The Sheikh's Convenient Mistress: What he needed from her went well beyond the call of duty... (The Henderson Sister Series Book 2) Read online

  THE SHEIKH’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS

  Clare Connelly

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.

  First published 2015

  (c) Clare Connelly

  Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/sakkmesterke

  Contact Clare:

  http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk

  Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/

  Email: [email protected]

  Follow Clare Connelly on facebook for all the latest.

  Join Clare’s Newsletter to stay up to date on all the latest CC news. http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk/subscribe.html

  PROLOGUE

  Twenty three years earlier

  “Don’t cry, Zamir.” She crouched down, her body slim, her hair plaited into a perfect style that wrapped around her head. “Please don’t cry, darling one. I’ll be back soon.”

  The four year old boy with his spectacular complexion and enormous amber eyes did his best to stave off any more tears. “But you are always going, mama.”

  “I know,” she smiled wistfully and took one of his hands in hers. With her other, she reached behind him, to the far more stoic and seemingly unaffected Ra’if. Only two years older, he was cut from an entirely different cloth to his brother. Where Zamir felt all things deeply, Ra’if had always possessed an ability to hold a tight reign over his emotions.

  “Why must you?” Zamir muttered, using her grip to lift her arm around his waist so that he could sidle close to her. She smelled like jasmine and magnolia.

  “Because it is my job.”

  His jutted lip was petulance itself. “You don’t have a job. You are the Queen.”

  Cait swallowed her smile. “True, but I have duties I must carry out. There are thousands of people waiting for me in Pilati,” she explained quietly, referring to the capital city of Dashan.

  “You’ll come back tonight?”

  “Yes, I’ll come back tonight.” She joined the two brothers’ hands together and smiled to encompass them both. “Ra’if will keep you company until then. I promise to come and give you a goodnight kiss as soon as I am back.”

  Zamir sniffled miserably. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Zami,” she laughed indulgently, standing and ruffling his thick black hair. “You always say that.”

  “And you always go,” he countered.

  “Yes. But I always come back.”

  She could have had no idea, of course, that this would be the one and only time when she wouldn’t.

  That her beautiful boys, watching her walk elegantly down the long marbled corridor of the Central Palace, would never see her again.

  If she had, she would have stayed longer. She would have hugged Zamir and Ra’if so tight, and listened to the beatings of their hearts.

  Instead, she left; not to Pilati, in the end, but to her destiny and her death.

  Zamir and Ra’if and would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You are to serve me?”

  His eyes were like balls of flame and gold, amber with flecks of sunshine and starlight. In the same way a masterpiece in a gallery was framed in a manner that was worthy of it, his eyes were surrounded by the most luscious, thick curling lashes she’d ever seen.

  “To serve you?” Olivia responded, grateful that years of floating around the world meeting strangers had resulted in a confident appearance even when her heart was hammering and her pulse was racing.

  Zamir compressed his lips. It was a gesture of impatience, but it only served to highlight his dramatic bone structure and fascinating features.

  “You are from the agency?”

  Sophie nodded, her brain struggling to keep up when faced with such an outrageously distracting man. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. But lust at first sight? Yes, definitely, and she was unequivocally experiencing it. Her nipples were taut, her throat was dry, and she felt a racing of blood in her veins that was making her body hot and cold. He was staring at her with

  “Yes,” she said, finally.

  Zamir rolled one of his shirtsleeves up to just below the elbow, revealing tanned, slimly muscled forearms and drawing attention to his capable fingers. He performed the same action on the other arm then manoeuvred his rapier sharp gaze back to her face. At the moment his eyes clashed with hers, her heart gave an answering trill.

  “You have done this kind of work before?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed.

  “And you are used to carrying out unusual requests with discretion?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he took a moment to study this woman who had been sent to him. She had arrived punctually, and she was dressed impeccably, in a pair of black trousers and a pale cream sweater that fitted her curvaceous figure like a second skin. It was entirely appropriate for the desert winter of Nevada; yet Zamir instinctively disapproved.

  “Such as?” He prompted curiously. She must have only been twenty years old. Her hair was so blonde it reminded him of the sands of his land, and her eyes were wide like a fawn in spring.

  “That would be missing the point of discretion, wouldn’t it?”

  His lip twisted in a half smile; it was the closest he’d come to the expression in over a month.

  “I am not asking you to reveal identities. Only to give me an idea of what you can do for me.”

  If she had been prone to blushing, she might have felt a hint of pink creep along her cheek. But her sister Sophie was the blusher in their family. Olivia and Ava were far better at masking their feelings.

