Crowned For The Sheikh′s Baby: Crowned for the Sheikh′s Baby
Crowned For The Sheikh's Baby: Crowned for the Sheikh's Baby
MELANIE MILBURNE
Sharon Kendrick
About the Authors (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realize that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Harlequin, and her books feature often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…
MELANIE MILBURNE read her first Mills & Boon novel at the age of seventeen, in between studies for her final exams. After completing a master’s degree in education she decided to write a novel, and thus her career as a romance author was born. Melanie is an ambassador for the Australian Childhood Foundation and a keen dog-lover and trainer. She enjoys long walks in the Tasmanian bush. In 2015 Melanie won the HOLT Medallion—a prestigious award honouring outstanding literary talent.
Also By Sharon Kendrick
A Royal Vow of Convenience
Conveniently Wed!
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed
One Night With Consequences
The Italian’s Christmas Secret
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride
Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress
Crowned for the Prince’s Heir
Carrying the Greek’s Heir
Wedlocked!
The Sheikh’s Bought Wife
The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition
The Billionaire’s Legacy
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress
Also By Melanie Milburne
The Temporary Mrs Marchetti
Wedding Night with Her Enemy
A Ring for the Greek’s Baby
The Tycoon’s Marriage Deal
A Virgin for a Vow
The Ravensdale Scandals miniseries
Ravensdale’s Defiant Captive
Awakening the Ravensdale Heiress
Engaged to Her Ravensdale Enemy
The Most Scandalous Ravensdale
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby/Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby
Sharon Kendrick
Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella
Melanie Milburne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09566-2
CROWNED FOR THE SHEIKH’S BABY/TYCOON’S FORBIDDEN CINDERELLA
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby © 2018 Sharon Kendrick Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella © 2018 Melanie Milburne
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u8693134a-522b-537b-a50b-8802b14ed3ab)
About the Authors (#ue128a87b-ab1b-5538-9060-f98f2013b508)
Booklist (#u0de84efe-f6a2-5cab-8c08-2bca60504bf0)
Title Page (#u5b7a2946-ae3f-50f6-ad80-ef33df8c10e0)
Copyright (#u57f3ced7-8b18-5717-8225-26dbc9a72809)
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby (#ueb4c5cdd-4110-5f76-9ab8-451504d11d6a)
Back Cover Text (#u8c9da484-63da-50b5-8e57-543b926681a3)
Introduction (#u10a374f3-829e-5af9-b7c3-f93398bc865c)
One Night With Consequences (#u74bdc986-e7e8-5215-91e1-0d7cc59ccede)
Dedication (#uac8bbae4-40ee-5c2c-afb8-d5b95bbc65f5)
PROLOGUE (#u0daea20a-9205-5352-945c-f3014ed886e5)
CHAPTER ONE (#u413e9fbe-eb0d-5ec1-aeae-f8bb73f9a220)
CHAPTER TWO (#u0072c88b-eea6-587d-a351-9cfeb67e475d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u17fbe05f-b8b4-5467-9877-353a032a4da7)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ufbd157ea-82f9-5668-95c5-e4ce1c7887f2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#udbff34e8-dcae-54c1-8b1b-875931240e7b)
CHAPTER SIX (#ue0d21b15-2be1-5b3d-baef-766e6b24be7d)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
Sharon Kendrick
From innocent maid...
...to the sheikh’s pregnant queen!
The last thing sensible maid Hannah Wilson expects is to be whisked off to a glamorous party by Sheikh Kulal Al Diya. Their intense chemistry and searing kiss lead to the most amazing night of her life—with the most shocking consequences! Now Kulal will do anything to claim his heir. Even if it means making Hannah his desert queen!
“You’ll love the twists and turns of this gorgeous story—a maid turned sheikh’s queen, and an unexpected consequence!” —USA TODAY bestselling author Lynne Graham
“You don’t even know why I’m here,” Hannah said.
“Of course I do.” Kulal’s hawk-like features hardened into a cynical expression. “You’ve decided that you’re in love with me, haven’t you?”
Hannah thought she might be sick. It wasn’t just the sheikh’s swaggering arrogance that she found nauseating—it was the way he said the word love. As if it was some unspeakable illness.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The fact that I took your virginity has probably given our night together more significance than it warrants. Am I right, Hannah?”
Hannah flinched, wondering how she could have fallen into the arms of someone so unspeakably arrogant. Because he’s so irresistible—even now, when he’s looking down his haughty nose at you.
“I hate to disillusion you,” she said, concentrating on trying to match his own emotionless tone. “But I am definitely not pining for you.”
“No? So why come here?” he drawled.
She had to tell him. But it was with a sinking heart that she met the ebony coldness of his eyes. “I’m pregnant, Kulal,” she said quietly.
One Night With Consequences (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
When one night…leads to pregnancy!
When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire, it’s impossible to think past the morning after!
But with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test, and it doesn’t take long to realize that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!
Only one question remains:
How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?
Find out in:
The Italian’s Christmas Secret by Sharon Kendrick
A Night of Royal Consequences by Susan Stephens
A Baby to Bind His Bride by Caitlin Crews
Claiming His Nine-Month Consequence by Jennie Lucas
Contracted for the Petrakis Heir by Annie West
Consequence of His Revenge by Dani Collins
Princess’s Pregnancy Secret by Natalie Anderson
The Sheikh’s Shock Child by Susan Stephens
Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!
This book is dedicated to the urbane and dashingly handsome Matt Newman, with thanks and gratitude for his generous donation to the amazing charity, The Back-Up Trust.
PROLOGUE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
We trust you will find everything to your satisfaction.
KULAL’S MOUTH HARDENED into a cynical smile. As if. When did anything in life ever truly satisfy?
Crushing the handwritten note—one of the many personal touches which made this Sardinian hotel complex so achingly luxurious—he threw it into the bin in a perfect arcing shot and walked over to the balcony.
Restlessly, his eyes skated over the horizon. He wondered why he could feel no joy in his heart or why the warmth of the sun left him feeling cold. He had just achieved a life’s ambition by bringing together some of the world’s biggest oil moguls. They’d told him it was impossible. That masterminding the diaries of so many powerful men simply couldn’t be done. But Kulal had proved them wrong. He liked proving people wrong, just as he enjoyed defying the expectations which had been heaped on him since the day his older brother had turned his back on his heritage and left him to rule.
He had worked day and night to make this conference happen. To convince attendees with his famously seductive tongue that it was time to look at renewable energy sources, rather than relying on the fossil fuels of old. Kings and sheikhs had agreed with him and pledges had been made. The cheers following his opening speech had echoed long into the night. There were now but a few days left for him to hammer out the fine details of the deal—and he was able to do it in a place which many people considered close to paradise. Yet he felt...
He gave a heavy sigh which mingled with the warm Sardinian breeze.
Certainly not drunk with glory, as other men in his position might be, and he couldn’t work out why. At thirty-four, he was considered by many to be at his intellectual and physical peak. He was known as a fair, if sometimes autocratic ruler and he ruled a prosperous land. And yes, he had a few enemies at court—men who would have preferred his twin brother to have been King because they considered him more malleable. But all rulers had to deal with insurrection. It came with the job—it was certainly nothing new.
So why wasn’t he punching the air with glee? Kulal contemplated the horizon without really seeing it. Perhaps he had been working so hard that he’d neglected the more basic needs of his body. Not to put too fine a point on it—his legendary libido, which had been sidelined ever since he had finished with his long-term mistress a few months back. It didn’t help that she had made the break-up official with a tearful interview in one of those glossy magazines that filled women’s heads with meaningless froth. And that as a consequence, his name had zoomed back to the top of one of those tedious ‘most eligible’ lists—and he now seemed to be on some kind of matrimonial hit list. Rather ironic since he had always avoided marriage like the plague, no matter how determined the woman.
He yawned. His relationship with the international supermodel had lasted almost a year—a record for him. He had chosen her not just because she was blonde and leggy and could work wonders with her tongue, but because she seemed to accept what he would and wouldn’t tolerate in a relationship. But in the end, she had sabotaged it with her neediness. He’d stated at the start that he wouldn’t put a ring on her finger. That he had no desire for family or long-term commitment. Because didn’t domesticity forge cold chains, which could suffocate? He had promised sex, diamonds and a fancy apartment—and had honoured those pledges in full. But she had wanted more. Women always did. They wanted to bleed you dry until there was nothing left.
Dark and bitter memories washed over him, but he forced himself to block them out as he leaned against the rail of the balcony, looking out at boats bobbing around on the Mediterranean. He thought how different this busy stretch of water was from the peace of the Murjaan Sea, which lapped on the eastern shores of his desert homeland. But then, everything about this place was different. The sights. The scents. The sounds. The women who lay on sun-loungers in their minuscule bikinis. One of his aides had told him that the loungers directly beneath his penthouse suite were always the first to go—presumably occupied by those hoping to catch the eye of Zahristan’s Desert King. Kulal’s lips curved in disdain. Did they, like so many others, imagine themselves in the role of Queen? That they would succeed where so many had failed?
Surveying the women directly beneath him, he felt not a flicker of excitement as he glanced at their half-naked bodies, which glistened in the sun. He thought they looked like oiled pieces of chicken about to be thrown onto the barbecue, their half-open mouths thick with lipstick and tilted straw hats protecting their hair extensions.
And then he saw her.
Kulal tensed, his eyes narrowing and his heart beginning to pound.
Did she capture his focus and keep it captured because she was wearing more than anyone else, as she hurried across the terrace with an anxious look on her face? In fact, she was wearing the standard hotel uniform—a plain yellow dress, which was straining over her voluminous breasts and clinging to the swell of her curvy buttocks. He though how fresh she looked with that shiny ponytail swishing against her back as she walked. Certainly, when contrasted with all the flesh on show, the brunette seemed positively wholesome and, although such women were rare in Kulal’s world, he reminded himself that she was a member of the hotel staff. And sleeping with staff was never a good idea.
But a small sigh escaped his lips as he turned away.
Pity.
CHAPTER ONE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
‘HANNAH, DO NOT look so nervous. I merely said I wished to speak to you about the Sheikh.’
Hannah tried to smile as she looked up at Madame Martin—fixing her face into the kind of expression which would be expected of a highly experienced chambermaid. She must look eager—and at all times, because this job was the opportunity of a lifetime and breaks like this didn’t come along very often. Wasn’t it true that every other chambermaid at the Granchester in London had been green with envy when Hannah had been picked to work in the fancy Sardinian branch of the hotel group because they were short-staffed? She suspected they would have been even more envious if they’d realised that Sheikh Kulal Al Diya was a guest here—a billionaire desert king who everyone on this Mediterranean island seemed to think was some kind of walking sex god.
But not her.
No, definitely not her. She’d only seen him a couple of times, but each time he’d terrified her with all that dark brooding stuff going on and that way he had of slanting his black eyes in a way which had made her feel most peculiar. Hadn’t her breasts sprung into alarming life the first time she’d seen him, causing her nipples to feel as if they were about to burst right through her bra? And hadn’t she wanted to squirm with a strange and unfamiliar hunger as that ebony gaze had swept over her? For once, she hadn’t felt in control and that had made her feel extremely uncomfortable, because Hannah liked to feel in control.
She brushed her clammy palms down over her lemon-coloured uniform—a bad idea since it drew the attention of Madame Martin to her hips and instantly the Frenchwoman frowned.
‘Tiens!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your dress is a little tight, n’est ce pas?’
‘It’s the only one they had which fitted, Madame Martin,’ said Hannah apologetically.
The elegant woman who was in charge of all the domestic staff at Hotel L’Idylle raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘C’est vrai.’ She gave a resigned sigh. ‘You Englishwomen are... ’Ow you say? Big girls!’
Hannah’s smile didn’t slip because who was she to deny the truth behind Madame Martin’s words? She certainly wasn’t as slim as her continental peers. She liked her food, had a healthy appetite and wasn’t going to make any apology for it. Like much else, mealtimes had been unpredictable when she’d been growing up and you never forgot something like that. She’d never forget the dull gnaw of hunger, or how eagerly she’d seized on any scraps she’d managed to salvage to put together something resembling a meal. She didn’t spend her life picking at her food, that was for sure—unlike her sister, who seemed to think that eating was an unnecessary waste of time.
But she wasn’t going to worry about her sister, or dwell on the troubled times of their growing-up years. Hadn’t that been one of the reasons for leaping on this job so eagerly—even though she’d never even been out of England before? She had decided she was going to start living her life differently from now on and the first part of that plan was to stop worrying about her baby sister. Because Tamsyn wasn’t a baby any more; she was only two years younger and perfectly able to stand on her own two feet—except that was never going to happen if Hannah kept bailing her out every time she got herself into trouble.
So think about yourself for once, she reminded herself—and concentrate on the unbelievable bonus you’ve been offered for a few months of working in this Sardinian paradise.
‘What exactly did you wish to talk to me about, Madame Martin?’ she enquired eagerly.
The Frenchwoman smiled. ‘You are very good at your job, Hannah. It is why you were sent here by our London branch, but I have observed you myself and thoroughly approve of their choice. The way you fold a bedsheet is a joy to watch.’
Hannah inclined her head to accept the compliment. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are quiet and unobtrusive. You move comme une souris—like a mouse,’ Madame Martin translated in reply to Hannah’s confused look. ‘Put it this way—nobody would ever notice you in a room.’
‘Thank you,’ said Hannah again, rather more cautiously this time because she wasn’t sure if that really sounded like a compliment.
‘Which is why the management have decided to give you some extra responsibility.’
Hannah nodded, because this was something she was good at. Throw responsibility at her and she would soak it up like a sponge with water. ‘Yes, madame?’ she said and waited.
‘What do you know about Sheikh Kulal Al Diya?’
Hannah tried to smile, but it was difficult when an unwanted shiver was rippling its way down her spine. ‘He is the ruler of Zahristan, one of the biggest oil-producing countries in the world, but he’s a leading exponent of alternative energy. All the staff were briefed about him before he arrived,’ she added hastily, in response to Madame Martin’s look of surprise.
‘Bien,’ said the Frenchwoman approvingly. ‘It was he who organised this international meeting, which has brought so many prestigious leaders to the hotel and has done much to elevate the profile of our new conference centre.’
‘Yes, Madame Martin,’ said Hannah, still not quite sure where this was heading.
‘And you are perhaps aware that many people have been trying to seek out the Sheikh’s company,’ said Madame Martin slowly. ‘Since he is a man of great influence.’
‘I’m sure they do.’ Hannah noted the pause which followed and which she somehow got the idea she was expected to fill. ‘It was exactly the same in the London branch of the Granchester—the more powerful the guest, the more people want to get to know them.’
‘Especially if the man happens to be newly single and extremely good-looking,’ said Madame Martin, with a busy wiggle of her manicured fingers. ‘But His Royal Highness has no wish to be the focus of the attentions which someone in his position always attracts. It is why he occasionally chooses to travel with only a very modest entourage, but unfortunately that only makes him more accessible to the general public. Why, only last night, a well-known heiress managed to bribe her way past security and make her way to his table.’
Hannah winced. ‘Was there a scene, madame?’
‘I’m afraid there was, and we do not tolerate “scenes” here at L’Idylle. Which is why, for the remainder of his stay, Sheikh Al Diya intends to finish the rest of his business in the sanctuary of his suite, which is certainly big enough to accommodate his needs.’ There was a pause. ‘And why you are being assigned to work exclusively for him.’
Hannah screwed up her face in confusion. ‘You mean, I’m to make his bed and change his towels?’
‘Of course. But you will also serve His Royal Highness any meals he orders and make sure there are drinks and snacks for his guests. Keep the water in the flowers topped up. Tidy up after him and make sure that nobody unauthorised tries to gain entry to his rooms. Security here is tight, but there is no such thing as completely reliable security. Why, even in your famous Buckingham Palace, intruders have successfully gained access, is that not so?’ The Frenchwoman’s face grew stern. ‘Do you think you are capable of what I am asking of you, Hannah?’
Hannah’s first instinct was to say no. To protest that she was a chambermaid and nothing more. Someone who silently serviced the hotel bedrooms and learnt more about the guests than they would probably be comfortable with, if they only realised how many clues about themselves they left laying around the place. She wasn’t really confident enough to wait on a desert king, or to swish around topping up the water in expensive vases of flowers. She wasn’t really a maid.
‘Isn’t there someone else who would rather do it, Madame Martin?’ she questioned doubtfully. ‘Someone with a bit more experience of that kind of thing?’
‘Indeed there is.’ Madame Martin pursed her lips. ‘I am sure I could have the female staff queuing from here to our capital city of Cagliari, but none of them have your characteristics, Hannah. You are a young woman whose head is planted firmly on her shoulders, as you English say. You will not be seduced by a pair of flashing black eyes and a body which makes grown women shiver.’ Madame Martin seemed suddenly to realise what she was saying, and as she pulled herself together, she fixed Hannah with another stern look. ‘Can I rely on you to accept this task, so that I can report back favourably to your superiors in London?’
Hannah swallowed as she recognised it was going to be impossible to refuse—and why would anyone in their right mind want to? Surely a temporary promotion was a good thing. A chance to get the pay-rise she’d been hoping for. A pay-rise which might make it possible for her to one day buy a tiny place of her own.
A home of her own.
The chance to put down roots at last.
‘Will you do that, my dear?’ prompted the Frenchwoman kindly.
Hannah swallowed down the sudden lump which seemed to be clogging up her throat, wondering why she still reacted so stupidly to someone speaking to her with affection.
Because she wasn’t used to it?
Or because she mistrusted it?
Nodding her head, she produced a tentative smile. ‘I would be honoured, Madame Martin,’ she said.
‘Bien.’ Madame Martin gave a brisk nod. ‘Then come with me and I will show you around the suite of His Royal Highness.’
Hannah followed her superior along wide and airy corridors, which overlooked the small, natural harbour outside. Purple bougainvillea rippled softly in the breeze and the sky was the bluest she had ever seen. Every day was the same—picture-book perfect. Or at least, that was how it seemed. It hadn’t rained in paradise for as long as she’d been there and sometimes she could hardly believe she was.
Who would have thought it? Humble Hannah Wilson experiencing life in one of the fanciest resorts in Europe. The rootless orphan who’d never really known anything except making do was now working in a hotel which redefined the word luxury. A place which regularly entertained princes and tycoons, heiresses and film stars. And now a sheikh.
A sheikh for whom she was to work exclusively!
‘You must continue to be unobtrusive,’ Madame Martin was saying. ‘When the Sheikh arrives in his suite, you will quietly enquire what he requires and make sure he gets it. Immediately.’
‘And if he doesn’t actually want...anything?’ Hannah questioned cautiously.
‘Then you will vacate the premises as quickly as possible and await further instruction. You are being moved to a small staff room just along the corridor from his suite. Can I rely on you, Hannah?’
Hannah nodded in agreement because what else could she do? ‘Yes, Madame Martin.’
‘One last thing.’ The Frenchwoman’s voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. ‘The Sheikh is known as a man of great, shall we say—appetite.’
‘You mean he likes his food?’ questioned Hannah cautiously.
‘No, I do not mean that.’ An impatient shake of her head barely displaced an immaculate strand of Madame Martin’s hair. ‘I mean that he may have female guests visiting him and, should you find yourself dealing with them, you will treat them as if they were princesses. Which is probably their ambition,’ she finished, with a dry laugh. ‘Is that clear, Hannah?’
