You have not yet eaten and I’m quite hungry.”

This time she made no attempt to protest his assumption she’d agree to his offer. How could she do anything but accept? Especially when he’d pretty much admitted he wouldn’t force her to sleep with him. She had no choice but to say yes with Andrew’s freedom depending on it.

Swallowing her pride and tumultuous emotions, she sat back down in the chair. It took every ounce of willpower not to snap out a churlish reply that she wasn’t hungry. “How long will you keep me?”

“Keep you?”

“As your pretend mistress.”

His soft, lazy laugh was so potently masculine and self-assured it sent tingles racing over her skin and resentment rising inside her.

“Until I no longer want you, habiba.”

“As charming as that reply is, I’m going to need a much more definitive answer, Rafiq.”

His laughter died abruptly. “Three months. Or earlier, if my use for you runs its course.”

“Until you find a suitable, biddable wife, you mean?” Her stomach cramped and she lifted her head to cast him a sardonic smile. Three months in his palace. Oh God, could she do it? “Well then, we’ll have to see about finding you a wife quite quickly, won’t we?”

He leaned back in his chair and flashed a smile that displayed perfect, white teeth. “Careful, Holly, or I might begin to think you are jealous.”

Unfortunately, he was entirely too close to the mark, but she’d die before letting him know that. It was ludicrous she’d hold any emotion but resentment for him. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made assumptions.”

Irritation flickered across his face, but she was saved from his response when breakfast was delivered by a handful of servants. An array of food was placed in front of them. Holly glanced over the various cheeses, olives, flat breads, hard-boiled eggs, and beans, and her stomach growled. She hadn’t been hungry, but the mouth-watering smells were rousing her appetite.

She ate a small amount of food, enough to ease her hunger, before her worries once again consumed her. All too soon she pushed her plate away and sipped on strong tea instead.

Rafiq glanced at her plate and then back at her. “Do you not care for the meal?”

“It’s absolutely wonderful.” She could hardly lie, because the food had tasted as amazing as it had smelled.

“You hardly ate a thing.”

“Well, forgive me for not having much of an appetite while knowing my brother sits in your prison.”

“Criminals are treated fairly in my country, Holly. I’m hardly about to have his hand chopped off. But in stealing from me, he made a deliberate choice.” Rafiq paused to lift his tea, bracketing the mug between two hands. “And now you must make yours.”

A laugh of disbelief gurgled from her throat. “What choice? Dammit, I have no choice. You’ve seen personally to that.”

Triumph flickered in his gaze, but his words were calm. “So you agree to my terms?”

Holly closed her eyes. It was a bargain with the devil, and she’d have to be very careful with her heart this time around.

Andrew’s freedom. You’re doing this for your brother’s freedom.

“I agree.”

The words had barely left her mouth before Rafiq barked out something in Arabic. She opened her eyes to a flurry of activity. Plates were being cleared and servants rushed about.

Her stomach clenched. “What’s happening?”

“You said you were no longer hungry.” Rafiq set down his drink and stood. “And since I have a meeting this morning, breakfast is finished.”

She pushed her chair back and stood as well. When he moved to leave the room, she quickly followed after him. Her heart rose in her throat.

“And my brother?”

“Will be free within a few hours.”

“But what guarantee do I have?”

He froze in his brisk stride and turned around to face her. The disbelief and anger blazing in his eyes had her falling back a few steps. “My word is my guarantee, Holly. Do you question my integrity?”

“No, of course not.” But she had. And they both knew it.

Rafiq reached out and cupped her chin, his face just inches from hers and his mouth entirely too close to her lips. Her nerves came alive with anticipation and it was almost as if the air between them crackled with tension.

The quiet in the room hit her. They were alone, all the servants gone, and it was just the two of them.

Her heart began to pound so loud, she waited for him to comment on it.

“Let me be clear about one thing. When I make a promise, I keep it.” He lowered his head so his mouth was just a breath above hers. “I promise to release your brother. I promise I will make love to that decadent body of yours. And then I promise to dismiss you from my life by the time fall comes around.”

The emotions that slammed through her ran the gauntlet. From relief at the promised release of her brother, to the conflicting anger and hot desire at his promise to bed her, and then a soul-searing pain that she would be so easily discarded.

Well, if that’s the way he wanted to play, then she would certainly hold nothing back.

“Let me promise you something in return then, Rafiq. I will never again call you Your Majesty. But I will play the role of your mistress out in public in a performance so damn worthy that you may just find me nominated for a damn Academy Award,” she bit out. “But remember, it will only be a performance. Because I also promise you will never—ever—have me in your bed as your lover.”