  What could she do for him? She thought back over the last four months. Since arriving in Vegas and landing the thrilling job as a celebrity concierge, what hadn’t she done? She’d organised wild parties and kept them just inside the line of legal. She’d parlayed entry for large groups into some of the hottest nightclubs in town and ensured her clients weren’t bothered by anyone they didn’t wish to be bothered by. She’d pulled together fashion shows at the last minute. She’d walked dogs. Minded babies. Toured the casinos endlessly, showing her clients with an interest in gambling the best establishments in town, including those not featured on any of the maps. She’d tipped off the paparazzi when her celebrities sought greater attention and she’d blocked the paparazzi when her clients sought privacy. She’d driven clients around from boutique to boutique, and she’d covered up – many times – for various faux pas and indiscretions.

  “I can do anything for you. Anything that’s legal, that is.”

  Another flicker of amusement. “You know who I am.”

  “Yes, sir.” She regarded him from half-shuttered eyes. He was her first royal client, and definitely her most offputtingly attractive.

  “Do you think it’s likely I am here on illegal business?” He pushed with a wry sarcasm.

  It was on the tip of Olivia’s tongue to ask just what he was doing in Vegas, but she pulled herself up. After all, curiosity was not part of her job description. And so she said nothing, but just stared at h
im with her huge green eyes and clear expression, waiting for him to continue.

  He was grudgingly impressed by her steadfast calmness. Unflappability was a trait he needed to be surrounded by. “I am here on a private matter. I require you to shield me from any speculation or interest.”

  “I see,” she nodded, and though there were many gaps in his request, she understood his essential, underlying requirement.

  His eyes narrowed further, and he took a step closer, as if he was trying to understand something about her that she couldn’t put into words.

  “You have a confidentiality agreement?”

  “Yes, of course. By engaging the agency, you are covered by that.”

  “Excellent.” He waved a hand towards one of the seats.

  Olivia moved with an economy of movement and settled on the edge of it.

  “I will expect complete discretion. I do not want my name to be mentioned by you. It is not only my movements that must be protected.” He paused, as though he was weighing up his words. “I will be your most demanding client.” He strode to the seat opposite but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he thrust his hands onto his hips and stared beyond her, to the sparkling view of Vegas. Olivia felt at an immediate disadvantage, and wished she hadn’t sat.

  “How can you be sure?” She said, trying to smooth the droll sarcasm from her voice and failing.

  He shifted his gaze to her. “I have been raised to expect those in my employ to work almost slavishly for me. While I appreciate this is not your culture, I expect it while I am here.”

  Olivia cracked her mouth open and made a small noise of amusement. “You’re right,” she said with a small nod. “Being slavishly devoted to anyone isn’t my caper.” She tilted her head to one side to study him thoughtfully. “But I am a perfectionist, and anticipating my clients’ needs has sort of become a matter of personal pride.”

  He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “There is a hotel room downstairs, with my staff. It is for your use.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she demurred instantly. “I have an apartment that’s very central.”

  His eyes bore into hers. “It is a pre-requisite. You will be called upon at all hours of the day. There will be high expectations and little rest. In return, you will be more handsomely remunerated than you have been in your life.”

  “My salary is excellent.”

  “Perhaps you feel that now, but the arrangement I have come to with your agency is far in excess of what you are used to receiving.”

  It was on the tip of Olivia’s tongue to ask just how he knew what her salary was when she realised that this man, this powerful Sheikh Zamir Fayez, probably knew everything about her.

  “How far in excess?” She pushed, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “I am willing to pay your agency forty thousand dollars per week.”

  “Forty … thousand …” She banked her eyes closed with a sense of bewilderment.

  He dipped his head forward. “I am in Las Vegas on a matter of extreme personal importance. It is vital that my privacy is protected at this time. You are to arrange it for me.”

  “I see.” She nodded. “How?”

  His smile now was forced. “That is your job to work out, Miss Henderson.”

  She swallowed. “Of course, sir.”

  “You will report to my valet. His name is Marook. He has worked for me since I was a teenager. I trust him implicitly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You may contact him with any questions.”

  “And you will contact me through him?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I will contact you directly if I require your services.”

  “Very well.” She stood, pleased to be able to bring herself closer to his eye-level. Though he was still a fair measure taller than she was, it was less of a disadvantage.

  Now that he’d dealt with the formalities of her employment, he found that he was no longer able to fight his interest in this woman. Young and glamorous, she was exactly the kind of person who would gravitate to the bright lights and fast lifestyle of a place like Vegas. She had the figure of a stripper, he thought disparagingly, with her enormous breasts and rounded bottom. Her waist was nipped in almost as if she might have been wearing a corset and her skin was tanned like she’d bathed in caramel. Her lips were full and naturally pouted, and he was certain that hers was a mouth that had offered pleasure to many men.

