The Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress

CHAPTER TWO

GRACE HUDSON prided herself on being well-traveled.

She had studied at universities that offered overseas academic programs and she’d participated in them. On scholarship, of course, because it had been tough enough working at places like Hamburger Heaven and The Sweater Stop to earn money to pay her regular tuition. But she was a good student—why be unnecessarily modest?—and so she’d spent six months studying in London and another six months studying in Paris by the time she was twenty-two.

Then she’d interviewed for a brokerage firm in New York, spent a couple of years there before moving on to another. Both companies had sent her abroad on business. London again, and Paris, and Brussels and Dublin and Moscow.

She was not new to foreign destinations.

But Bali? Bali, halfway around the globe? A place of beautiful beaches, brilliant seas, lush sunshine? When she’d first heard that was where she was going, she was amazed. She was new to her job. Was James Lipton the Fourth—her boss preferred using his full name—really going to give her such an incredible opportunity?

She’d looked at the brochure he’d dropped on her desk again.

Seventh Annual SOPAC-PBA Conference, it said. Inside was a heady list of speakers and workshops.

“Surely you know what SOPAC-PBA is, Miss Hunter,” Lipton had said in his usual cool tones.

Miss Hunter. The name still took her by surprise. She’d taken her mother’s maiden name after—after New York. The name was close enough to her real name to feel comfortable and she figured she’d be using it for a while.

Not that she was really worried about being found…

“Miss Hunter? Must I explain it to you?”

Grace had shaken her head. “No, Mr. Lipton. SOPAC-PBA is the acronym for the South Pacific Private Banking Association.”

“You can learn a great deal by attending this conference, Miss Hunter. Do you think you’re up to it?”

“Yes, sir. I am.”

Lipton nodded. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve decided to send you.”

What could she say to that? Nothing, as it turned out. Lipton answered the question himself.

“I am pleased with your work, Miss Hunter, and I’ve reason to believe our CFO might be leaving us soon. There’s the possibility you might be moving up. The conference is an excellent place to learn and network.”

Moving up. To a position she’d lost because she’d found out, all too late, she’d never really had it, that everything Salim had done had been for himself, for his own selfish needs…

“Miss Hunter?”

Grace had blinked. “Yes, Mr. Lipton?”

“Have your secretary make the arrangements for us both.”

“Both?”

“Of course. I’m attending as well. It’s an important event.”

Grace had her secretary arrange the details but Lipton had frowned over the results. Why a commercial flight when the company had an arrangement with a jet charter service? And the hotel rooms…Why had a regular room been reserved for him when he would need the amenities a suite would afford for private meetings and working dinners?

Grace apologized and said she would inform her secretary to make the necessary changes. Lipton said he would instruct his P.A. to handle matters herself.

Grace knew she’d lost points and promised herself she’d make up for it by making full use of the learning and networking opportunities in Bali. After all, a job she liked might be about to become one she knew she would love. And Bali… she’d always wanted to see it. Not alone. She’d wanted to see it with someone she cared for. With a lover. With…

She told herself she had to stop letting the past intrude on the present. She had a good job, there was the hint of a better one in the offing and she was lucky to get the chance to attend such a high-powered conference.

The sole drawback was that she’d have to spend the best part of a week with James Lipton the Fourth. He was occasionally brusque but she could handle that. There was something about him she just didn’t like. Not his patrician air, not his attitude of removal. It was something else, something darker, something evil.

Which was ridiculous.

Lipton was a pillar of the community. There was an arts center named after him and a stadium. His wife was on the boards of half a dozen charities.

By the time she buckled her seat belt on the chartered jet, Grace had mentally called herself every kind of fool. She didn’t have to like the man, she had only to respect his position as her employer.

That was it… At least, that was it until the plane was in the air.

It turned out that James Lipton the Fourth, that pillar of the community, wasn’t a pillar at all. He belonged at the bottom of its most rancid garbage dump. To call him a sleazebag was being generous.