‘Yes, madame,’ answered Hannah as they entered the elevator, slotting in the special card which gave access to the exclusive penthouse suite, a journey which took mere seconds before the doors slid open. Hannah saw two bulky men in dark suits standing poker-faced on either side of a large door and she blinked. Could those bulges she could see in their pockets possibly be guns? She guessed they could. Of course the Sheikh would have bodyguards who looked as if they were made of steel and iron, rather than flesh and blood. Whose eyes didn’t even flicker as she stared up at them. A sudden realisation of what she had let herself in for made her spine tingle with apprehension.
‘Voilà! We are here,’ said Madame Martin. ‘Come.’
After a cursory knock, which went unanswered, the door was unlocked and Madame Martin walked straight in. Hannah thought she was prepared for any eventuality...for dancing girls, or some kind of harem. Or maybe a smoke-filled room where some kind of high-stakes card game was taking place.
What she had not been prepared for was the sight which greeted her—of the Sheikh himself. Her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets and her throat dried to dust. After the kind of build-up she’d been given, Hannah wouldn’t have been surprised to see him lying half-naked on one of the sumptuous velvet sofas, while some gorgeous nubile woman administered to him with warm oils. Or wearing something lavish and ceremonial—golden robes, perhaps—which swished as he walked.
In fact, he was seated at a desk which overlooked one of the resort’s many swimming pools and there wasn’t a golden robe in sight. He was wearing dark trousers and a blue shirt so pale that it was almost white. The shirt had two top buttons undone and the sleeves had been rolled up to reveal his hair-darkened forearms. Hannah noted these things almost automatically—perhaps as a kind of defensive mechanism. As if labelling the most commonplace things about him could protect her from the impact his sudden searing black gaze was having on her.
Because there was nothing commonplace about his face. It was a face in a million, no question about that. An unforgettable face—with those imperiously high cheekbones and his hair which gleamed like sunlit tar. The olive skin of his hawk-like features glowed with health and vitality, and there was an unmistakably arrogant tilt to his proud jaw. But it was the eyes which did it. She’d seen them from a distance, but up close they were unsettling. More than unsettling. Hannah swallowed. Hard and unflickering and blacker than any eyes had the right to be. And they were staring at her. Staring as if she had some smut on her nose, or the dark stain of sweat at her armpits. Hannah shifted uncomfortably beneath the intensity of that gaze, her hands nervously fluttering to brush away imagined dust from her slightly too small dress until she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be drawing attention to her hips like that.
‘I am extremely sorry to disturb you, Sheikh Al Diya,’ Madame Martin was saying smoothly. ‘But since no one answered my knock, I assumed nobody was here.’
‘I did not hear you knock otherwise I should have sent you away,’ said the Sheikh, an impatient wave of his hand indicating the mountain of paperwork piled in front of him. ‘As you see, I am busy.’
‘Of course, Your Royal Highness. Perhaps you would prefer us to come back at a more suitable time?’
Kulal put his pen down and studied the two women who were standing before him—the too thin French matron and the curvy chambermaid he’d seen hurrying across the patio a couple of days earlier, with an anxious look on her face. What he would prefer was not to have been interrupted in the first place because he was at a very delicate stage of negotiation. But suddenly, the ever-engrossing topic of solar power melted away as he stared at the ponytailed brunette whose fingers were smoothing down her unsightly uniform dress.
Was that an unconscious gesture to draw his attention to the fecundity of her hips and breasts? he wondered. Or was it deliberate? Either way, she had hit the jackpot. No doubt she was aware that her ripe body was designed to send his hormones shooting into disarray and, inconveniently, they were doing just that. He felt his groin tightening as he imagined his tongue trailing a slow path over those magnificent breasts, and for a moment, he cursed the insidious power of Mother Nature—for were they not all puppets in her need to continue the human race? And that was the reason behind his instinct to get the chambermaid horizontal as quickly as possible, before impaling her with his hardness.
He expected her to meet his gaze with a knowing look of challenge, for he had never met a woman who wouldn’t put out for him within the first minutes of meeting. But the humble chambermaid had dropped her gaze to the ground, her cheeks blooming like roses as she studied the Persian rug at her feet with a fierce intensity.
Unusual, conceded Kulal as he leaned back in his chair. Very unusual. ‘Now that you have managed to successfully interrupt my train of thought,’ he said acidly, ‘you might as well tell me why you are here.’
‘I was showing Hannah around your suite, Your Royal Highness.’
Hannah. Kulal ran a slow finger around the circumference of his mouth. An ordinary name yet somehow it pleased him.
‘Because?’ he interrogated.
‘In view of the enormous interest your presence has generated, and after the unfortunate scene in the main restaurant last night, we decided it would be preferable for you to have your own private maid for the duration of your stay,’ said Madame Martin. ‘Especially since His Royal Highness has brought with him only a skeleton staff.’
‘Because I have no wish to burden myself with the cumbersome accruements of the royal court!’ snapped Kulal. ‘You try travelling with an entourage of a thousand and five hundred tons of luggage, like some of my desert neighbours! If I fill the entire hotel complex with my staff, then how the hell is there going to be room for anyone else?’
‘Quite so. And I can only imagine your aversion to such a logistical nightmare, Your Royal Highness,’ replied Madame Martin diplomatically. ‘Which is why one of your aides made the request earlier and why we are assigning you Hannah, who from now on will be exclusively under your command.’
This was language Kulal was used to.
Command.
Exclusivity.
Words of possession and control, which went hand in hand with being a sheikh. But somehow the words had taken on an unexpectedly erotic flavour when applied to the curvy little servant who stood in front of him. He felt his heart miss a beat as he looked at her still-bent head, the straightness of her parting cutting a stark white line through her shiny brown hair. But her shoulders were stiff and if her body language was anything to go by, she certainly wasn’t as honoured by her sudden promotion as perhaps she should have been. And despite the knowledge that fraternising with the staff was a very bad idea, Kulal couldn’t deny that he found such an unusual response curiously exciting.
‘So how do you feel about working for me, Hannah?’ he questioned softly.
She looked up then and he was surprised by eyes of a startling hue—blue eyes which resembled the colour of the aquamarines his mother used to wear around her throat. Expensive jewels bought by his father in an attempt to compensate for his frequent absences. As if pieces of glass could ever compensate. But his mother had been weak. Weak and manipulative. Prepared to put her own desperate needs above those of her children. Kulal’s mouth hardened as he obliterated the harsh memories and listened to the chambermaid’s response.
‘I am happy to serve you in any way I can, Your Royal Highness,’ she said.
She delivered the words as if she had been coached and maybe she had, for they were dutiful rather than meaningful. A rare flicker of humour lifted Kulal’s lips, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. He gave a dismissive nod and picked up his pen. ‘Very well,’ he said as he pulled one of the documents towards him. ‘Just make sure you don’t disturb me. Not in any way. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Your Royal Highness,’ she said, still in that same dutiful voice, and Kulal found himself almost disappointed when she bobbed a clumsy kind of curtsey before backing out of the room as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him.
CHAPTER TWO (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
DON’T DISTURB ME. That had been the Sheikh’s only instruction when she’d first started working for him, but Hannah wondered how the powerful Kulal Al Diya would react if he knew how much he was disturbing her.
She wished he wouldn’t look at her that way.
She wished he wouldn’t make her feel this way.
Or was it all a figment of her imagination? Was his searing ebony gaze really lingering on her for longer than was necessary, or was that simply wishful thinking on her part? One thing she certainly wasn’t imagining was the aching of her body in response to that look. Whenever he walked into the room, her senses felt as if they’d been brought to life—yet was she really misguided enough to think the sexy desert King would give a second glance at her—plain and inexperienced Hannah Wilson?
Her heart was pounding as she prepared his coffee. After his short-tempered response at their initial meeting she had expected him to be difficult to work for. She’d thought he would be all distant and haughty, as befitted a man of his status. Yet it was funny how sustained contact with someone could make them seem more human—even someone as exulted as a desert king.
She tipped extra sugar cubes into a porcelain bowl because the Sheikh was rather partial to sugar. In fact, as far as she could make out, sweetening his coffee was the closest he got to indulgence. He didn’t drink alcohol, nor smoke those pungent cigars which some of the richer clients puffed on when they were out on the smoking terrace. He even seemed able to go without food for long periods of time—as if fasting came naturally to him. Which might explain the magnificence of his iron-hard body which she had once seen—inadvertently—when he had emerged unexpectedly from the shower.
Even now it made her breathless to remember it. Diamond droplets of water had glittered against his dark skin and Hannah had found herself mesmerised by endlessly muscular legs and narrow hips against which the white towel slung round them had looked woefully inadequate. For a moment, she had been completely flummoxed, unprepared for the sudden rush of heat which had made tiny beads of sweat appear on her heated brow.
‘Oh!’ she remembered exclaiming weakly, clutching onto her feather duster as if it were a life-raft, yet unable to drag her gaze away from his spectacular body.
To his credit, he had seemed as surprised to see her as she was him, a deep frown making his jet-black eyes appear even more laser-like in their intensity than usual. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he had demanded.
‘I work here, Your Royal Highness.’
‘You told me you’d finished for the day.’
Hannah had been so startled by the realisation that he’d actually been listening to her that she’d begun to recount the boringly domestic reason why she’d still been on the premises. ‘I had,’ she’d said quickly. ‘Only I spotted a cobweb, high up on one of the ceilings, and since I thought you’d already left for your helicopter flight—’
‘You decided to destroy the poor spider’s home?’ he’d drawled, his eyes gleaming with what had appeared to be mischief. ‘My, my, what a heartless woman you can be, Hannah.’
And Hannah had blushed even more. She had gone the colour of a beetroot or one of those dark ‘heritage’ tomatoes which room service kept always sending up whenever the Sheikh asked for a salad. Because she wasn’t used to being teased—and she certainly wasn’t used to being teased by a half-naked man, with an implied level of intimacy which was completely outside her comfort zone. Maybe that was why she’d blurted out the first stupid thing which had come into her head and said it with a fierceness which had seemed to take him by surprise.
‘I would never kill a spider. They have just as much right to be here as we do.’
There had been a pause. ‘Then I must be careful what I accuse you of in the future,’ had been the Sheikh’s slow and thoughtful response.
Even now Hannah’s cheeks went pink when she remembered it. Did he say things like that just to get a rise out of her? Sometimes she suspected he did—until she forced herself to remember the reality of her situation. As if someone like Kulal Al Diya would have the inclination to tease the lowliest of hotel workers when she knew for a fact that a famous American singer with an instantly recognisable name had called him yesterday afternoon. Hannah had almost dropped the phone when she’d answered it. Briefly, she’d thought about how much this particular woman’s autograph would raise if you auctioned it on the Internet—before handing the phone over to the black-eyed desert King. The Sheikh had shut the door of his bedroom to take the call in private...and Hannah had been unprepared for the sudden rush of envy she had experienced.
And that was when she’d started wondering what it would be like to have a man like Kulal Al Diya as your lover. Imagining what it would be like to wake up in those powerful arms while his black eyes raked over you. Or how it would feel to have those long fingers slowly stroking skin which was growing heated even as she thought about it.
Just stop it, Hannah. Had that cheesy film she’d watched on her day off kick-started such crazy fantasies? Or was it because she’d been sitting there with nothing but a bumper carton of popcorn for company, surrounded by couples who were making out? With an impatient click of her lips, Hannah straightened an embroidered silk cushion. For some people, this would have been the job from heaven but it was rapidly turning into the job from hell—and all because she couldn’t stop obsessing about a hotel guest in a totally unprofessional way. Had she chosen someone completely out of reach because that was safe?
Or was it talking to her sister the other night which had made Hannah feel more of a loser in love than usual? Tamsyn had sent a photo of herself about to go out for the evening, her red hair cascading down her back like a fiery waterfall, her big green eyes fringed with spectacular black lashes. And hadn’t Hannah felt a little resentful—wondering how it was that, despite Tamsyn’s dire financial situation and lack of regular employment, she could still manage to look like a film star and go out and have a good time?
‘Are you ever going to serve that coffee, Hannah? Or are you just going to stand there muttering to yourself all morning?’
The richly accented voice breaking into her thoughts made Hannah jump and she turned to see the Sheikh sauntering into the room, with all the unleashed power of a hand-reared leopard. She watched as he sat down. It had taken a bit of adjustment to get used to his western taste in clothing because she hadn’t realised that sheikhs wore jeans...especially not spray-on faded ones which made him look like a poster star for the brand. Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup, but not nearly as much as her breasts were tightening beneath the snug fit of her uniform dress. Had she been talking out loud?
Was he aware she’d been having stupid fantasies about him?
Of course he wasn’t—he might be a famously good negotiator, but he wasn’t that clever!
‘Certainly, Your Royal Highness,’ she said efficiently as she carried the cup over to his desk, where he was looking at some exotic-looking map. He liked looking at maps, and on one memorable occasion had pointed out a mountain range on the north-eastern side of his country, describing the snowy peaks in a way which had made Hannah feel all dreamy. He’d told her about Mount Taljan, which was the highest and most beautiful mountain in all of Zahristan, casually mentioning that he’d scaled it when he was just seventeen years old.
He looked up as she put the cup down in front of him, his black eyes raking over her like glowing coals and, as usual, she was momentarily flustered by the intensity of that gaze.
‘Is...is there anything else I can get you, Your Royal Highness?’ she questioned politely.
Kulal leaned back in his chair to study her, knowing if he did so for long enough then her cheeks would inevitably take on that rosy hue he found so entrancing. And then she would squirm with embarrassment until he put her out of her misery and dismissed her. His lips curved into a reflective smile. He knew she was attracted to him—which came as no great surprise; what was surprising was her total lack of attempt to capture his interest, especially given her rare proximity to his royal presence. In his own country, the majority of his personal servants were male and, in the west, few women would have been given the unfettered access which Hannah had been granted.
Yet there had been no change to her outward appearance, which would have been usual. No subtle lick of lipstick, or an application of mascara to make those extraordinary aquamarine eyes look even bigger. Nor copious amounts of perfume applied to wrist or cleavage, intended to beguile his nostrils with the scent of her femininity. His eyes narrowed. And wasn’t her lack of artifice refreshing—coupled with a naivety which was rarely found in the world he inhabited?
He dropped a sugar cube into his coffee, and then a second before taking a sip. ‘Excellent,’ he murmured.
Hannah beamed with satisfaction. ‘I trust everything else is to your satisfaction, Your Royal Highness?’
He glowered. ‘Why do the staff here keep saying that same thing over and over again?’
She wriggled her shoulders a little awkwardly. ‘It’s the Granchester’s promise, Your Royal Highness. They like us to reinforce the group’s core message.’
‘Well, I’ve got the core message loud and clear so don’t bother saying it to me again, understand?’
She pursed her lips together. ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness.’
Kulal took another sip of coffee. He’d been awake until the early hours, fine-tuning the announcement which he planned to make to the world very soon—a dramatic development about cheaper solar power, which would inevitably stir up envy among his competitors. His time here on Sardinia was almost over and tomorrow he would return to Zahristan and the inevitable affairs of state which had been piling up in his absence. But before that happened, there was the little matter of an invitation to a party on the other side of the island, a party he could have easily given a miss, were it not being thrown by one of his oldest friends.
He stifled a sigh because he was in no mood for entertainment and not just because he could do with a good night’s sleep. Parties were predictable and tedious. The same boring small-talk and disingenuous asides. And the more elevated your status, the more predictable they became. He scowled, for his recent break-up would only exacerbate the rush to pair him off with someone new. People spent far too much time contemplating his marital status and it was none of their damned business. Sometimes he thought he should put the world straight by openly stating his intention to defer marriage for as long as possible, but why fuel speculation?
He thought about the women who would doubtless be in attendance because his friend Salvatore believed that a vacancy in a man’s bed should be filled as quickly as possible. And Salvatore had connections to some of the most desirable women in the world. The kind of women most men drooled about, with their gym-honed bodies and diamonds which some adoring daddy had probably bestowed on them for their eighteenth birthday. Women who would slip him little pieces of paper with their cell phone number written above a line of kisses.
Kulal yawned, because the idea of being hit on was failing to heat his blood and he allowed his gaze to return to the chambermaid who was self-consciously straightening cushions. As she straightened up, her cheeks automatically flared when she noticed her gaze on him and he could not resist a slow smile. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush like that?
‘You don’t say very much, do you?’ he observed.
‘My role here is to attend to your needs, Your Royal Highness, not to converse,’ she said primly.
‘You’re English?’
She surveyed him with a suspicious blinking of her eyes. ‘I am, Your Royal Highness.’
‘So what brings you to Sardinia?’
She hesitated, as if she was surprised he was asking. She should be, he thought wryly—because he was pretty surprised himself.
‘I usually work for the Granchester in London,’ she explained falteringly. ‘Which is one of the finest hotels—’
‘Yes. There’s no need for any more corporate-speak,’ he said sardonically. ‘I know the chain well. And the owner, as it happens.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You know Zac Constantinides?’ she questioned breathlessly.
‘I do. I’m currently doing some business with his cousin—Xan. He was here at the conference earlier in the week. You didn’t realise? No. You probably didn’t. He likes to keep a low profile.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘He’s lucky he’s able to.’
Hannah frowned. Xan Constantinides. The name rang a bell. Had her sister mentioned it, or had she imagined that? ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness,’ she said, which was her default answer when she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Continue with your story,’ he instructed. ‘About how you came to be working here.’
Hannah hesitated, because she didn’t realise she was actually telling him a story. And why was he so interested in her all of a sudden? Was he planning to make a complaint—telling Madame Martin she’d been muttering to herself and flinging her duster at imaginary cobwebs? Or that she’d been stalking him, hanging around the place when she was supposed to have gone home in order to see him emerging half-naked from the shower? Hannah bit back a smile. No. Nobody would believe that. She strongly suspected that another reason why she’d been chosen for this job was because she was exactly the kind of person who wouldn’t ogle the royal guest, despite the fact that nobody could deny his drop-dead gorgeousness.
She realised he was still fixing her with that carelessly questioning look and so she shrugged. ‘They’ve been short-staffed here,’ she explained. ‘I’m not quite sure why. They needed someone to fly out here and join the chambermaid staff, and I was the one they picked.’
‘Because?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose because I’m considered very reliable.’
His mouth curved into a smile. ‘Reliable?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You don’t sound too happy about it.’
Hannah never knew what made her come out with it. What made her blurt out the truth to him, of all people—but she did. ‘I’m not,’ she admitted, with a slight rush of heat. ‘Especially as I’m also known as steady and sensible.’ She thought about the things people always said about her.
‘Good old Hannah.’
‘You want someone to fill in on New Year’s Eve? Ask Hannah. She’ll have nothing better to do.’
‘But surely these are positive things?’ the Sheikh was saying.
‘I’m sure they are,’ she answered stiffly. ‘But they’re not really what someone my age wants to be known for, are they? They’re the sort of traits which are better suited to a woman of middle age.’
‘And how old are you, Hannah?’ Kulal questioned kindly, finding himself suddenly engrossed in the kind of conversation he could never remember having before.
She lowered her lashes to shade her magnificent eyes. ‘Twenty-five.’
Twenty-five.
He had thought she was older. Or younger. Actually, when he stopped to think about it—and why would he have done that until a few moments ago?—she was of an indeterminate age. Her plain uniform dress was timeless and the high ponytail was like a flashback to those nineteen-fifties rock ’n’ roll films one of his tutors had once smuggled into the palace before being sacked for his libertarian attitude. It was only after the tutor had left that Kulal had realised how much he had protected him and his twin brother against the realities of life in the royal residence—and once he had gone, how the scales had fallen from their eyes. Suddenly, there had been no filter between them and their warring parents, who had turned the gleaming citadel of the palace into a gilded battlefield.
