He uncoiled his body like a lazy cat and came toward her.
âLiking me isnât a prerequisite for the night weâre about to spend together.â
âWe arenât,â she said quickly, even though she knew he was baiting her, that he was really just referring to the time sheâd be with him at the party. âThereâs no way Iâd spend the night withââ
He bent and brushed his mouth over hers. That was all he did; the kiss was little more than a whisper of flesh to flesh, but the intake of her breath more than proved she was lying.
She knew it. He knew it. And she hated him for it.
âThe Sheik,â she said, her eyes cool.
âI beg your pardon?â
âThe Sheik, starring Rudolph Valentino. Itâs an old movie. Be sure to rent the video sometime.â
Nick laughed. He held out his arm. She tossed her head. âTake it,â he said softly, âunless youâd rather I lift you into my arms and carry you.â
Dear Reader,
Your response to THE BARONS has been overwhelming! Thank you for welcoming this family into your hearts.
Youâve told me how very real Gage, Travis, Slade and Caitlin have become to you. Theyâre just as real to me. My characters always seem to become flesh and blood as I write about them, but I have to admit that the Barons, and the Texas ranch thatâs home to Jonas and his wife, Marta, have taken on a special meaning. So many people pass through the Baronsâ livesâ¦. I can almost hear them asking me to tell you their stories.
Welcome, then, to Mistress of the Sheikh. Amanda Benning is one of Jonas Baronâs stepdaughters. Sheâs happy with her independenceâuntil gorgeous, sexy Sheikh Nicholas al Rashid thinks sheâs his birthday gift. Sparks fly when a man worshiped as the Lion of the Desert comes up against a beautiful, hot-tempered woman who thinks lions are just big pussycats in disguise.
And if you havenât read any of the other BARONS books, donât worry. You can enjoy Mistress of the Sheikh on its own.
With love and best wishes,
Sandra Marton loves to hear from her readers. Write to her (SASE) at P.O. Box 295, Storrs, Connecticut 06268, U.S.A.
SHEIKH Nicholas al Rashid, Lion of the Desert, Lord of the Realm and Sublime Heir to the Imperial Throne of Quidar, stepped out of his tent and onto the burning sands, holding a woman in his arms.
The sheikh was dressed in a gold-trimmed white burnoose; his silver-gray eyes stared straight ahead, blazing with savage passion. The woman, her arms looped around his neck, gazed up at him, her face alight with an unspoken plea.
Whatâs the matter, Nick? sheâd been saying.
Thereâs a camera pointed straight at us, Nick had answered. Thatâs whatâs the matter.
But nobody seeing this cover on Gossip magazine would believe anything so simple, Nick thought grimly.
His eyes dropped to the banner beneath the picture. If words could damn a man, these surely did.
Sheikh Nicholas al Rashid, the caption said, in letters that looked ten feet tall, carrying off his latest conquest, the beautiful Deanna Burgess. Oh, to be abducted by this gorgeous, magnificent desert savageâ¦
âSon of a bitch,â Nick muttered.
The little man standing on the opposite side of the sparely furnished, elegant room nodded. âYes, my lord.â
âNo-good, lying, cheating, sneaky bastards!â
âAbsolutely,â the little man said, nodding again.
Nick looked up, his eyes narrowed.
âCalling me a âdesert savage,â as if I were some kind of beast. Is that what they think I am? An uncultured, vicious animal?â
âNo, sire.â The little man clasped his hands together. âSurely not.â
âNo one calls me that and gets away with it.â
But someone had, once. Nick frowned. A woman or, more accurately, a girl. The memory surfaced, wavering like a mirage from the hot sand.
Nothing but a savage, sheâd saidâ¦.
The image faded, and Nick frowned. âThat photo was taken at the festival. It was Id al Baranda, Quidarâs national holiday, for Godâs sake!â He stepped out from behind his massive beechwood desk and paced to the wall of windows that gave way onto one of New York Cityâs paved canyons. âThatâs why I was wearing a robe, because it is the custom.â
Abdul bobbed his head in agreement.
âAnd the tent,â Nick said through his teeth. âThe damned tent belonged to the caterer.â
âI know, my lord.â
âIt was where the food was set up, dammit!â
âYes, sire.â
Nick stalked back to his desk and snatched up the magazine. âLook at this. Just look at it!â
Abdul took a cautious step forward, rose up on the balls of his feet and peered at the photo. âLord Rashid?â
âTheyâve taken the ocean out of the picture. It looks as if the tent was pitched in the middle of the desert!â
âYes, my lord. I see.â
Nick dragged his hand through his hair. âMiss Burgess cut her foot.â His voice tightened. âThat was why I was carrying her.â