Twenty minutes after leaving San Francisco, the pilot announced they’d reached cruising altitude and her dipped-in-starch employer morphed into a monster.

They were seated side by side. He had suggested the arrangement. “So we can go over some notes,” he’d said.

Logical enough.

What was not logical was the moment he leaned into her, his shoulder against hers, and said that if she grew weary during the flight, she could use the private bedroom in the rear of the plane.

“Thank you, sir, but—”

“With me in it, of course,” he added.

Or had he?

At first, it seemed impossible. Grace decided she’d misunderstood him. Maybe the whine of the engines had distorted his words. So, she didn’t reply.

But there was no way to misunderstand the fingers that drifted across her breast when he reached for a book, the hand that dropped on her thigh when he asked about a report, the lascivious flick of his disgustingly wet tongue across his disgustingly wet lips when she caught him watching her.

Still, Grace tried to convince herself her imagination was playing tricks. That might easily happen to a woman who had a decidedly jaundiced opinion of men.

She played it safe.

She retreated into work. Or pseudo-work. She stared at her laptop’s screen until she was afraid her eyes would cross. When Lipton finally left her side to use the toilet, she slammed down the cover of her computer, scurried across the aisle to a single leather seat, put her head back, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep until the pilot announced they were ten minutes from landing, which they did at four in the afternoon.

By four-fifteen, Grace knew she hadn’t misunderstood anything. The pillar of the community had feet of clay. A bad metaphor but it worked.

She had been duped.

Lipton had not brought her here to learn and network. He’d brought her here so he could seduce her, and that was as likely to happen as snow falling from the perfect Balinese sky.

A bright pink golf cart collected them at the airstrip. Lipton insisted on helping her into the cart; one of his hands brushed lightly over her buttocks as he did.

“Oops,” he said, with his I-Am-A-Trustworthy-Banker smile.

Bull, she thought coldly…and then she thought, maybe it really had been an accident. Maybe her imagination was working overtime. How could Lipton be doing any of what she thought he was doing? The driver of the cart was right there, smiling politely. She had worked for Lipton all these months, spent late evenings poring over files and accounts with him and he’d behaved like a gentleman.

Was she letting the actions of the Don Juan of Senahdar color her thoughts? No. She hated Salim now; she always would, but until that Sunday evening they’d gone into each other’s arms, he’d never done so much as touch her. No matter what else he was—unfeeling, arrogant, heartless—he would never have pawed a woman like this.

The golf cart deposited them at the hotel.

The first thing she saw when they entered the atrium lobby was a big sign that said Welcome SOPAC-PBA.

The second was a huge glass aviary filled with small, vividly colored birds.

And then she looked down and saw Lipton’s arm as it snaked around her waist, his hand coming to rest just beneath her breast. She jerked away; his hand settled more firmly on her.

“Reception desk’s right over there,” he said briskly.

Grace looked at her boss. His eyes were on the desk, not her. It was as if he and the hand were not connected. What now? Struggle? Pull away? No time to do either. They reached the desk and Grace deftly sidestepped. Lipton’s hand fell to his side.

The clerk flashed a toothy smile. Not at her. At her escort.

“Sir?”

“James Lipton the Fourth,” Lipton said briskly.

“Of course. Mr. Lipton. Delighted to have you with us, sir. Welcome to Bali.”

Still no acknowledgment of Grace, but why would there be? Lipton was the big attraction. She was invisible until he’d been dealt with. That was the way it went. Hadn’t she seen it happen enough when she was with—with her prior employer?

Lipton didn’t bother with niceties. “I take it my suite is ready?”

“Certainly, sir. If you’d be good enough to sign here… Excellent. Thank you.” The clerk snapped his fingers. A boy dressed in a brightly flowered shirt and khaki shorts came running. “Wayan. Escort our guests to the Presidential Suite.”

The boy reached for their luggage. Lipton reached for Grace. Grace did another quick sidestep.

“My name is Hud— My name is Hunter,” she said pleasantly. “Grace Hunter. I have a reservation of my own.”