Was that why Kulal was overcome by a feeling of benevolence towards this humble soul, who stood before him? By a sudden curiosity to see what the chambermaid looked like as a real woman, rather than a drab servant who was old before her time? She had spoken with a certain resignation—as if her life up until then had been short of fun, and something about the submissive set of her shoulders told him his assessment was probably accurate. Kulal had never experienced poverty, but his powers of observation had been well honed and he noticed that her ugly black shoes—although carefully polished—were decidedly thin and worn.
So couldn’t he show her a little kindness? Wave a magic wand and introduce some glamour into her life? What if he took her as his guest to Salvatore’s party? His eyes narrowed in silent calculation. Such an action would ward off the attentions of hungry women who might have heard he was single again. And wouldn’t having a woman by his side free him up from having to spend any longer there than necessary? It wasn’t as if his intentions towards the chambermaid were questionable—and not just because she was a member of staff. Because he knew what women were like. He was soon to leave the island and the last thing he needed was her plaintive sobs because he had bedded her and she’d fallen ‘in love’ with him. He gave a silent nod of satisfaction. He was being benevolent, nothing more—and there was no doubt that the mischievous subterfuge of his proposal would add a certain spice to the party.
‘Are you busy tomorrow night?’ he questioned slowly.
Quickly, she looked up. ‘You mean, am I on duty? No, not officially, but if there’s something special you need me to do—it will be very welcome overtime, Your Royal Highness. I’ll just fill it in on my timesheet and submit it to Madame Martin.’
For a moment Kulal was irritated. So she thought of spending extra time with him in terms of the overtime, did she? Didn’t she realise the great honour he was about to offer her? It was an outrageous response yet, curiously, it spurred him on and not simply because he’d never been side-lined in such a way before. Because surely a young woman of twenty-five should be thinking about more than her salary—especially when she was living on this stunning Mediterranean island. Idly he wondered if she had ever worn silk next to that creamy skin which blushed so easily, or whether she had ever danced beneath the stars. Wasn’t it about time she did?
‘I’d like you to come to a party with me,’ he said.
Her face assumed a wary expression. ‘You mean, to work?’
‘No, not to work,’ he negated, a flick of his hand indicating his impatience. ‘As my guest.’
Her head jerked back. ‘Your guest?’
‘That’s right.’
Unvarnished nails on show, she splayed her fingers over her breastbone and let out an odd kind of squeak. ‘Me?’
‘Why not?’ he drawled. ‘You don’t strike me as someone who goes to many parties and I thought that all women liked parties, and the chance to dress up. Wouldn’t it be fun to do something different for a change?’
‘You’re inviting me to a party because you feel sorry for me?’ she said in a small voice.
‘Partially, yes,’ he agreed, surprised enough by the honesty of her question to give her an equally honest reply. ‘But your presence at my side will be advantageous to me.’
She screwed up her face. ‘I’m not sure why.’
‘It will deter other women from hitting on me. Because I’m not in the mood for predatory.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Frankly, I am bored with predatory.’
Her cheeks went very pink when he said that and she shifted awkwardly from one flat and clumpy black shoe to the other before shaking her head. ‘It’s very kind of you to ask me, Your Royal Highness, but I’m afraid I can’t do it.’
‘Can’t?’ Kulal frowned, because hesitation was one thing but refusal was something else. Something he wasn’t used to and would not tolerate. ‘Why not?’
‘Because members of staff aren’t allowed to fraternise with the guests. It’s a hotel rule and grounds for instant dismissal.’
His smile grew wolfish. ‘Only if they get to know about it.’
‘Everyone will know about it!’
‘How? This is a very exclusive party and it’s on the other side of the island. I doubt whether anyone else from the hotel will even be invited and even if they are, they aren’t going to recognise you.’
Again that suspicious look. ‘Why not?’
Kulal slanted her a smile, her genuine reluctance fuelling his determination. ‘Because you won’t be in uniform.’
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Wouldn’t you like to put on something pretty for a change?’ he continued. ‘To dress like a princess, even if it’s only for one night?’
‘I don’t have anything remotely princess-like in my wardrobe,’ she said woodenly.
‘Then let me fix it so that you do.’
Again, those aquamarine eyes narrowed with suspicion rather than the gratitude he would have expected.
‘How would you do that?’
‘Easy.’ Kulal shrugged. ‘All I have to do is pick up the phone and have one of my staff find you someone who deals with such matters. Someone discreet who can transform you into someone even you won’t recognise.’
‘You mean like Cinderella?’ she said slowly.
His lips curved, for his tutor had also taught him about the English obsession with fairy tales and their need to transpose them onto real life. ‘If you like.’
She tilted her chin upwards and, for the first time, he saw a flash of spirit in her aquamarine eyes. ‘Does that mean my clothes will turn back into rags at midnight?’
‘You can keep the dress, if that’s what you’re angling for.’
‘I wasn’t!’ she said, before shaking her head. ‘Look, it’s very nice of you to offer but it’s...it’s a crazy idea and I can’t do it. It’s too risky.’
‘Haven’t you ever taken a risk, Hannah?’ he questioned softly. ‘Haven’t you ever done something you shouldn’t?’
And that was what got to Hannah—the definite challenge in his voice, which was laced with slight contempt. She looked into the gleam of his hard eyes and thought about it. Of course she’d never done anything dangerous, because keeping to the straight and narrow had been the only way she and her sister had been able to survive. And that way of living had stuck to her like glue. She’d got the first job she’d applied for and kept her head down. She’d been cautious and careful and saved what little money she could and used her leisure time trying to make up for her woeful lack of education by studying.
Just as she kept fit by taking scenic hikes through the English countryside, which were beautiful as well as free. But she’d never done anything impetuous or stepped outside her comfort zone, and maybe it was starting to show. Was her attitude making her old before her time? Was that why she was considered a no-risk temptation for the sexy Sheikh? Frumpy Hannah Wilson who would one day look in the mirror and discover she’d become the lonely middle-aged woman she’d been channelling all these years.
She met the desert King’s mocking gaze, trying to ignore the sudden thrill of possibility which had started bubbling up inside her. Trying to dampen it down with her habitual sensible attitude, but suddenly the temptation was too strong for her to resist and she licked her lips.
Could she do it?
Should she do it?
And then she looked at him and her heart gave a dangerous leap. How could he manage to look so edgy even when he was doing something as benign as sitting in a chair, drinking coffee? With his black eyes and faintly mocking smile, he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever set eyes on and nobody like him was ever likely to make such a proposition to her again. So what if she was just there to protect him from predatory women, or if he was insisting on giving her some kind of makeover in case she disgraced him? Wouldn’t this be something to tell the grandchildren, if she ever found a man she wanted to marry and vice versa? Something to mention casually to Tamsyn next time her sister nagged her about leading such a boring life?
‘Very well, I’ll do it,’ she said, and, because he seemed to be waiting for something else, she stumbled out her thanks. ‘Th-thank you very much indeed, Your Royal Highness.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he drawled, eyes gleaming. ‘But if you’re going to do a convincing impression of being my date, you’re going to have to stop using my title—especially in that deferential way. Call me Kulal. Try to talk to me as if I was a normal date.’
As colour flooded into her cheeks Hannah wondered what he’d say if he knew she wasn’t really the kind of person who had normal dates. Nor any kind of date, really. ‘I’ll try.’
‘Go on, then. Say my name.’
He was gazing at her expectantly and Hannah found herself complying. ‘Kulal...’ she whispered, thinking how strange it felt to use his first name. More than strange. Just the sound of it coming from her lips felt...sexy.
‘Very good,’ he said, and smiled. ‘That wasn’t too difficult, was it?’
A look of complicity flowed from his black eyes and Hannah was aware that, with that simple exchange, something had been forged between them. A secret which separated them from the rest of the world. Wasn’t that called collusion?
The enormity of what she was about to do washed over her. ‘Nobody must...’ She looked at him and swallowed.
He raised his dark brows. ‘Nobody must what, Hannah?’ he prompted silkily.
‘Nobody must find out,’ she finished quickly. ‘Or I’ll lose my job.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
AT A RARE loss for words, Kulal stared at the woman who stood before him.
The little chambermaid...transformed!
He studied her for a long moment and felt a flicker of apprehension whisper over his skin. Would he so willingly have offered to have a stylist dress her if he’d realised that the end result was going to be quite so...tantalising? That the bodice of her silk dress would cling so entrancingly to her breasts—emphasising their lush weight in a way which the lemon uniform had only hinted at?
He swallowed. The long, floaty dress outlined her shapely legs and gave a glimpse of the bare toes which peeped from glittering sandals as she walked towards him. The functional ponytail was now a distant memory, and her hair tumbled in a dark and silky profusion around her shoulders and, dazedly, Kulal shook his head. Had he been completely naïve? he wondered impatiently. Had he played Pygmalion by bringing the curvy little statue to life, without even stopping to consider that her resulting sensuality was something he would now have to spend the rest of the evening resisting? Had he really thought he would be nothing but a cool onlooker, curiously observing the results of her expensive makeover? Yes, he had. He said something low and fervent in his native tongue and immediately she fixed him with a look of uncertainty.
‘You don’t like it?’ she said tentatively.
He didn’t quite trust himself to reply immediately. Instead, he turned the question round. ‘Do you?’
She shrugged and the movement drew his attention to the creamy swell of her breasts—as if any extra encouragement were needed!
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, her hands skating over the wide beam of her hips against which floated layers of ice-blue silk. ‘You don’t think it’s too much?’
‘Too much for what?’ he questioned roughly. ‘You certainly won’t be overdressed, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
It wasn’t. Hannah swayed a little on her skyscraper sandals. Her main worry was that she wouldn’t be able to live up to the image of what these clothes represented. Because she’d stared into the mirror and seen someone she didn’t recognise staring back. A polished woman exuding a sophistication which was fake. She felt like a fraud—which was exactly what she was. A hotel employee dressed up to look like one of the guests. What if someone started talking to her and realised that she hadn’t got much to say for herself—and that all the glossy potential of her appearance was false? What if someone sussed her out and reported her?
‘I’m worried how we’re going to get out of the hotel without me being noticed.’
He smiled suddenly as if he had decided to enjoy the subterfuge. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said airily. ‘It’s all taken care of.’
Hannah soon realised that Kulal wasn’t exaggerating—and that pretty much anything was possible when you were a king. He might not have a full entourage of staff in tow, but there were enough bodyguards and heavies who seemed to appear from out of nowhere to swarm around them in a protective coterie as they were taken through the maze of back corridors to the helipad outside where a helicopter was waiting. And even if anyone had bothered to spare Hannah a second glance—most eyes were on the imperious strut of the Sheikh, because he was the one who commanded everyone’s attention. Nobody would have guessed that the woman in the expensive dress and glittering jewels was really a humble chambermaid they’d barely noticed earlier.
She felt a little queasy as the helicopter made its swaying ascent into the sky but soon they were up amid the stars, looking down onto the twinkling lights of L’Idylle, and Hannah looked around her, breathless with wonder.
‘Ever been in one of these before?’ questioned Kulal above the sound of the clattering blades.
Hannah was so engrossed in the view that she spoke without thinking. ‘What do you think?’
Despite her undeniable lack of protocol, Kulal smiled. How refreshing it was to be out with someone so deliciously unsophisticated! Instead of hanging onto his every word, she was sitting exclaiming about the beauty of the stars. Unless that was an attempt to convince him that she had depth. He felt a slight whisper of self-admonishment as he acknowledged his own cynicism, wondering when such a jaded attitude had fixed itself firmly in his heart and taken root there.
You know when, he thought, unable to prevent the rush of memory which still had the power to make his heart clench with pain. When your mother took the ultimate revenge on your father and destroyed your faith in women for ever.
Did she feel his eyes on her? Was that why she turned, a look of uncertainty crossing over her face, as if she’d just remembered where she was—and who she was with. ‘You haven’t told me anything about this party,’ she said.
‘Like what?’
‘Well, like who’s throwing it, for a start.’
He leaned forward to alleviate the need to shout above the clatter of the blades. ‘An Italian property tycoon called Salvatore di Luca, who happens to be one of my oldest friends,’ he said huskily, his throat growing dry as the subtle fragrance of her perfume had a predictable if unwanted effect on his senses. ‘I first met him when I was studying in Norway.’
‘What were you studying?’
It was a long time since anyone had asked him that, but the interest in her eyes looked genuine. ‘A Master’s degree in energy and natural resources.’
‘Gosh. That sounds very high-powered. Did you like it?’
Kulal tensed. As much as it would have been possible to have liked anything at that time. He had used the course as an escape from the unbearable events at home, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He never talked about that. Not even with his twin brother, who had found her. Who had...
He cleared his throat, but it didn’t quite remove the bitter taste in his mouth. ‘I liked it well enough and it has been very useful to me in my role as Sheikh. Salvatore and I were on the same course and we’ve stayed in touch, although our lives are very different. He lives in Rome but has a holiday place here in Sardinia.’
‘So what’s the party in aid of?’
‘Why, me, of course,’ he said softly. ‘Once my old friend discovered I was working on the island, he wanted to show me some of the hospitality for which he is renowned.’
‘You don’t sound overjoyed about the prospect.’
He shrugged, as he spoke in a rare moment of candour. ‘Sometimes it becomes rather tedious always to be the focal point of people’s attention at these events.’
She chewed her lip. ‘So how are you planning to explain me?’
A slow smile curved his lips. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. I never have to explain anything,’ he said arrogantly. ‘Nobody need know your true identity. Tonight you can be whoever you want to be, Hannah.’
Hannah’s heart pounded. It felt as if he were waving another magic wand—a continuation of the spell which had made her into this glossy woman travelling by helicopter to a party. It was exciting but it was scary, too. She stole a glimpse at his hawk-like profile, knowing that she mustn’t make the mistake of believing this was real. Or that the desert King in the dark dress suit really was her date for the night.
The helicopter dipped downwards towards a pad fringed with burning torches where an imposing man was waiting to greet them—the flames painting his face with bronze and gold. The wind plastered Hannah’s dress against her legs as they emerged from the helicopter and her carefully dried hair blew wildly around her shoulders. Salvatore di Luca greeted Kulal with affection but his words to her were cursory—as if it was a waste of his time getting to know her. As if she was just one in a long line of women Kulal had brought to parties over the years.
Well, of course she was!
Taking care not to trip in her spindly sandals, Hannah followed the two men onto a terrace where the milling guests were assembled near the swimming pool. Tall trees were lit with fairy lights and flower-strewn tables were decked with candles whose flames barely flickered in the stillness of the evening air. The momentary silence which greeted their appearance was followed by a burst of excited chatter and Hannah could feel countless eyes boring into her. And suddenly she understood exactly what Kulal had meant. It was disconcerting to be the focus of everyone’s attention and she wondered if people could tell she was wearing a borrowed dress and jewels.
The sultry sound of jazz began to drift through the air and a voluptuous singer in a silver dress began warming up. Over by the gin bar Hannah could see a Hollywood A-lister who’d recently been dating a woman half his age—and surely that was a famously tearaway European princess doing an impressive yoga pose by the side of the swimming pool?
And that was when the fun really began. Well, for everyone except her. She seemed to be the only person who didn’t know anybody else and it was all too easy for Hannah to become tongue-tied. Her nerves weren’t helped by the fact that she happened to be with the most important person at the party and he was the only person they wanted to talk to. Even when Kulal introduced her to people, their interest was polite rather than genuine. A couple of times, she got shoved aside as if she was an impediment to the main attraction, but she acted as if it hadn’t happened, her smile as determinedly bright as the one she used at work if she happened to walk in on a couple having sex, who hadn’t bothered to put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.
But when a sparky blonde came up and started chattering to Kulal in what was obviously his native tongue, Hannah gave up. Why fight it? Why bother reaching for something which could never be hers? Didn’t matter how well she scrubbed up in the borrowed finery—it was all superficial. She was still the chambermaid. Still the outsider. Always had been and probably always would be.
Unnoticed, she walked across the crowded terrace and perched on the edge of a fountain so that she could people-watch and listen to the band. She saw people hovering around Kulal and couldn’t deny the sudden wistful punch to her heart as she surveyed his powerful physique and jet-dark hair. But the music and the scent of jasmine were pleasures in themselves and Hannah sat sipping at her cocktail, in which floated tiny violet flowers. She watched a waitress tottering along the edge of the swimming pool carrying a tray of drinks, a deliberate sway of her curvy bottom as she passed the Sheikh only adding to her precarious posture.
She’s going to drop those if she isn’t careful, thought Hannah anxiously, just as the loud crash of crystal hitting marble tiles shattered the buzz of the party.
It was almost comic, the way everyone stared at the waitress scrabbling around amid the debris, as if she were an alien who’d just fallen from space. Quickly, Hannah put her glass down and went to help, crouching down and stilling the woman’s shaking fingers, terrified she was going to slice her hand open. The chatter resumed as Hannah took over the clear-up operation, becoming so engrossed in her task that it wasn’t until she’d dropped the final piece of crystal onto the tray that she suddenly became aware of someone standing over her.
Looking up, she met Kulal’s bemused expression and was still so caught up in what she was doing that she spoke to him almost absently. ‘Do you think you could get me a dustpan and brush from somewhere?’
‘A dustpan and what?’ he echoed incredulously.
She realised he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and was wondering how to explain what it was—perhaps by some elaborate form of charade—when a waiter came over and started berating the waitress in a torrent of furious French.
‘Come,’ said Kulal firmly, pulling her to her feet. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough. Let them sort it out among themselves. Unless you’re planning to put on an apron and take over her job for the rest of the evening? Do you ever stop working, Hannah?’
In the darkness, Hannah blushed as she registered his sardonic tone. ‘I couldn’t just leave the poor girl to struggle by herself—and nobody else was bothering to help, were they?’
‘Not everybody here has your skill-set,’ he said drily.
She realised that his hand was at her elbow and he was leading her away from the curious eyes of the onlookers, towards the shadowed lawns which stretched out behind the swimming pool. It was peaceful here. And deserted, too. She could still hear the music, but it was just her and Kulal—who had a look on his face which was mid-way between irritation and amusement.
‘Are you enjoying the party?’ he questioned.
‘It was very kind of you to bring me.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked, Hannah.’
Awkwardly, she shrugged. ‘I’m glad I came.’
‘Oh?’
She hesitated, but something in the piercing gleam of his black eyes made her answer his question truthfully. ‘It made me realise that high-society parties aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.’
‘And why might that be?’
She hesitated only for a second. ‘Well, nobody really talks about anything very much, do they? All the men seemed so competitive and most of the women were all over you like a rash, which made me think that bringing me here wasn’t as effective as you’d hoped. Or maybe I’m cramping your style.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘In which case, I could easily make myself scarce until you’re ready to go, if that’s what you want.’
Kulal felt a tug of admiration. He’d heard people around him exclaiming in horror when the little chambermaid had been crouching down, careless of the way her costly dress had been rucked up around her bare thighs, yet he had admired the way she had leapt to the defence of the hapless waitress. And now, instead of plying him with saccharine words of gratitude, she was echoing his very own sentiments about these kinds of occasions.
His eyes narrowed. People rarely told him what he needed to hear—only what they thought he wanted to hear, and the two were rarely the same. And suddenly the desire to feel her in his arms was overwhelming. Too overwhelming to resist—and why should he? What harm would it do? ‘Dance with me instead,’ he said.
Hannah blinked at him. ‘What, here?’
‘Right here.’
Perhaps if he’d insisted on taking her to the small dance floor in front of the band, where they would have been visible to the other partygoers, Hannah might have refused. But he didn’t. He just pulled her into his arms as if he danced on moonlit lawns every night of the week and every bit of apprehension drained from her body. Because what woman would have objected to being held by the Sheikh like this? Hadn’t this been one of the forbidden fantasies she’d tried not to have while she’d been working for him? Only she was discovering that sometimes reality exceeded the fantasy—exceeded it in a way which was outside her understanding.