It was hard to keep her momentum with his hot breath falling against her mouth.

Rafiq’s laugh was languid and knowing. “I’m going to enjoy making you break that promise, habiba. Almost as much as I will enjoy hearing you beg for my touch.”

A shiver of foreboding ran through her. “You’re delusional.”



Rafiq’s smile hardened. Actually, he was quite sure she was the one deluding herself. But instead of continuing their verbal sparring, which had only succeeding in frustrating and arousing him, he chose to seal their contract with a kiss.

He closed the tiny space that separated them and touched the softness of her lips with his own. She didn’t pull away, but neither did she respond, just kept her mouth pressed as tightly closed as her eyes.

Loving the challenge, knowing he could break her insolence, he brushed a series of soft kisses over her lips. He let his tongue flick out to trace the seam of their lush fullness. Desire accelerated fiercely inside him until the need to touch her, taste her, consumed him. But he restrained it, wanting only to see her give in to this moment, this one touch. For now, it would be enough.

He slid his hand up her back and into the silky softness of her chestnut hair, capturing the strands and holding her still as he increased the pressure of his mouth against hers.

The tremble of her body against his was the first signal he was close to breaking her resistance.

He tilted his head just enough so their mouths melded together perfectly as he traced his finger over the back of her neck. The tension there eased and she moaned softly.

Rafiq used the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth.

The soft mew of pleasure she made was the final indication he’d succeeded in her yielding, but still he didn’t let himself give in to the desire that pulled at his frail willpower. He prided himself on control and he would keep it. He deepened the kiss, abandoning any gentleness now as he tasted her and explored her. Demanding nothing but her entire submission.

And she gave it. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, clinging to him as she kissed him back feverishly, with the skill of a woman who knew how to pleasure.

The blood flowed to his groin and he pressed himself against her, letting Holly feel his arousal. He knew he should release her now, pull back and walk away. Demonstrate some form of control, but as it always had been with her—one taste and it was impossible to let go.

He slid his hands down to cup her hips through the denim. The thought of her long legs wrapped around his waist as he plunged into her had him hardening almost impossibly.

The pressure and discomfort brought him back to reality. Grounded him when he’d come so close to letting himself go. If he didn’t stop now, then he would take Holly, perhaps even here on the dining table.

She wouldn’t stop him, and he was the Sheikh. He could have anything and anyone he wanted. But he refused to lose control any more than he already had.

How was it possible she addled his brain so? No woman should have that kind of power. She was far too skilled a seductress.

Rafiq slowed the kiss, giving himself time to regain complete control before lifting his head. Holly’s eyes remained closed and she cried out in protest, then her lips pressed together and she made a noise of disbelief. She was probably angry with herself and her reaction.

“I have work to do, habiba,” he murmured, touching his thumb against her swollen bottom lip. “You have freedom to explore my palace, but do not leave without the chaperone of one of my guards.”

Her lashes fluttered up, but there was no desire or disorientation in her eyes. It seemed she’d taken the time to gather her emotions as well. “So I’m to be watched over like a child then?”

His lips tightened as darker thoughts flitted through his head. “My country is quite different than America. There are always threats against me and those who are close to me. And despite the luxuries of the city, the land itself can be dangerous for those more vulnerable and unfamiliar with it.”

“So women are to be locked inside? Submissive to their men and hidden away?”

“Is that what you think?” He arched a brow. “Where did you find such an ignorant stereotype?”

“I have no idea what to think of Raljahar.” She lifted her chin to meet his gaze, her eyes flashing with frustration. “My assumptions are mostly based upon the man who rules it.”

He smoothed his thumb over her mouth once more, enjoying the way it trembled beneath his touch. “Well, habiba, you will have three months to get to know me and my country quite intimately.”

“I’m fine getting to know your country, but I think I’ll pass on getting to know any part of you intimately. Until I leave, I’ll be marking off the days on the calendar like a kid counting down to Christmas.”

He didn’t doubt it for a moment, but her comments had gotten under his skin, and despite his earlier decision he wanted to clear up one misunderstanding. “One more thing, Holly. I have no harem. So when you’re in my bed, you’ll find my appetite quite virile.” He released her once more and turned to walk away. “I shall return for supper.”



“I would like to explore the city.”