“Nonsense,” Lipton said, as if Grace weren’t there. “Miss Hunter is my assistant. She will share my suite.”

“I’m not your assistant,” Grace said. “I’m the chief auditor of your bank.”

What a stupid thing to say. The expression on the clerk’s face said as much.

“I mean,” she said carefully, “there’s been an error. I arranged for—”

“Grace.” Lipton spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the steel in his voice. “We are here on business. I have reserved a two bedroom, two bath suite. It has a dining room, a sitting room—all we’ll require so we can confer whenever necessary and meet with other attendees in complete privacy. Do you have a problem with that?”

He made it sound so reasonable but yes, she had a problem…

“Grace?”

Lipton’s eyes were as cold as his tone. What now? Make a scene in front of the bright-eyed desk clerk? Find a way to get back to San Francisco on her own? Lose the job it had taken her two months to land without a letter of reference?

No one knew better than she what it was like to be at the mercy of a ruthless, powerful man.

“Grace? I asked if you had a problem assisting me on this trip.”

She looked at him. His expression was disdainful, his eyes icy. Grace took a deep breath.

“Not at all,” she said politely. “Not when you explain it so well.”

Lipton smiled. She was certain there were sharks with fewer teeth.

They followed the bellman to a suite that took up half the top floor. The boy pointed out the white sand beach, the view of the sea, the sixty-inch plasma TV, the Waterford chandeliers, the Gauguin prints on the walls.

The only things that mattered to Grace were that her bathroom was accessible only through her bedroom and that there was a lock on the bedroom door.

She secured it the second the boy left and, for two days, un-did it only when she was ready to leave the suite. She ignored Lipton’s suggestions she join him for drinks. For dinner. For breakfast. For anything and everything unless it involved other people. He made no comment, but the tension between them had grown palpable and she suspected he wasn’t going to let things go on this way much longer.

But then, she wasn’t going to give him a choice. He’d behave. He’d admit defeat.

That was possible, wasn’t it? Maybe she was overreacting.

Grace gave an unladylike snort.

Powerful men, men who believed they owned the world, never admitted defeat. How could she have let herself be sucked into a situation like this? She’d been through this dance before.

The great career opportunity. The boss who seemed cold and reserved but began to unbend after a few after-hours meetings that certainly appeared to be strictly business, followed by a pleasant afternoon you couldn’t even call a date. And then—and then—

A soft moan of despair rose in her throat.

“Liar,” she whispered as she sank down on the edge of the bed. “Liar, liar, liar.”

Grace took a deep, shuddering breath.

This wasn’t the same at all.

She had never wanted Lipton’s mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts, his body hard against hers. Never dreamed the kind of dreams she hadn’t even known women had until she’d met one man, one gorgeous, exciting man. Until she’d gone to work for Salim al Taj and broken every rule she believed in by falling into his arms, his bed, by becoming his lover, becoming the kind of woman she knew he would never want.

Why think about that now? Months had gone by. Their affair had ended just as it had started, with a suddenness that still shocked her. Not that she gave a damn. At least she’d salvaged her pride. He had tried to take it from her, but she’d put a stop to that, leaving him before he could leave her.

“Grace?” The rap at the door was sharp and imperious. So was Lipton’s voice. “Grace. We have an appointment at eight.” The doorknob rattled. “And I’m tired of this nonsense! There is no reason for this door to be locked.”

There was every reason, just as there was every reason to quit this job as soon as they were back in the States. She’d find something else, even if it meant waiting on tables or clerking in a store. Both were honest ways to make a living and the people you dealt with weren’t scum like her boss had turned out to be.

“Damn it, Grace, come out of that room at once!”

Grace smoothed the skirt of her pale green silk dress, picked up her purse, went to the door and opened it.

Her boss’s expression was grim but his eyes, as they swept over her, glittered with heat. A tremor of fear went through her.

Something was going to happen tonight. She could feel it.

But it would not be what Lipton was planning.

No matter what it took, it would not be that.

The appointment was legitimate enough.