Suddenly, the dance seemed irrelevant to what was happening inside her body. Her nipples had become rock-hard and she wondered if he could feel them pushing insistently against his dress shirt. And now there was a distracting ache, low in her belly, and she knew she needed to stop this before she did something she regretted—like whispering her lips along the darkened edge of his jaw and begging him to kiss her. Her cheeks were burning as she pulled away from him and she met the hectic glitter of his dark gaze.
‘I think I’d better go back now,’ she said huskily. ‘To the hotel, I mean.’
‘Oh?’ On the shadowed lawn, he raised a laconic eyebrow. ‘Why?’
You know why. Because you’re making me want things I have no right to want. Because I’m a virgin and you’re a man of the world and I’ve spent my whole life being cautious.
‘I’m tired,’ she said.
He must have known it was an excuse, but he didn’t query it. Maybe he realised that it was the right thing to do. Or the only thing to do. There was a brief silence before he nodded. ‘Okay. I could use an early night myself. Let’s go.’
And wasn’t human nature unpredictable? Because as soon as Kulal agreed to her request, Hannah began to regret her decision. Couldn’t she have danced with him a bit longer? Enjoyed what was happening without making such a big deal of it and bringing the evening to such an abrupt end?
The waiting helicopter whisked them back through the starry skies and her heart was racing as they crept through the hotel corridors. But they managed to slip into Kulal’s private elevator and make it back to the penthouse suite without being seen. The usual inscrutable bodyguards lined the corridor but Hannah had become so used to seeing them that she barely gave them a second glance. She came to a halt outside the door to her room and stared up into Kulal’s carved features, wondering if she ought to offer to turn down his bed for him before she retired for the night. Until she drew herself up short. Was she crazy? Was she planning to tiptoe into his vast bedroom and leave a chocolate on the pillowcase?
‘Thank you very much for the evening, Your Royal Highness,’ she said formally as she pushed the door open. ‘I’ll put the dress, shoes and necklace into a bag and drop it off first thing and now I’ll say goodnight.’
The Sheikh didn’t appear to be listening; he was too busy looking over her shoulder into her room, his black eyes thoughtful. ‘It’s very small,’ he observed, his gaze skating over the narrow bed and functional furniture.
‘Of course it’s small,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m staff, remember?’
But Kulal wasn’t really thinking about her status right then. He wasn’t really thinking about anything other than the frustration which was heating his blood and refusing to be cooled by reason. He had been very turned on during that tantalisingly brief dance and, despite all his best intentions, had been contemplating brushing his fingertips over her luscious breasts when she’d pulled away and told him she wanted to go home. He remembered feeling startled because that had never happened before—not unless it was with the expectation that they would quickly adjourn to the nearest bedroom. But not with this little chambermaid. She was primly saying goodnight to him as though that was exactly what she wanted, even though the darkening of her aquamarine eyes left him in no doubt that their desire was mutual.
If he was being sensible, he would turn away. Go to his room and kill off his ardour with an icy shower. And maybe, instead of flying straight to Zahristan tomorrow, he could take a detour via Sweden—call in on that delicious blonde actress he’d never got around to bedding a few years back. Hadn’t she sent him a text the other day, disingenuously saying she was sorry to hear about his recent relationship break-up? He thought what else she had written as a postscript, making it graphically clear she wanted him as her lover.
But he didn’t want that woman with her bony hips which would grind into a man’s flesh like weapons. He wanted softness and voluptuousness. Lush breasts he could bury his head in and a trembling mouth he could plunder to his heart’s content. For the first time in his life, he wanted someone who was outside his realm of experience—was it novelty value which made him hunger for the little chambermaid so much?
He pulled Hannah into his arms and saw her eyes widen as he began to run his fingertip down her spine.
‘Kulal?’ she whispered.
‘Yes?’ he whispered back, lowering his head so that their mouths were centimetres apart. He was close enough to kiss her, but he paused long enough to allow her to shake her head. To give her a second opportunity to pull away from him. Because that was the right thing to do, even if every atom in his hungry body rebelled against such an idea.
But she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted and as lust fired in his belly, he knew he wasn’t going to take her back to his own bedroom. That he had no desire to walk past the line of bodyguards stationed there, even though they had witnessed countless transgressions such as this in the past. And maybe it was better this way. Less intimidating for her—and certainly more novel for him. He pulled her a little closer and felt his erection grow even harder.
‘Wh-what are you doing, Kulal?’ she questioned breathlessly.
It occurred to him that women were rarely original at moments like this. What did she think he was doing—writing a research paper on solar energy? He allowed his lips to drift over the silky texture of her neck, his words muffled by the lazy indulgence of that first, slow kiss. ‘I think we both know the answer to that question. I’m going to make love to you, that’s if you want me to—which I think you do.’
Hannah swallowed, trying to fight the feelings which were fluttering inside her. She should tell him to stop before this went any further. Before he started to touch her trembling breasts, which were aching to be touched. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. How could she turn her back on something which felt so wonderful? The most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced. She hadn’t realised that being in a man’s arms could make you feel like this—as if you could leap up into the air and just fly. She made a helpless little sound as his mouth brushed along her jaw and her eyelids flickered to a close. Was that his tongue she could feel, trailing an erotic and moist little path over her skin? She shivered as he did it again. Yes, it was.
She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for some kind of response, but she guessed she gave one when she suddenly folded her arms tightly around his shoulders.
‘I’m taking it that’s a yes?’ he said on a low growl.
‘It’s certainly not a no,’ she said, with a boldness she hadn’t known she possessed.
He laughed as he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind them and then he was kissing her properly. Or maybe that should have been improperly. His hands were sliding over her silky dress as he murmured something in a language she didn’t understand. But maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe this was something which was meant to be enjoyed without commitment or expectation. And didn’t they say that the language of love was universal?
She should have felt shy as he slid her zip down and peeled the delicate dress from her body, but she didn’t. Not when it seemed that her voluptuous curves pleased him. The stylist who had transformed her had insisted on matching underwear and Hannah was glad now that she had agreed. Glad she was wearing a deceptively delicate bra which disguised the fact that it had needed to do a lot of elemental support work. Deftly, he unclipped it and as her breasts came spilling out, he gave another appreciative murmur before locking his hot lips around one thrusting nipple. Hannah gasped—she couldn’t help it. She felt as if she’d taken a one-way trip to heaven. As if she’d found something she hadn’t believed existed. And suddenly she wanted to touch him.To feel the Sheikh’s skin beneath her fingers.
With the nimbleness which had made her the finest chambermaid in the Granchester group, she slid free the mother-of-pearl buttons to liberate his powerful chest, her hands running greedily over the hard muscle which sheathed the silken skin. Was that what made him groan like that? What made him pick her up as if she were composed of nothing heavier than feathers, before carrying her towards the tiny single bed and depositing her on the mattress?
And still she didn’t feel shy—not even as he removed the clothes from his body, his eyes not leaving her face. Nor when he was completely naked and leaning over to slither her panties all the way down her thighs and she felt cool air wash over her naked skin. There was no time to feel anything—other than a joyful recognition of the greedy hunger which was spiralling up inside her, so that when Kulal lay down on top of her—because the bed wasn’t really big enough for any other kind of combination—all Hannah could do was to give a shuddering little moan of relief.
‘You like that?’ he said, a smile playing around the edges of his lips as he gazed down at her, his hand between her thighs.
Was he referring to the fact that she could feel his blunt hardness pushing unashamedly against her belly? Or was it one of those questions which didn’t really require an answer—not when he was now discovering the molten heat between her legs with a finger which was making her writhe with pleasure?
‘This is crazy!’ Hannah gasped. ‘I can’t—’
‘Oh, yes, you can,’ he said, his tongue snaking over her breasts until her nipples felt as if they were going to explode.
And who was she to contradict him, when their bodies seemed to fit together as if they had been made for each other? When she was so hungry for him that she even managed to giggle as he clumsily tore open what was obviously protection and heard him give a muffled curse. She didn’t stop to think, or to question why he just happened to be carrying a condom around with him because for the first time in her life, Hannah hadn’t just stepped outside her comfort zone—she’d taken a great flying leap into unknown territory.
And she loved it.
She loved everything about it. Kissing him and touching him. Running her fingers through the tousled splendour of his thick black hair. Skating her palms over the honed planes of his spectacular body until he bit out that he couldn’t take much more. Suddenly, she wasn’t humble Hannah Wilson any more—but a woman who seemed to be able to drive this hawk-faced man wild with desire. Her initial shyness had been melted away by their rapidly growing intimacy, and suddenly Hannah realised he was pushing her thighs open to enter her.
The next few seconds were a bit of a blur. There was a little bit of pain—though not very much. And there was undeniable surprise on the face of the Sheikh as he stilled, mid-thrust. But then their bodies seemed to take over and everything else got forgotten when he started moving again until she was gasping out words she hadn’t realised she knew. She heard herself making broken little pleas as she hovered on the edge of something which seemed tantalisingly out of reach.
But at last she found it. And it wasn’t just what she had thought it might be—it was more. So much more. She gave a disbelieving cry, and as she began to convulse around the Sheikh’s thrusting hardness, he gave a low and exultant shout of his own. And as Hannah felt his big body quivering with pleasure, she found herself thinking that she never wanted this night to end.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
‘SO WHEN WERE you planning to tell me?’
Swallowing down the nausea which was rising in her throat, Hannah looked at her little sister, trying not to react to the accusing stare which had accompanied her accusing words. Trying to convince herself that Tamsyn couldn’t possibly know—not when she’d only just found out herself.
‘Tell you what?’ she questioned weakly.
‘About your pregnancy, of course,’ hissed Tamsyn. ‘Or were you planning to keep it a great big secret until you were just about to pop?’
Hannah swallowed again, only this time the saltiness in her throat felt suspiciously like the taste of tears—and she’d convinced herself she wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t, she thought fiercely. Because tears wouldn’t solve anything. She’d learnt that the hard way.
‘How did you know?’ she whispered.
‘Hello? Are you serious?’ Tamsyn filled up the kettle, not appearing to notice that she was splashing water all over Hannah’s carefully polished tiles. ‘It must be obvious to everyone.’
‘Nobody at the Granchester knows,’ said Hannah quickly.
‘Really? Well, maybe the other staff don’t have eyes in their heads or maybe I just know you better than anyone, but it’s as obvious to me as the nose on your face. Look at you, Hannah—your breasts are enormous and your complexion looks green...’
‘Thanks,’ said Hannah tonelessly.
‘I can’t believe it. You, of all people.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Tamsyn shrugged. ‘You’re the one who was always so good. Who never put a foot wrong.’
Hannah didn’t answer, just stared up into her sister’s bewildered face. It was true. She’d been the model child. The peacemaker. The quiet one who had learnt that saying as little as possible and pretending the bad stuff wasn’t happening was the best way for things to get back to normal. Whatever normal was. But this was one situation where pretending it wasn’t happening wasn’t going to work.
‘So who’s the daddy, Hannah?’ continued Tamsyn. ‘I didn’t even realise you were in a relationship.’
Because she wasn’t in a relationship, that was why. Hannah leaned back in the armchair and closed her eyes, not wanting to betray her fear, knowing that sooner or later she was going to have to come clean. To say the words out loud. Because words would make it real. They would confirm what up until now had just been a nagging fear.
She was pregnant.
She was carrying the desert King’s child beneath her thundering heart.
Her mind took her back to that crazy night when Kulal had laid her down on that narrow single bed, his black eyes full of intent as he had run a careless thumb over her thrusting nipple. What had happened next had seemed inevitable—but that wasn’t really true. She could have stopped him. He’d given her every opportunity to do so, but she had just carried on regardless. She had broken every rule in the book—and she wasn’t just thinking about the Granchester’s strict policy of not fraternising with guests. Hadn’t she clung onto her virginity as if it was something very precious? Hadn’t it been a big deal for her, having seen what the fallout from casual sex could be? While most women her age seemed content to be free with their bodies, Hannah had been the opposite—as prim as a woman from a different age.
And she had surrendered all that innocence to a man who had simply taken it as his due! Who afterwards had looked at the ceiling with a reflective look on his hawk-like features.
‘I’ve never done it in such a narrow bed before,’ he had observed thoughtfully, his fingers sliding between her thighs and easing them apart. ‘I think it adds a certain something.’
But even that arrogant boast hadn’t been enough to kill her hunger for him. Instead, she had just turned to him with silent invitation in her eyes and he’d done it to her all over again. And again. She remembered the intensity of feelings which had seemed to explode inside her, like a bomb which been waiting a long time to be detonated. Was that why she had responded like someone she didn’t really know—showing a side of herself she hadn’t realised existed? Like a wildcat, she thought guiltily. Like...
She remembered what he’d said, just before the first time.
‘You want this, Hannah?’
‘Yes.’
‘And so do I. But it’s one night only—do you understand? Not just because I am a king and you a chambermaid, and our positions in life are so incompatible. The truth is that I’ve just come out of a relationship and I’m not looking for another one. If you want more than that, I cannot give it to you and I’ll walk out of this room right now and leave you alone, no matter how hard I might find it.’
But Hannah had been powerless to resist him. How could she have resisted him when just looking into those gleaming black eyes had made her want to melt?
‘One night is fine with me,’ she had whispered back.
‘So who’s the daddy?’ repeated Tamsyn, cutting impatiently into Hannah’s uncomfortable thoughts.
And that was when Hannah realised that the tables were turned for the first time in their lives. That Tamsyn, for all her wildness, had never presented with a problem as big as this. A problem which seemed insurmountable. Which had made her thoughts spin with increasing desperation, ever since she’d first seen that blue line on the pregnancy test.
‘You won’t be able to keep it a secret for ever, you know.’ Tamsyn poured boiling water into the teapot before looking up. ‘Is it that bloke who works in the accounts department—the one you got off with at the Christmas party?’
Hannah shuddered. No way. That particular encounter had ended humiliatingly when he’d shoved his hand up her jumper and she’d jumped away and told him she didn’t want sex in the stationery cupboard, and he had sneered and told her she was fat and frigid.
She certainly hadn’t jumped away in horror when Kulal had touched her, had she?
But she knew Tamsyn was right. She couldn’t keep it a secret. She had no right to do that. And wasn’t the truth of it that if she disregarded her thoughtless and stupid behaviour... She swallowed again. If she thought about the reality rather than the repercussions—then she couldn’t deny the unexpected sense of excitement which was bubbling away inside her. She was going to have a baby and she would love and protect that baby with all her heart, just as she’d done for her little sister—no matter what obstacles lay ahead.
‘His name is Kulal.’ For the first time since she’d lain in his arms she said his name out loud and even as she uttered it, she thought how bizarre it was that her very first lover should have been the influential desert King.
‘Nice name,’ said Tamsyn approvingly. ‘What’s he like?’
And here it was—in all its unvarnished and frankly unbelievable truth.
‘He’s...well, he’s very powerful and dynamic.’
‘Really?’
She heard the doubt in Tamsyn’s voice which she couldn’t quite disguise and, for the first time in her life, Hannah wasn’t sure how to respond. Because she had always been the one who came armed with words of wisdom. Words to soothe and comfort. There hadn’t been a single bad situation during their growing up which she hadn’t felt equipped to deal with.
Until now.
Had she been guilty of thinking she was so clever—so invulnerable—that she would never find herself in a situation like this? Well, here was reality—about to teach her the hardest lesson of all.
‘He’s a sheikh,’ she said.
Tamsyn screwed up her face. ‘What are you talking about?’
Hannah swallowed. ‘The father of my baby. He’s a...’ She cleared her throat because not only did it sound unbelievable—it also sounded slightly grandiose. ‘A desert king,’ she finished quietly.
She could see that Tamsyn was trying not to laugh, but then the gravity of the situation must have hit her and the smile was wiped from her sister’s wide mouth. ‘This is no joking matter,’ she said crossly.
‘I’m not joking—he is a desert king.’
‘Hannah.’ Tamsyn glared. ‘You’re not experienced. You don’t realise what men are like. They say all kinds of things when they’re trying to get a woman to—’
‘He is!’ declared Hannah, with an uncharacteristic burst of fervour because usually, she trod carefully where Tamsyn was concerned. ‘He’s called Sheikh Kulal Al Diya and he’s the King of Zahristan.’
‘Good...grief.’ There was a pause and then, the tea-making forgotten, Tamsyn slumped against the sink, her eyes wide. ‘Not...not the one in the papers who was described as—’
‘One of the world’s most eligible bachelors?’ supplied Hannah. ‘Yes, that’s him.’
‘But...how? I mean, how?’
The question was well-meant, but it hurt. Because Tamsyn’s incredulity said a lot. It said: how could someone like Kulal have possibly become involved with a woman like her? Yet Hannah was in no position to criticise her sister’s disbelief, when she felt pretty much that way herself.
‘He needed a partner to take to a fancy party.’
‘And he chose you?’
Hannah drew her shoulders back and spoke to Tamsyn with uncharacteristic coolness. ‘Yes, he did. I was working for him.’
‘As a chambermaid?’
‘As a chambermaid,’ Hannah agreed tightly. ‘I was assigned to work solely for him. Sometimes we used to chat about stuff. We got on quite...well.’
Tamsyn gave a raucous laugh. ‘I’ll say. So you went off to a party with him and...?’
‘I’m not going to spell it out for you, Tamsyn—it’s pretty obvious what happened.’
Tamsyn looked momentarily surprised—as if this new and rather bolshie sister, who usually trod so carefully, was taking a little getting used to. She nodded. ‘So what are you planning to do?’
Hannah hesitated before answering because this was the bit she still wasn’t quite clear about. Because the moment she told him, she would lose control over the situation. Instinct told her that. Kulal wasn’t just a powerful man—he was also a desert king and weren’t royals notoriously possessive about their heirs? The truth was that she didn’t know how he would respond because she didn’t really know him. He might try to take control of her and the baby. He might deny all responsibility and send her packing. In many ways, it would be easier all round if she just crept away and brought up the baby on her own without bothering to tell him.
A long sigh escaped from her lips. It would be easier, yes—but deep down she knew she couldn’t go through with it. Because Hannah had grown up never knowing or meeting her father, and she knew all about the huge emotional hole that could leave at the centre of a child’s existence. There were risks involved in letting him know—of course there were—but these were risks she had to take.
‘I’m going to tell him, of course,’ she said. ‘As soon as you’ve gone, I’m going to telephone him.’
The only problem being that she didn’t actually have a number for him, because he hadn’t given her one. Well, why would he, when he’d never been intending to see her again? There had been one final, lingering kiss and Hannah, completely exhausted after their energetic night, had fallen into a deep sleep. And when she’d woken up, he was gone. The penthouse suite along the corridor had been cleared of all evidence that Kulal had stayed there. The bodyguards had disappeared and so had the Sheikh’s luggage. Even the fancy dress and priceless necklace were gone, presumably on their way back to the stylist. It might have all been a dream, were it not for the pleasurable aching of her body. And yet she had still been suffering from some kind of delusion, hadn’t she? There had still been a stupid part of her which had wondered if he might have left her a note or something.
But whisking her way around his suite—supposedly giving it the most thorough cleaning of its life—had failed to produce any kind of sentiment that Kulal Al Diya would ever give her another thought. Hannah had felt flat—there was no denying it. It had been the most spectacular introduction to sex and now she was going to have to resign herself to her usual frigid life. Yet it had been more than that. In his arms, she had felt like a woman who was capable of anything. He had been tender with her. And passionate. In fact, he had been everything a woman dreamt a man could be.
