Sheikh's Rebellious Mistress by Sandra Marton

Author:Sandra Marton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2008-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

His shirt was damp but after he’d buttoned her into it, she wrapped her arms around herself and, a few moments later, she stopped shaking.

“Better?” he said.

She nodded. “But you—aren’t you cold?”

“I’m fine,” he said briskly. “Come on, now. Let’s find those piña coladas.”

They didn’t find one coconut, they found several. Grace scooped one up and handed it to Salim.

“Now what?”

He hadn’t fooled her by making it sound as if this was going to be a snap. Well, why would he have thought he could? This was Grace, not just beautiful but smart.

Smart enough to have used him as a way to embezzle ten millions dollars…

“How will we open this thing?” Grace wrapped her knuckles against the coconut. “It seems pretty tough.”

He cleared his throat, forced his thoughts back where they belonged. He always carried a small, antique pocketknife. His father had given it to him when he was a boy; like his watch, it had belonged to his grandfather. Had the sea claimed it? No. It was still in his trousers pocket.

But a knife like this would only be of use after he figured out how to open the coconut.

And then, a few feet away, he saw a piece of twisted metal half-buried in the sand above the tide line. What it was or how it had got there was anyone’s guess, but it was worth a try.

Salim went to the jagged lump of metal, took a deep breath, mentally crossed his fingers and brought the coconut down on it…

Whomp!

That put a gash in the husk. Another couple of slams and the brown heart of the coconut was exposed enough to be pried out. One more bang and the nut split open. He snatched it from the ground before the precious milk could leak out and held it toward Grace.

She shook her head. “You did the hard work. You get the first drink.”

Salim scowled. “Drink,” he commanded.

She did, gulping at the precious liquid before pulling back. “You, too.”

He drank, not as much as his dry mouth and throat hungered for, but he pretended he’d had enough and lifted the coconut to Grace’s lips again. She put her hands over his, tilted the coconut back and drained it.

“Good girl,” he said, and smiled at her.

Was she a woman who liked being called a girl? No, Grace thought, but the way this stranger said it, the word seemed tender, almost intimate.

And he was a stranger, to all intents and purposes, despite what he’d told her. Yes, they knew each other. He’d made that clear but she didn’t know him. She knew nothing about him. About their relationship.

Her breath caught.

Were they lovers? Had they been intimate with each other? Would he, tonight, expect her to lie in his arms? Accept his kisses? His caresses? Would he expect to move over her, part her thighs, enter her, fill her, fill her with his heat?

“Grace?”

She blinked. He was staring at her; she tried not to imagine the expression on her face.

“Habiba. What’s the matter?”

She shook her head.

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