Drinks with a few conference attendees in the hotel’s lush gardens. Pleasant small talk, laughter, interspersed with discussions about the meetings they’d all attended during the day.

But Lipton made it more than that.

He stood as close to her as possible, his body brushing hers. His hand lay in the small of her back. His fingers drifted across hers when he handed her a drink she hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. He said “us” and “we” and used her name in a way that somehow lent it intimacy.

And, inevitably, people noticed. She saw the coolly assessing glances of the men, the way the women’s eyes narrowed.

She sought a moment’s solace in the ladies’ room but when she was at the sink, washing her hands, one of the women in the little group came in and stood at the mirror beside her. Their eyes met in the glass.

“So,” the woman said, with a little smile, “did you know he’s married?”

“Did I know who is married?” Grace said, foolishly resorting to ignorance.

“Your, um, your boss,” the woman purred, and gave a little laugh. “Perhaps you have hopes but, sweetie, trust me, it’s not going anywhere. Stop playing coy and enjoy your stay here, if you know what I mean.”

Grace turned off the water. The attendant pressed a soft linen towel into her hands.

“I know precisely what you mean,” Grace said, willing herself to sound cool and calm when her heart was galloping. “And there’s nothing about my stay here to enjoy, most especially not the company.”

It was, she knew, a pathetic rejoinder but she wasn’t one of those people who could turn clever when she was upset. She’d proven that in New York, running instead of facing her lover when she realized he was weary of her, that he was about to dump her from her job and his life with as little warning as you’d give a fly before you swatted it.

Her throat constricted.

“There you are.” Lipton’s hand closed around her arm. He smiled. His touch, his smile, spoke volumes. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Grace, you naughty girl, you forgot to remind me about the presentation I’m making in the morning.”

“I did remind you,” she said quietly. “Twice.”

“Twice.” Lipton grinned at the little group gathered around them. “She reminded me twice.” His hand moved from her arm to her nape, his fingers curling around it. “Who would think a girl who looks like this would be concerned about her employer’s calendar?”

Silence, embarrassed laughter and a couple of leering smiles greeted his slurred words. Grace spoke quietly.

“Let go of me.”

“Now, darling, don’t be silly. We’re all friends here.”

“Mr. Lipton. I said—”

“I heard you, darling. Now you hear me. I’m afraid we’re going to have to pass on dinner with these charming people, go back to our suite and work on that speech.” He chuckled. “Among other things.”

Grace tried to move away from him. His hand clasped her nape more tightly.

One of the men cleared his throat. “I say, Lipton…”

“You say what?” Lipton challenged.

The man gave Grace a quick glance, then looked away. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

The people in the group began slipping away until, finally, Grace and her employer were alone.

“Let’s go,” he said, all his pretend charm gone.

“Damn you,” Grace said, “get away from me. If you don’t—”

“If I don’t, what?” Lipton gave that shark’s grin. “What will you do, Grace? Call for help? Make a fool of yourself in front of everyone? Lose not just your job with me but the chance of any job in finance?” Another grin. “Come on, darling, tell me exactly what it is you’ll do if I don’t get away from you.”

“She won’t have to do a thing,” a male voice said. “I’ll do it for her, Lipton, and when I’m finished, you’ll be lucky if the doctors can put you back together again.”

Lipton’s hand dropped like a stone. Grace didn’t move. Her heart was racing again. She knew that voice. Low. Masculine. Taut with command and, just now, icy with rage. God, yes. She knew that voice. Knew the man it belonged to.

She turned slowly and saw him. Tall. Dark-haired. Broad-shouldered. Eyes the palest shade of blue she had ever seen, nose straight as a blade, mouth firm, jaw clenched…

She knew him, all right.

This was the man who had broken her heart.

This was the crown prince of Senahdar.

This was the man she hated.

CHAPTER THREE

GRACE was looking at him as if he were an apparition.

Salim could hardly blame her.

She’d stolen a fortune, fled, taken a new name to cover her tracks. The last thing she’d expect would be a ghost from her past turning up in Bali. Her shock was a glorious thing to see, even though he’d intended their meeting to be more private.