Maybe it was easy to be that way when you knew you were never going to see someone again. When you knew that you weren’t even going to have to speak to them in the morning. She told herself she should be grateful he’d just crept away in the early hours, because the reality of waking up in that cramped staff bedroom would have been embarrassing. Would she have boiled the electric kettle which was jammed onto one of the shelves and offered to make him a mug of herb tea? Then watched as he put on his clothes and tried to make his escape as quickly as possible?
She’d tried to feel indignant that he’d beat such a hasty retreat, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to be angry with him. Had she somehow been aware—on a deep, subliminal level—that the cells of his child were already multiplying rapidly inside her? Was that why she found it so difficult to stop thinking about him, with a heart that beat a little too fast and a soft yearning which made her feel uncomfortable?
But Hannah knew that feelings passed. All of them. And that eventually the intensity of what was happening to you faded with time. She’d told herself to be grateful that nobody at the Granchester had found out and her job was safe. She’d got away with it, scot-free. Or so she’d thought. She had worked for two more weeks at the Sardinian hotel before returning to London, just in time to discover that her period was late and to try to deny to herself why that might be. Until denial was no longer an option...
Hannah clicked onto the Zahristan website but, naturally, there was no handy link to the King’s email account. She found the number of the Embassy in London and tried ringing, in the hope of being able to convey a subtle message through one of the diplomats. But the phone system was automated and her dilemma didn’t fall into the category of someone visiting the country who was chasing up their visa. She supposed she could mail Kulal a letter and emblazon it with ‘private and confidential’—but there was no guaranteeing he would receive it unopened. The embassy might think it was from a crackpot and even if they didn’t, it meant that the Sheikh would discover he was going to be a father after his staff had found out. Hannah knew very little about royal protocol, but even she could recognise that would be a big mistake. A very big mistake.
She needed to tell him in person—but how?
There was a solution—to use the money she’d been squirrelling away since she’d first started work. The little sums of money which had grown, bit by bit, into a halfway decent sum which would one day become a deposit on a home of her own.
Could she break into it to buy herself an airline ticket to Zahristan?
Her heart began to pound. There was no other option—because how else was she going to get to see Kulal? But that money was sacrosanct and symbolic. She’d promised herself she would never touch it and now fear washed over her as she realised that once again she wasn’t playing safe. Because this wasn’t risk-averse Hannah. This was more of the same Hannah who had leapt into bed with the desert King, when deep down she’d known she shouldn’t. Her hand went down to cradle her belly because she knew she had little choice. She’d protected Tamsyn when they had been growing up—just as she would protect her baby now. She didn’t know how Kulal would respond, but that wasn’t her problem. She needed to give their child the best possible chance—and everything else was outside her control.
And surely he would have the decency to refund her air fare?
Which was how she ended up in a plane, crossing the Murjaan Sea and heading towards the Sheikh’s homeland.
She was fortunate that Zahristan had opened its borders a decade ago, after winning the war with neighbouring Quzabar, and fortunate that she had enough annual leave to book herself a last-minute break. She couldn’t decide if it was good fortune or fate that her visa-acquiring trip to the Zahristan Embassy had introduced her to a helpful woman called Elissa. Elissa had informed her that visitors were allowed access to the Sheikh’s palace every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, and His Royal Highness was actively encouraging trips from foreign visitors. At this, Hannah’s heart had leapt—because surely she could engineer some kind of meeting if she gained access to Kulal’s home.
After consulting a weather map, she discovered that the temperature of her destination was roasting and so she used some more of her precious savings to buy some suitable clothes. Inexpensive clothes in natural fabrics in light colours which wouldn’t absorb the heat. Clothes which would disguise her tender breasts which were the only outward sign of her pregnancy. But most important of all—new clothes which meant she wouldn’t turn up at a fancy palace looking like a tramp.
The flight was long and her limbs felt cramped, because she hadn’t wanted to squander any of her precious money upgrading her seat. She tried distracting herself by reading what was supposed to be the definitive history of Zahristan, but the clunky paragraphs didn’t manage to hold her attention for long. For a long time, the book lay open on the same page as she wondered what would happen when she finally gained access to Kulal. Would she be thrown in some dark jail—forced to wait for the British consulate to come and bail her out and put her on the next flight to England, with a fierce lecture on compromising international diplomacy ringing in her ears?
But even if the worst happened and she didn’t get within a hundred yards of him, at least she would have tried.
Hannah stared out of the plane window—at the seemingly endless expanse of desert. As the aircraft began to descend, she could see the welcome green of palm trees and in the distance a gleam of water, surrounded by tents. And now they were approaching a city—with turrets and gleaming spires, just like in a fairy tale. There were flashes of blue and lots of gold. This must be Ashkhazar, which she’d just read about. A rich city with a troubled history. Hadn’t Kulal mentioned it briefly when she had run her fingertip over the raised scar which ran from nipple to groin and was the only blemish which marred his perfect body? But he hadn’t wanted to talk about what had caused it. The truth was he hadn’t wanted to talk about anything much, except how much he liked her breasts. Well, he was going to have to talk about his baby, whether he liked it or not.
And then her stomach gave a flip as the airport watchtower grew closer and she closed her eyes as the huge aircraft began to swoop towards the runway.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
FROM BEHIND THE tinted windows of his heavily bullet-proofed car, Kulal watched the plane land and he felt a wave of anger as the passengers began to disembark.
He saw her immediately—instantly recognisable, and not just because she was the only woman travelling solo.
Did she really think she could sneak into his homeland without him getting wind of it?
Her head was uncovered, but at least her shoulders were not bare. She was wearing a pale dress which hung almost to her ankles. It was a modest dress, even by Zahristan standards, but it failed to disguise the generous curve of her breasts or the womanly swell of her buttocks, and Kulal’s jaw tightened. It would be easier all round if he simply had her brought to his car for the short drive to the city but that might amount to something resembling an official welcome and he would not countenance that. He watched as another black limousine edged onto the tarmac and one of his most trusted aides got out of the car.
Kulal spoke rapidly to his driver. ‘Wait until Najib gets her into the limousine,’ he bit out. ‘And then tail them.’
‘Yes, sire.’
He didn’t say another word during the journey which followed, his eyes fixed resolutely on the car in front of them as they drove at speed through the wide roads which led into the city. When the first limousine drew to a halt, he could see the look of consternation on Hannah’s face as she gazed up at the impressive gilded façade of the famous building and for a moment, he wondered if she might refuse to go inside and then what would they do? But Najib was a master at getting people to carry out his master’s wishes and within minutes, she was walking up the marble steps, while yet another aide carried her single suitcase.
He waited for several minutes before discreetly entering the building, two of his bodyguards tailing him like shadows. But as the elevator ascended, Kulal found his thoughts drifting back to another similar ride—when he had been obsessed by the rise and fall of Hannah’s magnificent breasts, covered in the delicate silk of the dress he had ordered for her to wear to the party. Had he been completely insane? Carried away by what he’d convinced himself was nothing but an altruistic action to give the little chambermaid a well-deserved treat, without bothering to examine the real motive of desire which was bubbling beneath the surface of his intentions? Probably. His mouth hardened into a grim mockery of a smile. Didn’t they say that men were architects of their own destruction?
The elevator doors opened and as he strode along the corridor he saw Najib standing sentry outside a door, his face inscrutable.
‘What did she say?’ questioned Kulal as he grew close, and Najib gave a brief bow before shrugging.
‘She was a little militant at first, sire—but then she seemed to grow resigned to her fate and offered no resistance.’
‘Good. Let us hope that state of affairs continues. Stand back, Najib.’
‘Should I not accompany you inside, sire?’
Briefly, Kulal’s lips curved. ‘You think the little Englishwoman will attack me?’
‘I thought I saw fire in her eyes, sire.’
Kulal’s lips hardened. ‘The fire will soon be doused, Najib. Make no mistake about that.’
He pushed open the door and saw Hannah. She was standing by the window, as if she had been staring out onto the magnificent mixture of ancient and new to be found in the city streets outside. At the sound of the door closing, she whirled round and his first thought was that Najib had been right. That was definitely fire he could see in her eyes—something he had not witnessed in all the time she had serviced his penthouse suite. The blaze of aquamarine as she glared at him almost dazzled him and she must have been shaking her head because gleaming strands of mahogany hair had broken free from the confinement of their elastic band and were tumbling in glorious disarray around her shoulders. For a few distracting seconds, he felt the instant flare of lust before instinctively subduing it. Because wasn’t it lust which had got him into this predicament?
‘Would you mind telling me what is going on?’ she demanded, her voice rising. ‘Why I was bundled off the plane and into a waiting car as if I was some sort of criminal? And why I’ve been brought here—to this fancy hotel—when I have a room reservation at the Souk Vista Hostel?’
Kulal had been anticipating many reactions, but such a feisty question from a woman of her stature only confirmed his suspicions about the reason for her journey. His eyes narrowed, for although he had encountered determination from ex-lovers many times in the past—nobody had ever been quite as audacious as Hannah Wilson. Well, she would soon discover that coming here had been a big mistake. A very big mistake.
‘I assume you wanted to see me,’ he said coolly. ‘So I thought I would curtail any unnecessary time-wasting by bringing you straight here.’
‘When your aide said...’ For a moment her confidence appeared to waver. ‘When he said he was taking me to the palace...’
Kulal’s lips curved into a smile he fully intended to be cruel because now he was dealing with something he’d encountered ever since he first became aware that his blood was blue, and he was in possession of connections most people could only dream of. Was that what Hannah ultimately wanted? he wondered cynically. A share of his unimaginable riches and access to his privileged life? In which case, perhaps it was necessary to teach her a small lesson—just to set the matter straight before she let her imagination run away with itself. ‘And you thought they meant they were bringing you to my palace?’ he queried, his gaze deliberately lingering on the golden logo of a crown which was embroidered onto one of the napkins which adorned a gleaming table. ‘Rather than the Royal Palace Hotel?’
The dull flush of her cheeks told Kulal his guess had been accurate and, mockingly, he raised his eyebrows. ‘I hope you aren’t too disappointed, Hannah. Did you think our one night together would entitle you to enjoy some of the perks of having a royal lover? And that I would be taking you on a sightseeing tour of the fabled gardens of my palace, or dipping into the Al Diya jewellery collection to present you with a precious bauble?’
‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly.
‘I thought you would feel more at home in a hotel,’ he added carelessly. ‘And of course, it carries the extra benefit of not compromising me in any way.’
It was the most patronising thing she’d ever heard and Hannah had to suck in a deep breath to stop herself from shaking, telling herself that nothing would be achieved by giving into the rage which was smouldering inside her, like a fire which refused to die. Because showing your feelings made you vulnerable—and she had the scars to prove it. Letting emotion get the better of you was a bad idea. Remaining cool and calm was the first law of survival—she knew that. But although she’d spent most of her life following that creed, she wasn’t finding it so easy right now. Were her fluctuating hormones once again to blame—making her react in a way which was alien to her? Or did none of the usual rules apply now that she had an unborn child to protect?
Because things were different now and she needed to recognise that. When she’d been looking after Tamsyn, she’d been nothing but a child herself and her options had been limited. But she was an adult now. She might not have Kulal’s material wealth or power, but she was resourceful as only someone in a dilemma could be and would not be treated like some docile little prisoner.
So stick to the facts.
‘You don’t even know why I’m here,’ she said.
‘Of course I do.’
She blinked at him and gulped. ‘You do?’
‘Oh, Hannah.’ He gave a short laugh before his hawk-like features hardened into a cynical expression. ‘You wouldn’t need to be a genius to work it out. You’ve decided that you’re in love with me, haven’t you?’
For one stomach-churning second, Hannah actually thought she might be sick. But it wasn’t just the Sheikh’s swaggering arrogance which she found so nauseating—it was the way he had said the word love. As if it were some unspeakable type of illness. As if it were something beneath his contempt... Clenching and unclenching her fingers, she looked up at him, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘You have been pining for me, I guess,’ he said softly, before shrugging his broad shoulders. ‘That in itself is not unusual—but the fact that I took your virginity has probably given our night together more significance than it warrants. Am I right, Hannah?’
Hannah flinched, wondering how she could ever have fallen into the arms of someone so unspeakably arrogant.
You know how, whispered the voice of her conscience. Because he’s so irresistible—even now, when he’s looking down his haughty nose at you.
Because despite the insulting reception he’d given her, she was far from immune to the attraction which had got her into all this trouble in the first place.
In Sardinia, she had only ever seen Kulal dressed in western clothes. Faded jeans and T-shirts, impeccably cut business suits or, on that fateful night, a dark dinner suit, just like those worn by all the other men at the party. But today, he was looking emphatically sheikh-like in a robe of white silk which flowed down over his muscular body. A matching headdress, held in place by a circlet of knotted gold, emphasised the stark outlines of his hawk-like features. He looked exotic and powerful. He looked like a stranger. He was a stranger, she reminded herself bitterly. A stranger whose child was now living beneath her breast.
‘I hate to disillusion you,’ she said, concentrating on trying to match his own emotionless tone. ‘But I am definitely not pining for you.’
‘No? So why come here?’ he drawled. ‘Why bother flying out here in secret?’
But it hadn’t been a secret, had it? His words reminded Hannah that this whole set-up seemed premeditated and that a car had been waiting for her when the plane had touched down. She lifted her chin, the pulsing of a nerve above her jaw the only outward sign of her growing anxiety—because if Kulal knew she was here, then who else did? How would such an action appear to the outside world—and, more importantly, to her employers? A lowly chambermaid flying out to confront a desert king! She reflected on her many years of service at the Granchester and a ripple of fear whispered down her spine at the thought of being sacked for such unprofessional behaviour. ‘How...how did you know I’d be on that flight?’ she questioned croakily.
‘Are you really that naïve?’ He spat out the question impatiently. ‘My security people run automatic checks over all the flight lists and flag up anyone of particular interest and naturally you fell into that category. A woman who needs an urgent visa to visit my country—didn’t you consider that might have alerted the suspicions of the authorities?’ He gave an impatient sigh. ‘Especially since you were asking so many questions about access to the royal palace—and a further check threw up the fact that you work for the Granchester Group and I’d recently been staying in one of their hotels.’
Hannah stared down at her fingernails she’d spent the past few weeks forcing herself not to chew, and suddenly she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to tell him. But it was with an instinctively sinking heart that she met the ebony coldness of his eyes. ‘I’m pregnant, Kulal,’ she said quietly.
There was a pin-drop silence as he looked at her, the expression on his hawk-like features inscrutable as he shook his head.
‘You can’t be. I used protection.’ His voice was cold. ‘I always do.’
Had he added that last bit just to hurt her? To remind her that she was nothing special? Just another women who had succumbed to all that arrogant alpha appeal...? Hannah chewed her bottom lip. Probably. But she wasn’t here to protect her own feelings—she was here to do the best for her baby and reacting with anger to his inflammatory comments would serve no useful purpose. ‘I’m afraid I can,’ she contradicted. ‘I’m carrying your baby, Kulal,’ she added for extra emphasis and saw his body tense.
Kulal felt the sudden rush of blood to his head as adrenalin flooded through his system and disbelief warred with the evidence right in front of his eyes—because she was here, wasn’t she? A place where she had no right to be. He observed her stillness and the unnatural calmness of her expression—as if he was waiting for her to relax and tell him she’d made the whole thing up—but he knew he was waiting in vain. Of course she was pregnant—why else would she have flown out here in a dramatic way he suspected was completely out of character? His heart began to pound loudly in his chest and he recognised the sensation instantly because he used to feel that way when he was about to go into battle. But war had never filled him with the uncertainty which now assailed him and which instantly put him on the offensive.
‘So have you come here to bargain with me, Hannah?’ he demanded. ‘To see how much money you can get out of me?’
Hannah flinched. If she had been in London—if her baby’s father had been a normal man—she would have risen from the chair, no matter how shaky her legs, and walked out of the room, telling him she would speak to him when he was prepared to be reasonable. Because surely a display of emotion would be justified in those circumstances.
But she wasn’t in London and Kulal was not a normal man, no matter how much she wished he were. She was stuck in a fancy hotel room in his country, miles away from home and everything she knew. The air felt icy from the over-efficient pump of the air-conditioning and outside the huge windows she could see the golden gleam of a beautiful dome. It couldn’t have been more unlike the view from her own humble little bedsit, but she mustn’t let the undeniable glamour of the location stop her from dealing with practicalities.
‘No, I haven’t come here to bargain with you,’ she said quietly. ‘Nor to be spoken to as if I were someone motivated by nothing other than greed.’
‘Really? Then what do you want?’
Wasn’t it obvious? Wouldn’t anyone with a shred of decency in their soul have done the same—or was Hannah just hypersensitive about the subject of paternity because her own start in life had been less than ideal? She looked into his eyes, but they were cold and hard. As hard as the dagger she’d suddenly noticed was hanging at his hip... ‘Because I wanted to give you the opportunity to be a part of your baby’s life,’ she said quietly.
‘In what capacity?’
He was so cold. So unfeeling. Hannah wanted to pick up a tiny golden box which sat on one of the polished tables. She wanted to hurl it against the wall or the chandelier. To make a noise and to break something—as a gesture of defiance as well as one of protest. But she wasn’t going to act like a wronged woman—causing a scene and wringing her hands together as she begged him for help. She was going to act with a dignity which would surround her and the baby with a calm and protective aura.
‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead,’ she said. ‘I didn’t get much further than figuring that you deserved to hear it from me, before anyone else. It’s why I came.’ She tried and failed to suppress the sudden shiver which made her skin grow all goosebumpy. ‘I would have phoned if I could—but, as we both know, you didn’t leave a number.’
Kulal nodded, the sudden blanching of her cheeks plucking at his conscience and making him walk towards an inlaid table on which reposed a selection of bottles and glasses. He poured her a long glass of fire-berry cordial and handed it to her, and as their skin touched, the sheer enormity of the life-changing fact once again hit him like a sledgehammer.
She was pregnant.
Pregnant with his baby.
Didn’t matter that he’d never wanted a child of his own. That he sometimes thought he would prefer his paternal cousin to inherit the kingdom, rather than condemning himself to family life—a way of life he had always carefully avoided because of the chaos and pain of his own childhood. Even his natural love of independence now took second place, because this changed everything. And he needed to think carefully about what to do next.
Very carefully.
He stared at Hannah, at the fatigue which was creasing the corners of her mouth and the untidy tumble of her hair. ‘It’s been a long day and you look exhausted, so why don’t you go and freshen up?’ he suggested.
She put down the half-drunk cordial and as the pink liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass, she regarded him with suspicious eyes. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
He felt a flicker of irritation. Did she think he was making a pass at her? That he wanted her to go and bathe and prepare herself for him? That he would actually want to be intimate with her at a moment like this, when his whole life was about to change and she was the instrument of that change? But that wasn’t all he felt, was it? There was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt a steely clench around his heart.
Was it fear?
Yet he was known for his fearlessness—even as a teenager, when he’d run away to join the Zahristan forces during the fierce border war with Quzabar. His late father had hit the roof when Kulal returned, with the livid blade mark which travelled from nipple to navel. He had been lucky not to die, the old King had raged—but Kulal hadn’t cared about his brush with death. Even before he’d left the palace to fight, he had been given hints of the frailty of human existence. He had learnt lessons which had stayed darkly in his heart. And now it seemed there was another lesson to be learnt.
He stared at her, his lips curling. ‘I am merely suggesting you might wish to change—perhaps to rest—before we have dinner.’
She gave a hollow laugh. ‘You really think I want to have dinner with you, Kulal?’