  He tamped down on his line of thinking. She was one of his staff now. And to a man like Zamir, who’d been raised with an army of servants from birth, that meant one thing and one thing only. She was dispensable and unimportant. Only the service she could render mattered to him.

  “In addition to ensuring my … personal matter … remains that way, I will have various requirements which I will expect you to carry out promptly and without complaint.”

  “Such as?” She prompted.

  “Nothing illegal,” he reminded her.

  She nodded, frustration fraying at the edges of her gut. “It helps me to serve you better if I know what to expect.”

  “None of us ever knows what to expect,” he responded quickly, so quickly that she suspected it was something he’d heard from someone else, or perhaps something that he told himself often.

  “Very well. I’ll be prepared for everything then, shall I?” With another, less serious client, she might even have joked about donning a superhero costume. This man, though, intimidated her into a form of reverent silence.

  “That will be all. Marook will show you your accommodation.”

  She nodded, wishing her mouth were a little less dry. “Thank you, sir.”

  He allowed her to precede him, telling himself it wasn’t so that he could admire the view of her rear. She paused at the door.

  “Will Marook have an itinerary of your schedule?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  She could have kicked herself. The question had been ludicrous and made her seem stupid and inexperienced. Of course Marook would have a copy of the Sheikh’s movements. Just like any of her other clients, they always had a handler who maintained the details of the trip.

  She pulled the door open and slipped through it without a backwards glance. But the whole way to the elevators, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingling, as though he was watching her. Once at the polished doors, she allowed herself the luxury of angling her head back to the door. It was shut.

  He was gone.

  The elevator cruised swiftly to the next floor with Olivia in the centre of its opulent heart. The doors opened with an almost silent whoosh and she stepped out.

  Security agents were everywhere. Literally dozens littered the hallway. And though Olivia had worked with private security before, she’d never seen anything quite like this. These men were all dressed in dark black and grey military fatigues and carried large weapons. It was a confronting scene for a pacifist like Olivia.

  She took a step out of the elevator and felt a prickle of tension. Guns disgusted her. She supposed though that the ruler of a powerful country such as Dashan must be under constant threat of kidnapping. The idea, though sinister, amused her, for kidnapping a man like Sheikh Zamir Fayez seemed to be an impossible task. He was both enormous and silently powerful.

  Not an ideal candidate to nab in the middle of the night, even without his personal army.

  “Miss Henderson?” A man with greying hair and excellent posture walked brusquely towards her. He held a hand out and she shook it on instinct.

  “Please, call me Olivia.”

  He nodded swiftly. “Very well. This is your identification tag. You must carry it or wear it at all times. These men do not mess around.”

  “I rather got that impression,” she murmured with a small shiver.

  “The life of the crown prince is most valuable to our Kingdom.” He began to move down the hallway. “Any of these men will conduct spot checks at any time. Without your identity tag, you will not b
e welcome in the presence of the Sheikh. It does not matter if you forget it somewhere. It is your key to this job. Understood?”

  She nodded.

  “His highness informed you that you are to remain in the hotel?”

  “Yes,” she agreed. What more could she say? That it had been an order she’d been forced to obey?

  Marook inserted the key card into a slot in the door and then handed it to Olivia. “Have you ever worked for royalty?”

  She shook her head wordlessly. “You will find it completely different to anything else.”

  “I’ve had some very demanding clients in the past.”

  “Yes. Perhaps.” He smiled at her kindly. “Nothing compared to this. It is not the Sheikh who will test you, so much as the pace at which he lives.”

  She smiled in what she hoped was a dismissive way and stepped into the hotel room.

  “Sleep when you can,” was Marook’s parting advice.

  Olivia reached over and flicked the light switch on. The room illuminated with a slightly shuddering electric glow. There was a bathroom to her right, and down the end of a narrow hallway, a bedroom. The balcony overlooked the lights of the strip. Sophie pulled out first one earring and then the next, laying them on her bedside table in what was a routine action at the end of each day. Her shoes followed suit.

  She bent down and collected them from the floor and moved towards the wardrobe, intending to place them in the shoe rack. When she slid the mirrored door open, a full selection of clothes stared back at her.

  Her clothes.

  Her jaw slackened; her mouth dropped. She fingered the outfits with a growing sense of invasion and indignation, then lifted her phone from her pocket. She dialled her boss’s number and waited impatiently for it to connect.

  “Liv. How’d you go?”

  Johnny Lane spoke with his trademark drawl. He’d tell anyone who’d listen that he was fifth generation Vegas, as though the city itself were a principality, and he at heart of it.

  “Well, fine. I got the job.”