He’d wanted to come upon her when she was alone. Vulnerable. At night, in her room. He’d planned to bribe a maid to let him enter it while Grace was at dinner.

He’d amused himself during the long flight, imagining how the scene would play.

Darkness outside the windows. Darkness in her room. He, waiting motionless. The snick of her key card in the lock, the door swinging open, then closing behind her. Before she could touch the light switch, he’d speak her name.

“Grace.”

She would cry out and he would turn on a lamp so he could see the shock in her eyes. And then he would…

What?

What would he do, when they were alone in her room, she terrified, he triumphant? He’d spent hours thinking about it.

Imagined himself going toward her, telling her that he was taking her back to the States to face charges of embezzlement.

Imagined her panic at that news…and her reaction when he said that first, she was going to pay a very private penance.

He would tell her she had to strip for him, take off the businesslike suit or dress, the surprisingly delicate bits of silk she always wore beneath. Take those off, too, until she was naked. Until he could see the roundness of her breasts, the soft pink blush of her nipples, her flat belly and the delicate dark gold curls between her thighs.

“Now undress me,” he’d say, and she would, undoing his tie, his shirt, his trousers, her hands moving over him with the delicacy of butterfly wings. And when they were both naked, he would make her do all those things with her hands and mouth and body she had once claimed she did out of desire when the truth was, her desire had been not for his kisses, his arms, his possession but for ten million dollars of his money.

“Who do you think you are?”

Lipton’s voice was sharp with aristocratic demand. For a minute, Salim had forgotten him. He knew the man by reputation. James Lipton the third or fourth or some such inane thing, a principled banker, an unprincipled seducer of young women. Interesting, that Lipton and Grace should have found each other.

Who would seduce whom?

“I asked you a question,” Lipton said with presumptive authority. “Who are you? And how dare you intrude on a private conversation?”

“No,” Grace said in a tremulous voice. She put her hand on Lipton’s arm. “Mr. Lipton…”

“Mr. Lipton.” Salim’s lip curled. “Is that how you’re playing it? Are you the terrified innocent this time, Grace? Did I interrupt the big seduction scene as opposed to saving you from the unwanted attention of a predator?”

“What did you call me?” Lipton sputtered.

“Salim. Please…”

Grace’s boss swung toward her. “You know this man?”

“So many questions,” Salim said coldly, his eyes locked on his adversary’s. “Suppose we take them one at a time. What am I doing here? That’s easy. I am here on business. Does your charming companion know me?” An icy smile. “She knows me very well. Intimately, one might say.”

Grace felt her face heat.

“As for what I called you… I said you were a predator, Lipton, which might prove quite interesting, considering that the lady you’ve targeted bears the same distinction.” He smiled tightly. “Which makes me wonder if her reaction to your pathetic attempts at seduction were real, or was she acting?”

It was an insult, but Grace knew it was also a question. All she had to do was tell Salim he had misinterpreted what he’d seen. She’d get rid of him, all right—and then she’d be trapped, alone, with her boss.

“As for who I am…” Another tight smile lifted the corners of Salim’s lips. “My name is Salim al Taj.”

No title. No “sheikh” or “prince.” It wasn’t necessary and her former lover knew it. Grace watched the color drain from Lipton’s haughty face. A moment ago, he’d been puffed up with self-importance. Now, he looked terrified.

There was a time knowing her lover had such power would have thrilled her most basic female instincts. Now, it made her shudder.

“You mean—you mean you’re the head of Alhandra Investments? You’re the sheikh? The crown prince of Senahdar?”

“I see you’ve heard of me,” Salim said with icy sarcasm.

Lipton swallowed hard. “Your majesty. Your highness. Sir. I—I beg your pardon. I had no idea the lady and you were—that the lady was— If I had known…”

“We are not,” Grace said desperately, looking from one man to the other. “I mean, I am not—the sheikh and I are not—” What was that old saying? she thought frantically. Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.