‘Actually, no. I don’t. I think we’ve been forced into a position where we’re going to have to do things which neither of us will find particularly palatable—’
‘I’m keeping my baby!’ she defended instantly.
Kulal stiffened, his nostrils narrowing as he inhaled an unsteady breath. ‘How dare you imply that I should wish otherwise?’ he flared. But although his anger would have filled any of his subjects with fear, it was having no effect on Hannah, for she was tilting her chin in a way which was positively defiant.
‘I’m just letting you know the ground rules from the start, so there can be no misunderstanding,’ she said. ‘And I can’t see the point of us having dinner.’
‘Can’t you?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to eat and we need to talk. Why not kill two birds with one stone?’
Her gaze became hooded, thick lashes shuttering her aquamarine eyes like dark feathers. ‘I feel it’s my duty to tell you,’ she flared, ‘just in case you’re getting any autocratic ideas of whisking me away so I’m never heard of again—that my sister knows exactly where I am and she has the number of the police on speed-dial.’
It was such an outrageous remark that Kulal almost smiled until the gravity of the situation hit him and all levity vanished. Because humble Hannah Wilson was not as compliant as he had initially thought, was she?
‘Let’s say eight o’clock, shall we?’ he questioned, eager to reassert his authority. ‘And please don’t keep me waiting.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
PRIMED FOR THE Sheikh’s knock at precisely eight o’clock, Hannah sneaked one last glance at the mirror, then wished she hadn’t. Because this was the reverse side of the fairy tale, wasn’t it? This was the reality. Last time she’d spent the evening with Kulal, she had been transformed with a wave of the stylist’s magic wand. With her costly jewels and a silken gown she’d looked like someone he might wish to be seen with. But not any more. She had been sick during the early weeks of her pregnancy and, as a consequence, her face had acquired a horrible gauntness. Her dress looked cheap—because it was—her breasts felt heavy, and now she was going to have to endure a stilted dinner in some fancy restaurant with a man who had never wanted to see her again and meanwhile...
Kulal hadn’t said a single positive word about the baby.
He hadn’t said any of the things she’d secretly been wishing for, even though she’d told herself it was madness to expect anything from such a man. He hadn’t reassured her that, although becoming a father had been the last thing on his mind, he would step up to the plate and take responsibility—and he certainly hadn’t cooed with pleasure or puffed his chest with pride. He had just studied her dispassionately as if she were no longer a woman, merely an inconvenience who had suddenly appeared in his life. He had installed her in a suite at the Royal Palace Hotel—admittedly the biggest suite she had ever seen. But she had felt small and insignificant within its gilded walls and, when she’d woken from her restless nap, had wandered aimlessly from room to room, wondering what on earth was going to happen next.
An authoritative rap put paid to any further introspection and Hannah opened the door to find Kulal standing there, the bronze shimmer of his robes alerting her to the fact that he too had changed. Had he rushed back to the real palace for a quick wash and brush-up, she wondered—just about to tell him that she wasn’t sure she could endure going to a stuffy restaurant, when she noticed two hotel employees wheeling a vast trolley towards them, bearing unseen dishes topped with gleaming silver domes.
‘I thought we’d eat here,’ he said peremptorily, walking into the room without invitation, the waiters trundling the trolley immediately behind him.
Hannah opened her mouth to object to his cavalier attitude then shut it again. Because really, what was the point? While one waiter set the table positioned in a far alcove, she was forced to endure the tops of the silver dishes being triumphantly whipped off by the other, like a magician producing a series of rabbits at the culmination of his act. But she felt no enthusiasm for the feast which was revealed, despite the alluring display of pomegranate-peppered rice and vegetables cooked with nuts and a sweet paste she’d never heard of. She waited until she and Kulal were alone before turning to him, not caring whether her face showed her growing frustration or not.
‘Why are we eating here?’ she questioned baldly. ‘Because you’re ashamed of being seen with me?’
He didn’t react to her truculent tone, adopting instead a tone of voice she suspected was meant to calm her down.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/melanie-milburne/crowned-for-the-sheikh-s-baby-crowned-for-the-sheikh-s-ba/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
MELANIE MILBURNE
Sharon Kendrick
About the Authors (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realize that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Harlequin, and her books feature often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…
MELANIE MILBURNE read her first Mills & Boon novel at the age of seventeen, in between studies for her final exams. After completing a master’s degree in education she decided to write a novel, and thus her career as a romance author was born. Melanie is an ambassador for the Australian Childhood Foundation and a keen dog-lover and trainer. She enjoys long walks in the Tasmanian bush. In 2015 Melanie won the HOLT Medallion—a prestigious award honouring outstanding literary talent.
Also By Sharon Kendrick
A Royal Vow of Convenience
Conveniently Wed!
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed
One Night With Consequences
The Italian’s Christmas Secret
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride
Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress
Crowned for the Prince’s Heir
Carrying the Greek’s Heir
Wedlocked!
The Sheikh’s Bought Wife
The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition
The Billionaire’s Legacy
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress
Also By Melanie Milburne
The Temporary Mrs Marchetti
Wedding Night with Her Enemy
A Ring for the Greek’s Baby
The Tycoon’s Marriage Deal
A Virgin for a Vow
The Ravensdale Scandals miniseries
Ravensdale’s Defiant Captive
Awakening the Ravensdale Heiress
Engaged to Her Ravensdale Enemy
The Most Scandalous Ravensdale
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby/Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby
Sharon Kendrick
Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella
Melanie Milburne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09566-2
CROWNED FOR THE SHEIKH’S BABY/TYCOON’S FORBIDDEN CINDERELLA
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby © 2018 Sharon Kendrick Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella © 2018 Melanie Milburne
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u8693134a-522b-537b-a50b-8802b14ed3ab)
About the Authors (#ue128a87b-ab1b-5538-9060-f98f2013b508)
Booklist (#u0de84efe-f6a2-5cab-8c08-2bca60504bf0)
Title Page (#u5b7a2946-ae3f-50f6-ad80-ef33df8c10e0)
Copyright (#u57f3ced7-8b18-5717-8225-26dbc9a72809)
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby (#ueb4c5cdd-4110-5f76-9ab8-451504d11d6a)
Back Cover Text (#u8c9da484-63da-50b5-8e57-543b926681a3)
Introduction (#u10a374f3-829e-5af9-b7c3-f93398bc865c)
One Night With Consequences (#u74bdc986-e7e8-5215-91e1-0d7cc59ccede)
Dedication (#uac8bbae4-40ee-5c2c-afb8-d5b95bbc65f5)
PROLOGUE (#u0daea20a-9205-5352-945c-f3014ed886e5)
CHAPTER ONE (#u413e9fbe-eb0d-5ec1-aeae-f8bb73f9a220)
CHAPTER TWO (#u0072c88b-eea6-587d-a351-9cfeb67e475d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u17fbe05f-b8b4-5467-9877-353a032a4da7)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ufbd157ea-82f9-5668-95c5-e4ce1c7887f2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#udbff34e8-dcae-54c1-8b1b-875931240e7b)
CHAPTER SIX (#ue0d21b15-2be1-5b3d-baef-766e6b24be7d)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella (#litres_trial_promo)
Back Cover Text (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
Sharon Kendrick
From innocent maid...
...to the sheikh’s pregnant queen!
The last thing sensible maid Hannah Wilson expects is to be whisked off to a glamorous party by Sheikh Kulal Al Diya. Their intense chemistry and searing kiss lead to the most amazing night of her life—with the most shocking consequences! Now Kulal will do anything to claim his heir. Even if it means making Hannah his desert queen!
“You’ll love the twists and turns of this gorgeous story—a maid turned sheikh’s queen, and an unexpected consequence!” —USA TODAY bestselling author Lynne Graham
“You don’t even know why I’m here,” Hannah said.
“Of course I do.” Kulal’s hawk-like features hardened into a cynical expression. “You’ve decided that you’re in love with me, haven’t you?”
Hannah thought she might be sick. It wasn’t just the sheikh’s swaggering arrogance that she found nauseating—it was the way he said the word love. As if it was some unspeakable illness.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The fact that I took your virginity has probably given our night together more significance than it warrants. Am I right, Hannah?”
Hannah flinched, wondering how she could have fallen into the arms of someone so unspeakably arrogant. Because he’s so irresistible—even now, when he’s looking down his haughty nose at you.
“I hate to disillusion you,” she said, concentrating on trying to match his own emotionless tone. “But I am definitely not pining for you.”
“No? So why come here?” he drawled.
She had to tell him. But it was with a sinking heart that she met the ebony coldness of his eyes. “I’m pregnant, Kulal,” she said quietly.
One Night With Consequences (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
When one night…leads to pregnancy!
When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire, it’s impossible to think past the morning after!
But with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test, and it doesn’t take long to realize that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!
Only one question remains:
How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?
Find out in:
The Italian’s Christmas Secret by Sharon Kendrick
A Night of Royal Consequences by Susan Stephens
A Baby to Bind His Bride by Caitlin Crews
Claiming His Nine-Month Consequence by Jennie Lucas
Contracted for the Petrakis Heir by Annie West
Consequence of His Revenge by Dani Collins
Princess’s Pregnancy Secret by Natalie Anderson
The Sheikh’s Shock Child by Susan Stephens
Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!
This book is dedicated to the urbane and dashingly handsome Matt Newman, with thanks and gratitude for his generous donation to the amazing charity, The Back-Up Trust.
PROLOGUE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
We trust you will find everything to your satisfaction.
KULAL’S MOUTH HARDENED into a cynical smile. As if. When did anything in life ever truly satisfy?
Crushing the handwritten note—one of the many personal touches which made this Sardinian hotel complex so achingly luxurious—he threw it into the bin in a perfect arcing shot and walked over to the balcony.
Restlessly, his eyes skated over the horizon. He wondered why he could feel no joy in his heart or why the warmth of the sun left him feeling cold. He had just achieved a life’s ambition by bringing together some of the world’s biggest oil moguls. They’d told him it was impossible. That masterminding the diaries of so many powerful men simply couldn’t be done. But Kulal had proved them wrong. He liked proving people wrong, just as he enjoyed defying the expectations which had been heaped on him since the day his older brother had turned his back on his heritage and left him to rule.
He had worked day and night to make this conference happen. To convince attendees with his famously seductive tongue that it was time to look at renewable energy sources, rather than relying on the fossil fuels of old. Kings and sheikhs had agreed with him and pledges had been made. The cheers following his opening speech had echoed long into the night. There were now but a few days left for him to hammer out the fine details of the deal—and he was able to do it in a place which many people considered close to paradise. Yet he felt...
He gave a heavy sigh which mingled with the warm Sardinian breeze.
Certainly not drunk with glory, as other men in his position might be, and he couldn’t work out why. At thirty-four, he was considered by many to be at his intellectual and physical peak. He was known as a fair, if sometimes autocratic ruler and he ruled a prosperous land. And yes, he had a few enemies at court—men who would have preferred his twin brother to have been King because they considered him more malleable. But all rulers had to deal with insurrection. It came with the job—it was certainly nothing new.
So why wasn’t he punching the air with glee? Kulal contemplated the horizon without really seeing it. Perhaps he had been working so hard that he’d neglected the more basic needs of his body. Not to put too fine a point on it—his legendary libido, which had been sidelined ever since he had finished with his long-term mistress a few months back. It didn’t help that she had made the break-up official with a tearful interview in one of those glossy magazines that filled women’s heads with meaningless froth. And that as a consequence, his name had zoomed back to the top of one of those tedious ‘most eligible’ lists—and he now seemed to be on some kind of matrimonial hit list. Rather ironic since he had always avoided marriage like the plague, no matter how determined the woman.
He yawned. His relationship with the international supermodel had lasted almost a year—a record for him. He had chosen her not just because she was blonde and leggy and could work wonders with her tongue, but because she seemed to accept what he would and wouldn’t tolerate in a relationship. But in the end, she had sabotaged it with her neediness. He’d stated at the start that he wouldn’t put a ring on her finger. That he had no desire for family or long-term commitment. Because didn’t domesticity forge cold chains, which could suffocate? He had promised sex, diamonds and a fancy apartment—and had honoured those pledges in full. But she had wanted more. Women always did. They wanted to bleed you dry until there was nothing left.
Dark and bitter memories washed over him, but he forced himself to block them out as he leaned against the rail of the balcony, looking out at boats bobbing around on the Mediterranean. He thought how different this busy stretch of water was from the peace of the Murjaan Sea, which lapped on the eastern shores of his desert homeland. But then, everything about this place was different. The sights. The scents. The sounds. The women who lay on sun-loungers in their minuscule bikinis. One of his aides had told him that the loungers directly beneath his penthouse suite were always the first to go—presumably occupied by those hoping to catch the eye of Zahristan’s Desert King. Kulal’s lips curved in disdain. Did they, like so many others, imagine themselves in the role of Queen? That they would succeed where so many had failed?
Surveying the women directly beneath him, he felt not a flicker of excitement as he glanced at their half-naked bodies, which glistened in the sun. He thought they looked like oiled pieces of chicken about to be thrown onto the barbecue, their half-open mouths thick with lipstick and tilted straw hats protecting their hair extensions.
And then he saw her.
Kulal tensed, his eyes narrowing and his heart beginning to pound.
Did she capture his focus and keep it captured because she was wearing more than anyone else, as she hurried across the terrace with an anxious look on her face? In fact, she was wearing the standard hotel uniform—a plain yellow dress, which was straining over her voluminous breasts and clinging to the swell of her curvy buttocks. He though how fresh she looked with that shiny ponytail swishing against her back as she walked. Certainly, when contrasted with all the flesh on show, the brunette seemed positively wholesome and, although such women were rare in Kulal’s world, he reminded himself that she was a member of the hotel staff. And sleeping with staff was never a good idea.
But a small sigh escaped his lips as he turned away.
Pity.
CHAPTER ONE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
‘HANNAH, DO NOT look so nervous. I merely said I wished to speak to you about the Sheikh.’
Hannah tried to smile as she looked up at Madame Martin—fixing her face into the kind of expression which would be expected of a highly experienced chambermaid. She must look eager—and at all times, because this job was the opportunity of a lifetime and breaks like this didn’t come along very often. Wasn’t it true that every other chambermaid at the Granchester in London had been green with envy when Hannah had been picked to work in the fancy Sardinian branch of the hotel group because they were short-staffed? She suspected they would have been even more envious if they’d realised that Sheikh Kulal Al Diya was a guest here—a billionaire desert king who everyone on this Mediterranean island seemed to think was some kind of walking sex god.
But not her.
No, definitely not her. She’d only seen him a couple of times, but each time he’d terrified her with all that dark brooding stuff going on and that way he had of slanting his black eyes in a way which had made her feel most peculiar. Hadn’t her breasts sprung into alarming life the first time she’d seen him, causing her nipples to feel as if they were about to burst right through her bra? And hadn’t she wanted to squirm with a strange and unfamiliar hunger as that ebony gaze had swept over her? For once, she hadn’t felt in control and that had made her feel extremely uncomfortable, because Hannah liked to feel in control.
She brushed her clammy palms down over her lemon-coloured uniform—a bad idea since it drew the attention of Madame Martin to her hips and instantly the Frenchwoman frowned.
‘Tiens!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your dress is a little tight, n’est ce pas?’
‘It’s the only one they had which fitted, Madame Martin,’ said Hannah apologetically.
The elegant woman who was in charge of all the domestic staff at Hotel L’Idylle raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘C’est vrai.’ She gave a resigned sigh. ‘You Englishwomen are... ’Ow you say? Big girls!’
Hannah’s smile didn’t slip because who was she to deny the truth behind Madame Martin’s words? She certainly wasn’t as slim as her continental peers. She liked her food, had a healthy appetite and wasn’t going to make any apology for it. Like much else, mealtimes had been unpredictable when she’d been growing up and you never forgot something like that. She’d never forget the dull gnaw of hunger, or how eagerly she’d seized on any scraps she’d managed to salvage to put together something resembling a meal. She didn’t spend her life picking at her food, that was for sure—unlike her sister, who seemed to think that eating was an unnecessary waste of time.
But she wasn’t going to worry about her sister, or dwell on the troubled times of their growing-up years. Hadn’t that been one of the reasons for leaping on this job so eagerly—even though she’d never even been out of England before? She had decided she was going to start living her life differently from now on and the first part of that plan was to stop worrying about her baby sister. Because Tamsyn wasn’t a baby any more; she was only two years younger and perfectly able to stand on her own two feet—except that was never going to happen if Hannah kept bailing her out every time she got herself into trouble.
So think about yourself for once, she reminded herself—and concentrate on the unbelievable bonus you’ve been offered for a few months of working in this Sardinian paradise.
‘What exactly did you wish to talk to me about, Madame Martin?’ she enquired eagerly.
The Frenchwoman smiled. ‘You are very good at your job, Hannah. It is why you were sent here by our London branch, but I have observed you myself and thoroughly approve of their choice. The way you fold a bedsheet is a joy to watch.’
Hannah inclined her head to accept the compliment. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are quiet and unobtrusive. You move comme une souris—like a mouse,’ Madame Martin translated in reply to Hannah’s confused look. ‘Put it this way—nobody would ever notice you in a room.’
‘Thank you,’ said Hannah again, rather more cautiously this time because she wasn’t sure if that really sounded like a compliment.
‘Which is why the management have decided to give you some extra responsibility.’
Hannah nodded, because this was something she was good at. Throw responsibility at her and she would soak it up like a sponge with water. ‘Yes, madame?’ she said and waited.
‘What do you know about Sheikh Kulal Al Diya?’
Hannah tried to smile, but it was difficult when an unwanted shiver was rippling its way down her spine. ‘He is the ruler of Zahristan, one of the biggest oil-producing countries in the world, but he’s a leading exponent of alternative energy. All the staff were briefed about him before he arrived,’ she added hastily, in response to Madame Martin’s look of surprise.
‘Bien,’ said the Frenchwoman approvingly. ‘It was he who organised this international meeting, which has brought so many prestigious leaders to the hotel and has done much to elevate the profile of our new conference centre.’
‘Yes, Madame Martin,’ said Hannah, still not quite sure where this was heading.
‘And you are perhaps aware that many people have been trying to seek out the Sheikh’s company,’ said Madame Martin slowly. ‘Since he is a man of great influence.’
‘I’m sure they do.’ Hannah noted the pause which followed and which she somehow got the idea she was expected to fill. ‘It was exactly the same in the London branch of the Granchester—the more powerful the guest, the more people want to get to know them.’
‘Especially if the man happens to be newly single and extremely good-looking,’ said Madame Martin, with a busy wiggle of her manicured fingers. ‘But His Royal Highness has no wish to be the focus of the attentions which someone in his position always attracts. It is why he occasionally chooses to travel with only a very modest entourage, but unfortunately that only makes him more accessible to the general public. Why, only last night, a well-known heiress managed to bribe her way past security and make her way to his table.’
Hannah winced. ‘Was there a scene, madame?’
‘I’m afraid there was, and we do not tolerate “scenes” here at L’Idylle. Which is why, for the remainder of his stay, Sheikh Al Diya intends to finish the rest of his business in the sanctuary of his suite, which is certainly big enough to accommodate his needs.’ There was a pause. ‘And why you are being assigned to work exclusively for him.’
Hannah screwed up her face in confusion. ‘You mean, I’m to make his bed and change his towels?’
‘Of course. But you will also serve His Royal Highness any meals he orders and make sure there are drinks and snacks for his guests. Keep the water in the flowers topped up. Tidy up after him and make sure that nobody unauthorised tries to gain entry to his rooms. Security here is tight, but there is no such thing as completely reliable security. Why, even in your famous Buckingham Palace, intruders have successfully gained access, is that not so?’ The Frenchwoman’s face grew stern. ‘Do you think you are capable of what I am asking of you, Hannah?’