The guard stationed outside her room stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

Holly stood in the doorway and folded her arms across her chest. She’d been in her room for two hours already and was nearly mad with anxiety, wondering what was going on with her brother. She’d already spent a good amount of time checking email, and sending one to her neighbor begging him to keep Butterball, her cat, for a few months instead of days.

“I am not a prisoner here,” she continued. “Unless Rafiq has said otherwise?”

The man flinched when she said Rafiq’s name; obviously he still did not approve of her referencing the Sheikh in such a disrespectful manner. “You are, of course, free to go outside the palace, Miss Winchester. So long as you are accompanied by bodyguards.”

She’d expected nothing less, and if it meant having a bit of freedom then she’d take it. “Fine. Let me grab my purse and I’ll be ready in a moment.”

Nearly a half hour later, Holly found herself immersed in one of the city’s most popular markets. She’d visited the markets briefly during her first visit to Raljahar but had left wanting to explore more.

Everywhere she looked there were vibrant colors from clothing, scarves, and blankets, not to mention the produce, while the smell of spices filled the air.

The walkway was narrow and crowded, with booths on either side to tempt their wares. Somewhere down the street music was being played, and she just barely bit back the temptation to start moving her hips to the enthralling eastern notes. It reminded her of the belly dancing classes she’d taken for fitness a few years back. The eastern culture had always intrigued her.

She’d left the palace in a foul mood, but somehow Holly couldn’t help but become caught up in the excitement and bustle of the market.

While passing another stand, a woman with a small child beside her called out to her in Arabic, holding up a bright red scarf.

Holly shook her head, wishing she could communicate better.

“You are English?” the seller called out.

“American.”

The woman beamed. “Welcome to Raljahar. My name is Faiza. I have a scarf that would look lovely with your coloring, ma’am.”

Smiling faintly, Holly moved to take the scarf from the woman. “I’m Holly. And you speak English perfectly.”

“Thank you. My father is English, and so I am bi-lingual. My daughter also speaks.”

Holly kneeled down by the girl and smiled. “Is it true? Can you speak English?”

The girl, probably around four or five, clung to her mother’s leg and stared shyly at Holly. “Yes,” she finally whispered.

Holly’s smile widened. “What is your name?”

“Inas.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Inas. You speak English just as well as your mommy.” Holly straightened and gave a rueful smile. “I wish I spoke your native language, but I only know a few words.”

The woman gave her a considering look. “Will you be in Raljahar long?”

Too long. Far too long.

“A few months.” She slid a glance over the colorful clothing in the woman’s stand and sighed. Since she would be here a while, perhaps she should try to blend in more?

There were skirts and long-sleeved blouses of various colors and fabrics. Beautifully woven, some with beads or designed with gorgeous patterns.

“You like the purple skirt, ma’am?”

“I like several of them. And please, call me Holly.” She bit her lip and then nodded. “I think I’d like to buy a few things, actually, including the scarf.”

Before too long, Holly had searched through the array of clothing and filled a large bag with purchases.

Fiaza handed her the bags and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Holly. You will look beautiful in them. And if you truly want to learn to speak our language, I teach daily classes at my home to tourists or non-Arab-speaking westerners. I gave you my card, which has my contact information and the hours.”

From behind her, Holly heard the bodyguard give a small grunt of disapproval.

Fiaza’s gaze widened, as if she’d just realized the man who wore the palace’s uniform was escorting Holly. “But of course, that may not be appropriate,” she said on a rush. “It was presumptuous of me—”

“Not at all. I will definitely keep your warm offer in mind. Thank you, Fiaza.”

The bodyguard finally cleared his throat and gave her a reproachful look. “Miss Winchester, we should leave. It is approaching supper time.”

Biting back a sigh, Holly nodded. For a couple of hours she’d let herself enjoy a bit of freedom, speak with the people of Raljahar and explore a popular marketplace. The city fascinated her, almost more this time than it had last time.

As much as she loathed Rafiq, she couldn’t seem to hate his country. The people were so warm and friendly, all full of stories and eager to help her explore.

Holly allowed herself to be escorted out of the marketplace and into the sleek black car that whisked her back toward the palace. Her forced home for the next few months. Oh my God, if she really thought about it she got nauseous. It was far too overwhelming.

As they approached the palace, her breath once again caught at how magnificent the structure was. The cream building was a mass of arches and columns, architecturally gorgeous, its symbolism awe-inspiring.

When she’d come here two years ago she’d been equally enchanted, probably because she’d never met a real sheikh before.

Her smile faded.

At least now she knew just how overrated the experience was.