Hannah’s first instinct was to say no. To protest that she was a chambermaid and nothing more. Someone who silently serviced the hotel bedrooms and learnt more about the guests than they would probably be comfortable with, if they only realised how many clues about themselves they left laying around the place. She wasn’t really confident enough to wait on a desert king, or to swish around topping up the water in expensive vases of flowers. She wasn’t really a maid.
‘Isn’t there someone else who would rather do it, Madame Martin?’ she questioned doubtfully. ‘Someone with a bit more experience of that kind of thing?’
‘Indeed there is.’ Madame Martin pursed her lips. ‘I am sure I could have the female staff queuing from here to our capital city of Cagliari, but none of them have your characteristics, Hannah. You are a young woman whose head is planted firmly on her shoulders, as you English say. You will not be seduced by a pair of flashing black eyes and a body which makes grown women shiver.’ Madame Martin seemed suddenly to realise what she was saying, and as she pulled herself together, she fixed Hannah with another stern look. ‘Can I rely on you to accept this task, so that I can report back favourably to your superiors in London?’
Hannah swallowed as she recognised it was going to be impossible to refuse—and why would anyone in their right mind want to? Surely a temporary promotion was a good thing. A chance to get the pay-rise she’d been hoping for. A pay-rise which might make it possible for her to one day buy a tiny place of her own.
A home of her own.
The chance to put down roots at last.
‘Will you do that, my dear?’ prompted the Frenchwoman kindly.
Hannah swallowed down the sudden lump which seemed to be clogging up her throat, wondering why she still reacted so stupidly to someone speaking to her with affection.
Because she wasn’t used to it?
Or because she mistrusted it?
Nodding her head, she produced a tentative smile. ‘I would be honoured, Madame Martin,’ she said.
‘Bien.’ Madame Martin gave a brisk nod. ‘Then come with me and I will show you around the suite of His Royal Highness.’
Hannah followed her superior along wide and airy corridors, which overlooked the small, natural harbour outside. Purple bougainvillea rippled softly in the breeze and the sky was the bluest she had ever seen. Every day was the same—picture-book perfect. Or at least, that was how it seemed. It hadn’t rained in paradise for as long as she’d been there and sometimes she could hardly believe she was.
Who would have thought it? Humble Hannah Wilson experiencing life in one of the fanciest resorts in Europe. The rootless orphan who’d never really known anything except making do was now working in a hotel which redefined the word luxury. A place which regularly entertained princes and tycoons, heiresses and film stars. And now a sheikh.
A sheikh for whom she was to work exclusively!
‘You must continue to be unobtrusive,’ Madame Martin was saying. ‘When the Sheikh arrives in his suite, you will quietly enquire what he requires and make sure he gets it. Immediately.’
‘And if he doesn’t actually want...anything?’ Hannah questioned cautiously.
‘Then you will vacate the premises as quickly as possible and await further instruction. You are being moved to a small staff room just along the corridor from his suite. Can I rely on you, Hannah?’
Hannah nodded in agreement because what else could she do? ‘Yes, Madame Martin.’
‘One last thing.’ The Frenchwoman’s voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. ‘The Sheikh is known as a man of great, shall we say—appetite.’
‘You mean he likes his food?’ questioned Hannah cautiously.
‘No, I do not mean that.’ An impatient shake of her head barely displaced an immaculate strand of Madame Martin’s hair. ‘I mean that he may have female guests visiting him and, should you find yourself dealing with them, you will treat them as if they were princesses. Which is probably their ambition,’ she finished, with a dry laugh. ‘Is that clear, Hannah?’
‘Yes, madame,’ answered Hannah as they entered the elevator, slotting in the special card which gave access to the exclusive penthouse suite, a journey which took mere seconds before the doors slid open. Hannah saw two bulky men in dark suits standing poker-faced on either side of a large door and she blinked. Could those bulges she could see in their pockets possibly be guns? She guessed they could. Of course the Sheikh would have bodyguards who looked as if they were made of steel and iron, rather than flesh and blood. Whose eyes didn’t even flicker as she stared up at them. A sudden realisation of what she had let herself in for made her spine tingle with apprehension.
‘Voilà! We are here,’ said Madame Martin. ‘Come.’
After a cursory knock, which went unanswered, the door was unlocked and Madame Martin walked straight in. Hannah thought she was prepared for any eventuality...for dancing girls, or some kind of harem. Or maybe a smoke-filled room where some kind of high-stakes card game was taking place.
What she had not been prepared for was the sight which greeted her—of the Sheikh himself. Her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets and her throat dried to dust. After the kind of build-up she’d been given, Hannah wouldn’t have been surprised to see him lying half-naked on one of the sumptuous velvet sofas, while some gorgeous nubile woman administered to him with warm oils. Or wearing something lavish and ceremonial—golden robes, perhaps—which swished as he walked.
In fact, he was seated at a desk which overlooked one of the resort’s many swimming pools and there wasn’t a golden robe in sight. He was wearing dark trousers and a blue shirt so pale that it was almost white. The shirt had two top buttons undone and the sleeves had been rolled up to reveal his hair-darkened forearms. Hannah noted these things almost automatically—perhaps as a kind of defensive mechanism. As if labelling the most commonplace things about him could protect her from the impact his sudden searing black gaze was having on her.
Because there was nothing commonplace about his face. It was a face in a million, no question about that. An unforgettable face—with those imperiously high cheekbones and his hair which gleamed like sunlit tar. The olive skin of his hawk-like features glowed with health and vitality, and there was an unmistakably arrogant tilt to his proud jaw. But it was the eyes which did it. She’d seen them from a distance, but up close they were unsettling. More than unsettling. Hannah swallowed. Hard and unflickering and blacker than any eyes had the right to be. And they were staring at her. Staring as if she had some smut on her nose, or the dark stain of sweat at her armpits. Hannah shifted uncomfortably beneath the intensity of that gaze, her hands nervously fluttering to brush away imagined dust from her slightly too small dress until she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be drawing attention to her hips like that.
‘I am extremely sorry to disturb you, Sheikh Al Diya,’ Madame Martin was saying smoothly. ‘But since no one answered my knock, I assumed nobody was here.’
‘I did not hear you knock otherwise I should have sent you away,’ said the Sheikh, an impatient wave of his hand indicating the mountain of paperwork piled in front of him. ‘As you see, I am busy.’
‘Of course, Your Royal Highness. Perhaps you would prefer us to come back at a more suitable time?’
Kulal put his pen down and studied the two women who were standing before him—the too thin French matron and the curvy chambermaid he’d seen hurrying across the patio a couple of days earlier, with an anxious look on her face. What he would prefer was not to have been interrupted in the first place because he was at a very delicate stage of negotiation. But suddenly, the ever-engrossing topic of solar power melted away as he stared at the ponytailed brunette whose fingers were smoothing down her unsightly uniform dress.
Was that an unconscious gesture to draw his attention to the fecundity of her hips and breasts? he wondered. Or was it deliberate? Either way, she had hit the jackpot. No doubt she was aware that her ripe body was designed to send his hormones shooting into disarray and, inconveniently, they were doing just that. He felt his groin tightening as he imagined his tongue trailing a slow path over those magnificent breasts, and for a moment, he cursed the insidious power of Mother Nature—for were they not all puppets in her need to continue the human race? And that was the reason behind his instinct to get the chambermaid horizontal as quickly as possible, before impaling her with his hardness.
He expected her to meet his gaze with a knowing look of challenge, for he had never met a woman who wouldn’t put out for him within the first minutes of meeting. But the humble chambermaid had dropped her gaze to the ground, her cheeks blooming like roses as she studied the Persian rug at her feet with a fierce intensity.
Unusual, conceded Kulal as he leaned back in his chair. Very unusual. ‘Now that you have managed to successfully interrupt my train of thought,’ he said acidly, ‘you might as well tell me why you are here.’
‘I was showing Hannah around your suite, Your Royal Highness.’
Hannah. Kulal ran a slow finger around the circumference of his mouth. An ordinary name yet somehow it pleased him.
‘Because?’ he interrogated.
‘In view of the enormous interest your presence has generated, and after the unfortunate scene in the main restaurant last night, we decided it would be preferable for you to have your own private maid for the duration of your stay,’ said Madame Martin. ‘Especially since His Royal Highness has brought with him only a skeleton staff.’
‘Because I have no wish to burden myself with the cumbersome accruements of the royal court!’ snapped Kulal. ‘You try travelling with an entourage of a thousand and five hundred tons of luggage, like some of my desert neighbours! If I fill the entire hotel complex with my staff, then how the hell is there going to be room for anyone else?’
‘Quite so. And I can only imagine your aversion to such a logistical nightmare, Your Royal Highness,’ replied Madame Martin diplomatically. ‘Which is why one of your aides made the request earlier and why we are assigning you Hannah, who from now on will be exclusively under your command.’
This was language Kulal was used to.
Command.
Exclusivity.
Words of possession and control, which went hand in hand with being a sheikh. But somehow the words had taken on an unexpectedly erotic flavour when applied to the curvy little servant who stood in front of him. He felt his heart miss a beat as he looked at her still-bent head, the straightness of her parting cutting a stark white line through her shiny brown hair. But her shoulders were stiff and if her body language was anything to go by, she certainly wasn’t as honoured by her sudden promotion as perhaps she should have been. And despite the knowledge that fraternising with the staff was a very bad idea, Kulal couldn’t deny that he found such an unusual response curiously exciting.
‘So how do you feel about working for me, Hannah?’ he questioned softly.
She looked up then and he was surprised by eyes of a startling hue—blue eyes which resembled the colour of the aquamarines his mother used to wear around her throat. Expensive jewels bought by his father in an attempt to compensate for his frequent absences. As if pieces of glass could ever compensate. But his mother had been weak. Weak and manipulative. Prepared to put her own desperate needs above those of her children. Kulal’s mouth hardened as he obliterated the harsh memories and listened to the chambermaid’s response.
‘I am happy to serve you in any way I can, Your Royal Highness,’ she said.
She delivered the words as if she had been coached and maybe she had, for they were dutiful rather than meaningful. A rare flicker of humour lifted Kulal’s lips, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived. He gave a dismissive nod and picked up his pen. ‘Very well,’ he said as he pulled one of the documents towards him. ‘Just make sure you don’t disturb me. Not in any way. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Your Royal Highness,’ she said, still in that same dutiful voice, and Kulal found himself almost disappointed when she bobbed a clumsy kind of curtsey before backing out of the room as if she couldn’t wait to get away from him.
CHAPTER TWO (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
DON’T DISTURB ME. That had been the Sheikh’s only instruction when she’d first started working for him, but Hannah wondered how the powerful Kulal Al Diya would react if he knew how much he was disturbing her.
She wished he wouldn’t look at her that way.
She wished he wouldn’t make her feel this way.
Or was it all a figment of her imagination? Was his searing ebony gaze really lingering on her for longer than was necessary, or was that simply wishful thinking on her part? One thing she certainly wasn’t imagining was the aching of her body in response to that look. Whenever he walked into the room, her senses felt as if they’d been brought to life—yet was she really misguided enough to think the sexy desert King would give a second glance at her—plain and inexperienced Hannah Wilson?
Her heart was pounding as she prepared his coffee. After his short-tempered response at their initial meeting she had expected him to be difficult to work for. She’d thought he would be all distant and haughty, as befitted a man of his status. Yet it was funny how sustained contact with someone could make them seem more human—even someone as exulted as a desert king.
She tipped extra sugar cubes into a porcelain bowl because the Sheikh was rather partial to sugar. In fact, as far as she could make out, sweetening his coffee was the closest he got to indulgence. He didn’t drink alcohol, nor smoke those pungent cigars which some of the richer clients puffed on when they were out on the smoking terrace. He even seemed able to go without food for long periods of time—as if fasting came naturally to him. Which might explain the magnificence of his iron-hard body which she had once seen—inadvertently—when he had emerged unexpectedly from the shower.
Even now it made her breathless to remember it. Diamond droplets of water had glittered against his dark skin and Hannah had found herself mesmerised by endlessly muscular legs and narrow hips against which the white towel slung round them had looked woefully inadequate. For a moment, she had been completely flummoxed, unprepared for the sudden rush of heat which had made tiny beads of sweat appear on her heated brow.
‘Oh!’ she remembered exclaiming weakly, clutching onto her feather duster as if it were a life-raft, yet unable to drag her gaze away from his spectacular body.
To his credit, he had seemed as surprised to see her as she was him, a deep frown making his jet-black eyes appear even more laser-like in their intensity than usual. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he had demanded.
‘I work here, Your Royal Highness.’
‘You told me you’d finished for the day.’
Hannah had been so startled by the realisation that he’d actually been listening to her that she’d begun to recount the boringly domestic reason why she’d still been on the premises. ‘I had,’ she’d said quickly. ‘Only I spotted a cobweb, high up on one of the ceilings, and since I thought you’d already left for your helicopter flight—’
‘You decided to destroy the poor spider’s home?’ he’d drawled, his eyes gleaming with what had appeared to be mischief. ‘My, my, what a heartless woman you can be, Hannah.’
And Hannah had blushed even more. She had gone the colour of a beetroot or one of those dark ‘heritage’ tomatoes which room service kept always sending up whenever the Sheikh asked for a salad. Because she wasn’t used to being teased—and she certainly wasn’t used to being teased by a half-naked man, with an implied level of intimacy which was completely outside her comfort zone. Maybe that was why she’d blurted out the first stupid thing which had come into her head and said it with a fierceness which had seemed to take him by surprise.
‘I would never kill a spider. They have just as much right to be here as we do.’
There had been a pause. ‘Then I must be careful what I accuse you of in the future,’ had been the Sheikh’s slow and thoughtful response.
Even now Hannah’s cheeks went pink when she remembered it. Did he say things like that just to get a rise out of her? Sometimes she suspected he did—until she forced herself to remember the reality of her situation. As if someone like Kulal Al Diya would have the inclination to tease the lowliest of hotel workers when she knew for a fact that a famous American singer with an instantly recognisable name had called him yesterday afternoon. Hannah had almost dropped the phone when she’d answered it. Briefly, she’d thought about how much this particular woman’s autograph would raise if you auctioned it on the Internet—before handing the phone over to the black-eyed desert King. The Sheikh had shut the door of his bedroom to take the call in private...and Hannah had been unprepared for the sudden rush of envy she had experienced.
And that was when she’d started wondering what it would be like to have a man like Kulal Al Diya as your lover. Imagining what it would be like to wake up in those powerful arms while his black eyes raked over you. Or how it would feel to have those long fingers slowly stroking skin which was growing heated even as she thought about it.
Just stop it, Hannah. Had that cheesy film she’d watched on her day off kick-started such crazy fantasies? Or was it because she’d been sitting there with nothing but a bumper carton of popcorn for company, surrounded by couples who were making out? With an impatient click of her lips, Hannah straightened an embroidered silk cushion. For some people, this would have been the job from heaven but it was rapidly turning into the job from hell—and all because she couldn’t stop obsessing about a hotel guest in a totally unprofessional way. Had she chosen someone completely out of reach because that was safe?
Or was it talking to her sister the other night which had made Hannah feel more of a loser in love than usual? Tamsyn had sent a photo of herself about to go out for the evening, her red hair cascading down her back like a fiery waterfall, her big green eyes fringed with spectacular black lashes. And hadn’t Hannah felt a little resentful—wondering how it was that, despite Tamsyn’s dire financial situation and lack of regular employment, she could still manage to look like a film star and go out and have a good time?
‘Are you ever going to serve that coffee, Hannah? Or are you just going to stand there muttering to yourself all morning?’
The richly accented voice breaking into her thoughts made Hannah jump and she turned to see the Sheikh sauntering into the room, with all the unleashed power of a hand-reared leopard. She watched as he sat down. It had taken a bit of adjustment to get used to his western taste in clothing because she hadn’t realised that sheikhs wore jeans...especially not spray-on faded ones which made him look like a poster star for the brand. Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup, but not nearly as much as her breasts were tightening beneath the snug fit of her uniform dress. Had she been talking out loud?
Was he aware she’d been having stupid fantasies about him?
Of course he wasn’t—he might be a famously good negotiator, but he wasn’t that clever!
‘Certainly, Your Royal Highness,’ she said efficiently as she carried the cup over to his desk, where he was looking at some exotic-looking map. He liked looking at maps, and on one memorable occasion had pointed out a mountain range on the north-eastern side of his country, describing the snowy peaks in a way which had made Hannah feel all dreamy. He’d told her about Mount Taljan, which was the highest and most beautiful mountain in all of Zahristan, casually mentioning that he’d scaled it when he was just seventeen years old.
He looked up as she put the cup down in front of him, his black eyes raking over her like glowing coals and, as usual, she was momentarily flustered by the intensity of that gaze.
‘Is...is there anything else I can get you, Your Royal Highness?’ she questioned politely.
Kulal leaned back in his chair to study her, knowing if he did so for long enough then her cheeks would inevitably take on that rosy hue he found so entrancing. And then she would squirm with embarrassment until he put her out of her misery and dismissed her. His lips curved into a reflective smile. He knew she was attracted to him—which came as no great surprise; what was surprising was her total lack of attempt to capture his interest, especially given her rare proximity to his royal presence. In his own country, the majority of his personal servants were male and, in the west, few women would have been given the unfettered access which Hannah had been granted.
Yet there had been no change to her outward appearance, which would have been usual. No subtle lick of lipstick, or an application of mascara to make those extraordinary aquamarine eyes look even bigger. Nor copious amounts of perfume applied to wrist or cleavage, intended to beguile his nostrils with the scent of her femininity. His eyes narrowed. And wasn’t her lack of artifice refreshing—coupled with a naivety which was rarely found in the world he inhabited?
He dropped a sugar cube into his coffee, and then a second before taking a sip. ‘Excellent,’ he murmured.
Hannah beamed with satisfaction. ‘I trust everything else is to your satisfaction, Your Royal Highness?’
He glowered. ‘Why do the staff here keep saying that same thing over and over again?’
She wriggled her shoulders a little awkwardly. ‘It’s the Granchester’s promise, Your Royal Highness. They like us to reinforce the group’s core message.’
‘Well, I’ve got the core message loud and clear so don’t bother saying it to me again, understand?’
She pursed her lips together. ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness.’
Kulal took another sip of coffee. He’d been awake until the early hours, fine-tuning the announcement which he planned to make to the world very soon—a dramatic development about cheaper solar power, which would inevitably stir up envy among his competitors. His time here on Sardinia was almost over and tomorrow he would return to Zahristan and the inevitable affairs of state which had been piling up in his absence. But before that happened, there was the little matter of an invitation to a party on the other side of the island, a party he could have easily given a miss, were it not being thrown by one of his oldest friends.
He stifled a sigh because he was in no mood for entertainment and not just because he could do with a good night’s sleep. Parties were predictable and tedious. The same boring small-talk and disingenuous asides. And the more elevated your status, the more predictable they became. He scowled, for his recent break-up would only exacerbate the rush to pair him off with someone new. People spent far too much time contemplating his marital status and it was none of their damned business. Sometimes he thought he should put the world straight by openly stating his intention to defer marriage for as long as possible, but why fuel speculation?
He thought about the women who would doubtless be in attendance because his friend Salvatore believed that a vacancy in a man’s bed should be filled as quickly as possible. And Salvatore had connections to some of the most desirable women in the world. The kind of women most men drooled about, with their gym-honed bodies and diamonds which some adoring daddy had probably bestowed on them for their eighteenth birthday. Women who would slip him little pieces of paper with their cell phone number written above a line of kisses.
Kulal yawned, because the idea of being hit on was failing to heat his blood and he allowed his gaze to return to the chambermaid who was self-consciously straightening cushions. As she straightened up, her cheeks automatically flared when she noticed her gaze on him and he could not resist a slow smile. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush like that?
‘You don’t say very much, do you?’ he observed.
‘My role here is to attend to your needs, Your Royal Highness, not to converse,’ she said primly.
‘You’re English?’
She surveyed him with a suspicious blinking of her eyes. ‘I am, Your Royal Highness.’
‘So what brings you to Sardinia?’
She hesitated, as if she was surprised he was asking. She should be, he thought wryly—because he was pretty surprised himself.
‘I usually work for the Granchester in London,’ she explained falteringly. ‘Which is one of the finest hotels—’
‘Yes. There’s no need for any more corporate-speak,’ he said sardonically. ‘I know the chain well. And the owner, as it happens.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You know Zac Constantinides?’ she questioned breathlessly.
‘I do. I’m currently doing some business with his cousin—Xan. He was here at the conference earlier in the week. You didn’t realise? No. You probably didn’t. He likes to keep a low profile.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘He’s lucky he’s able to.’
Hannah frowned. Xan Constantinides. The name rang a bell. Had her sister mentioned it, or had she imagined that? ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness,’ she said, which was her default answer when she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Continue with your story,’ he instructed. ‘About how you came to be working here.’
Hannah hesitated, because she didn’t realise she was actually telling him a story. And why was he so interested in her all of a sudden? Was he planning to make a complaint—telling Madame Martin she’d been muttering to herself and flinging her duster at imaginary cobwebs? Or that she’d been stalking him, hanging around the place when she was supposed to have gone home in order to see him emerging half-naked from the shower? Hannah bit back a smile. No. Nobody would believe that. She strongly suspected that another reason why she’d been chosen for this job was because she was exactly the kind of person who wouldn’t ogle the royal guest, despite the fact that nobody could deny his drop-dead gorgeousness.
She realised he was still fixing her with that carelessly questioning look and so she shrugged. ‘They’ve been short-staffed here,’ she explained. ‘I’m not quite sure why. They needed someone to fly out here and join the chambermaid staff, and I was the one they picked.’
‘Because?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose because I’m considered very reliable.’
His mouth curved into a smile. ‘Reliable?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You don’t sound too happy about it.’
Hannah never knew what made her come out with it. What made her blurt out the truth to him, of all people—but she did. ‘I’m not,’ she admitted, with a slight rush of heat. ‘Especially as I’m also known as steady and sensible.’ She thought about the things people always said about her.
‘Good old Hannah.’
‘You want someone to fill in on New Year’s Eve? Ask Hannah. She’ll have nothing better to do.’
‘But surely these are positive things?’ the Sheikh was saying.
‘I’m sure they are,’ she answered stiffly. ‘But they’re not really what someone my age wants to be known for, are they? They’re the sort of traits which are better suited to a woman of middle age.’
‘And how old are you, Hannah?’ Kulal questioned kindly, finding himself suddenly engrossed in the kind of conversation he could never remember having before.
She lowered her lashes to shade her magnificent eyes. ‘Twenty-five.’
Twenty-five.
He had thought she was older. Or younger. Actually, when he stopped to think about it—and why would he have done that until a few moments ago?—she was of an indeterminate age. Her plain uniform dress was timeless and the high ponytail was like a flashback to those nineteen-fifties rock ’n’ roll films one of his tutors had once smuggled into the palace before being sacked for his libertarian attitude. It was only after the tutor had left that Kulal had realised how much he had protected him and his twin brother against the realities of life in the royal residence—and once he had gone, how the scales had fallen from their eyes. Suddenly, there had been no filter between them and their warring parents, who had turned the gleaming citadel of the palace into a gilded battlefield.
Was that why Kulal was overcome by a feeling of benevolence towards this humble soul, who stood before him? By a sudden curiosity to see what the chambermaid looked like as a real woman, rather than a drab servant who was old before her time? She had spoken with a certain resignation—as if her life up until then had been short of fun, and something about the submissive set of her shoulders told him his assessment was probably accurate. Kulal had never experienced poverty, but his powers of observation had been well honed and he noticed that her ugly black shoes—although carefully polished—were decidedly thin and worn.
So couldn’t he show her a little kindness? Wave a magic wand and introduce some glamour into her life? What if he took her as his guest to Salvatore’s party? His eyes narrowed in silent calculation. Such an action would ward off the attentions of hungry women who might have heard he was single again. And wouldn’t having a woman by his side free him up from having to spend any longer there than necessary? It wasn’t as if his intentions towards the chambermaid were questionable—and not just because she was a member of staff. Because he knew what women were like. He was soon to leave the island and the last thing he needed was her plaintive sobs because he had bedded her and she’d fallen ‘in love’ with him. He gave a silent nod of satisfaction. He was being benevolent, nothing more—and there was no doubt that the mischievous subterfuge of his proposal would add a certain spice to the party.
‘Are you busy tomorrow night?’ he questioned slowly.
Quickly, she looked up. ‘You mean, am I on duty? No, not officially, but if there’s something special you need me to do—it will be very welcome overtime, Your Royal Highness. I’ll just fill it in on my timesheet and submit it to Madame Martin.’
For a moment Kulal was irritated. So she thought of spending extra time with him in terms of the overtime, did she? Didn’t she realise the great honour he was about to offer her? It was an outrageous response yet, curiously, it spurred him on and not simply because he’d never been side-lined in such a way before. Because surely a young woman of twenty-five should be thinking about more than her salary—especially when she was living on this stunning Mediterranean island. Idly he wondered if she had ever worn silk next to that creamy skin which blushed so easily, or whether she had ever danced beneath the stars. Wasn’t it about time she did?
‘I’d like you to come to a party with me,’ he said.
Her face assumed a wary expression. ‘You mean, to work?’
‘No, not to work,’ he negated, a flick of his hand indicating his impatience. ‘As my guest.’
Her head jerked back. ‘Your guest?’
‘That’s right.’
Unvarnished nails on show, she splayed her fingers over her breastbone and let out an odd kind of squeak. ‘Me?’
‘Why not?’ he drawled. ‘You don’t strike me as someone who goes to many parties and I thought that all women liked parties, and the chance to dress up. Wouldn’t it be fun to do something different for a change?’
‘You’re inviting me to a party because you feel sorry for me?’ she said in a small voice.
‘Partially, yes,’ he agreed, surprised enough by the honesty of her question to give her an equally honest reply. ‘But your presence at my side will be advantageous to me.’
She screwed up her face. ‘I’m not sure why.’
‘It will deter other women from hitting on me. Because I’m not in the mood for predatory.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Frankly, I am bored with predatory.’
Her cheeks went very pink when he said that and she shifted awkwardly from one flat and clumpy black shoe to the other before shaking her head. ‘It’s very kind of you to ask me, Your Royal Highness, but I’m afraid I can’t do it.’
‘Can’t?’ Kulal frowned, because hesitation was one thing but refusal was something else. Something he wasn’t used to and would not tolerate. ‘Why not?’
‘Because members of staff aren’t allowed to fraternise with the guests. It’s a hotel rule and grounds for instant dismissal.’
His smile grew wolfish. ‘Only if they get to know about it.’
‘Everyone will know about it!’
‘How? This is a very exclusive party and it’s on the other side of the island. I doubt whether anyone else from the hotel will even be invited and even if they are, they aren’t going to recognise you.’
Again that suspicious look. ‘Why not?’
Kulal slanted her a smile, her genuine reluctance fuelling his determination. ‘Because you won’t be in uniform.’
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Wouldn’t you like to put on something pretty for a change?’ he continued. ‘To dress like a princess, even if it’s only for one night?’
‘I don’t have anything remotely princess-like in my wardrobe,’ she said woodenly.
‘Then let me fix it so that you do.’
Again, those aquamarine eyes narrowed with suspicion rather than the gratitude he would have expected.
‘How would you do that?’
‘Easy.’ Kulal shrugged. ‘All I have to do is pick up the phone and have one of my staff find you someone who deals with such matters. Someone discreet who can transform you into someone even you won’t recognise.’
‘You mean like Cinderella?’ she said slowly.
His lips curved, for his tutor had also taught him about the English obsession with fairy tales and their need to transpose them onto real life. ‘If you like.’
She tilted her chin upwards and, for the first time, he saw a flash of spirit in her aquamarine eyes. ‘Does that mean my clothes will turn back into rags at midnight?’
‘You can keep the dress, if that’s what you’re angling for.’
‘I wasn’t!’ she said, before shaking her head. ‘Look, it’s very nice of you to offer but it’s...it’s a crazy idea and I can’t do it. It’s too risky.’
‘Haven’t you ever taken a risk, Hannah?’ he questioned softly. ‘Haven’t you ever done something you shouldn’t?’
And that was what got to Hannah—the definite challenge in his voice, which was laced with slight contempt. She looked into the gleam of his hard eyes and thought about it. Of course she’d never done anything dangerous, because keeping to the straight and narrow had been the only way she and her sister had been able to survive. And that way of living had stuck to her like glue. She’d got the first job she’d applied for and kept her head down. She’d been cautious and careful and saved what little money she could and used her leisure time trying to make up for her woeful lack of education by studying.
Just as she kept fit by taking scenic hikes through the English countryside, which were beautiful as well as free. But she’d never done anything impetuous or stepped outside her comfort zone, and maybe it was starting to show. Was her attitude making her old before her time? Was that why she was considered a no-risk temptation for the sexy Sheikh? Frumpy Hannah Wilson who would one day look in the mirror and discover she’d become the lonely middle-aged woman she’d been channelling all these years.
She met the desert King’s mocking gaze, trying to ignore the sudden thrill of possibility which had started bubbling up inside her. Trying to dampen it down with her habitual sensible attitude, but suddenly the temptation was too strong for her to resist and she licked her lips.
Could she do it?
Should she do it?
And then she looked at him and her heart gave a dangerous leap. How could he manage to look so edgy even when he was doing something as benign as sitting in a chair, drinking coffee? With his black eyes and faintly mocking smile, he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever set eyes on and nobody like him was ever likely to make such a proposition to her again. So what if she was just there to protect him from predatory women, or if he was insisting on giving her some kind of makeover in case she disgraced him? Wouldn’t this be something to tell the grandchildren, if she ever found a man she wanted to marry and vice versa? Something to mention casually to Tamsyn next time her sister nagged her about leading such a boring life?
‘Very well, I’ll do it,’ she said, and, because he seemed to be waiting for something else, she stumbled out her thanks. ‘Th-thank you very much indeed, Your Royal Highness.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he drawled, eyes gleaming. ‘But if you’re going to do a convincing impression of being my date, you’re going to have to stop using my title—especially in that deferential way. Call me Kulal. Try to talk to me as if I was a normal date.’
As colour flooded into her cheeks Hannah wondered what he’d say if he knew she wasn’t really the kind of person who had normal dates. Nor any kind of date, really. ‘I’ll try.’
‘Go on, then. Say my name.’
He was gazing at her expectantly and Hannah found herself complying. ‘Kulal...’ she whispered, thinking how strange it felt to use his first name. More than strange. Just the sound of it coming from her lips felt...sexy.
‘Very good,’ he said, and smiled. ‘That wasn’t too difficult, was it?’
A look of complicity flowed from his black eyes and Hannah was aware that, with that simple exchange, something had been forged between them. A secret which separated them from the rest of the world. Wasn’t that called collusion?
The enormity of what she was about to do washed over her. ‘Nobody must...’ She looked at him and swallowed.
He raised his dark brows. ‘Nobody must what, Hannah?’ he prompted silkily.
‘Nobody must find out,’ she finished quickly. ‘Or I’ll lose my job.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
AT A RARE loss for words, Kulal stared at the woman who stood before him.
The little chambermaid...transformed!
He studied her for a long moment and felt a flicker of apprehension whisper over his skin. Would he so willingly have offered to have a stylist dress her if he’d realised that the end result was going to be quite so...tantalising? That the bodice of her silk dress would cling so entrancingly to her breasts—emphasising their lush weight in a way which the lemon uniform had only hinted at?
He swallowed. The long, floaty dress outlined her shapely legs and gave a glimpse of the bare toes which peeped from glittering sandals as she walked towards him. The functional ponytail was now a distant memory, and her hair tumbled in a dark and silky profusion around her shoulders and, dazedly, Kulal shook his head. Had he been completely naïve? he wondered impatiently. Had he played Pygmalion by bringing the curvy little statue to life, without even stopping to consider that her resulting sensuality was something he would now have to spend the rest of the evening resisting? Had he really thought he would be nothing but a cool onlooker, curiously observing the results of her expensive makeover? Yes, he had. He said something low and fervent in his native tongue and immediately she fixed him with a look of uncertainty.
‘You don’t like it?’ she said tentatively.
He didn’t quite trust himself to reply immediately. Instead, he turned the question round. ‘Do you?’
She shrugged and the movement drew his attention to the creamy swell of her breasts—as if any extra encouragement were needed!
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, her hands skating over the wide beam of her hips against which floated layers of ice-blue silk. ‘You don’t think it’s too much?’
‘Too much for what?’ he questioned roughly. ‘You certainly won’t be overdressed, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
It wasn’t. Hannah swayed a little on her skyscraper sandals. Her main worry was that she wouldn’t be able to live up to the image of what these clothes represented. Because she’d stared into the mirror and seen someone she didn’t recognise staring back. A polished woman exuding a sophistication which was fake. She felt like a fraud—which was exactly what she was. A hotel employee dressed up to look like one of the guests. What if someone started talking to her and realised that she hadn’t got much to say for herself—and that all the glossy potential of her appearance was false? What if someone sussed her out and reported her?
‘I’m worried how we’re going to get out of the hotel without me being noticed.’
He smiled suddenly as if he had decided to enjoy the subterfuge. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said airily. ‘It’s all taken care of.’
Hannah soon realised that Kulal wasn’t exaggerating—and that pretty much anything was possible when you were a king. He might not have a full entourage of staff in tow, but there were enough bodyguards and heavies who seemed to appear from out of nowhere to swarm around them in a protective coterie as they were taken through the maze of back corridors to the helipad outside where a helicopter was waiting. And even if anyone had bothered to spare Hannah a second glance—most eyes were on the imperious strut of the Sheikh, because he was the one who commanded everyone’s attention. Nobody would have guessed that the woman in the expensive dress and glittering jewels was really a humble chambermaid they’d barely noticed earlier.
She felt a little queasy as the helicopter made its swaying ascent into the sky but soon they were up amid the stars, looking down onto the twinkling lights of L’Idylle, and Hannah looked around her, breathless with wonder.
‘Ever been in one of these before?’ questioned Kulal above the sound of the clattering blades.
Hannah was so engrossed in the view that she spoke without thinking. ‘What do you think?’
Despite her undeniable lack of protocol, Kulal smiled. How refreshing it was to be out with someone so deliciously unsophisticated! Instead of hanging onto his every word, she was sitting exclaiming about the beauty of the stars. Unless that was an attempt to convince him that she had depth. He felt a slight whisper of self-admonishment as he acknowledged his own cynicism, wondering when such a jaded attitude had fixed itself firmly in his heart and taken root there.
You know when, he thought, unable to prevent the rush of memory which still had the power to make his heart clench with pain. When your mother took the ultimate revenge on your father and destroyed your faith in women for ever.
Did she feel his eyes on her? Was that why she turned, a look of uncertainty crossing over her face, as if she’d just remembered where she was—and who she was with. ‘You haven’t told me anything about this party,’ she said.
‘Like what?’
‘Well, like who’s throwing it, for a start.’
He leaned forward to alleviate the need to shout above the clatter of the blades. ‘An Italian property tycoon called Salvatore di Luca, who happens to be one of my oldest friends,’ he said huskily, his throat growing dry as the subtle fragrance of her perfume had a predictable if unwanted effect on his senses. ‘I first met him when I was studying in Norway.’
‘What were you studying?’
It was a long time since anyone had asked him that, but the interest in her eyes looked genuine. ‘A Master’s degree in energy and natural resources.’
‘Gosh. That sounds very high-powered. Did you like it?’
Kulal tensed. As much as it would have been possible to have liked anything at that time. He had used the course as an escape from the unbearable events at home, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He never talked about that. Not even with his twin brother, who had found her. Who had...
He cleared his throat, but it didn’t quite remove the bitter taste in his mouth. ‘I liked it well enough and it has been very useful to me in my role as Sheikh. Salvatore and I were on the same course and we’ve stayed in touch, although our lives are very different. He lives in Rome but has a holiday place here in Sardinia.’
‘So what’s the party in aid of?’
‘Why, me, of course,’ he said softly. ‘Once my old friend discovered I was working on the island, he wanted to show me some of the hospitality for which he is renowned.’
‘You don’t sound overjoyed about the prospect.’
He shrugged, as he spoke in a rare moment of candour. ‘Sometimes it becomes rather tedious always to be the focal point of people’s attention at these events.’
She chewed her lip. ‘So how are you planning to explain me?’
A slow smile curved his lips. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. I never have to explain anything,’ he said arrogantly. ‘Nobody need know your true identity. Tonight you can be whoever you want to be, Hannah.’
Hannah’s heart pounded. It felt as if he were waving another magic wand—a continuation of the spell which had made her into this glossy woman travelling by helicopter to a party. It was exciting but it was scary, too. She stole a glimpse at his hawk-like profile, knowing that she mustn’t make the mistake of believing this was real. Or that the desert King in the dark dress suit really was her date for the night.
The helicopter dipped downwards towards a pad fringed with burning torches where an imposing man was waiting to greet them—the flames painting his face with bronze and gold. The wind plastered Hannah’s dress against her legs as they emerged from the helicopter and her carefully dried hair blew wildly around her shoulders. Salvatore di Luca greeted Kulal with affection but his words to her were cursory—as if it was a waste of his time getting to know her. As if she was just one in a long line of women Kulal had brought to parties over the years.
Well, of course she was!
Taking care not to trip in her spindly sandals, Hannah followed the two men onto a terrace where the milling guests were assembled near the swimming pool. Tall trees were lit with fairy lights and flower-strewn tables were decked with candles whose flames barely flickered in the stillness of the evening air. The momentary silence which greeted their appearance was followed by a burst of excited chatter and Hannah could feel countless eyes boring into her. And suddenly she understood exactly what Kulal had meant. It was disconcerting to be the focus of everyone’s attention and she wondered if people could tell she was wearing a borrowed dress and jewels.
The sultry sound of jazz began to drift through the air and a voluptuous singer in a silver dress began warming up. Over by the gin bar Hannah could see a Hollywood A-lister who’d recently been dating a woman half his age—and surely that was a famously tearaway European princess doing an impressive yoga pose by the side of the swimming pool?
And that was when the fun really began. Well, for everyone except her. She seemed to be the only person who didn’t know anybody else and it was all too easy for Hannah to become tongue-tied. Her nerves weren’t helped by the fact that she happened to be with the most important person at the party and he was the only person they wanted to talk to. Even when Kulal introduced her to people, their interest was polite rather than genuine. A couple of times, she got shoved aside as if she was an impediment to the main attraction, but she acted as if it hadn’t happened, her smile as determinedly bright as the one she used at work if she happened to walk in on a couple having sex, who hadn’t bothered to put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.
But when a sparky blonde came up and started chattering to Kulal in what was obviously his native tongue, Hannah gave up. Why fight it? Why bother reaching for something which could never be hers? Didn’t matter how well she scrubbed up in the borrowed finery—it was all superficial. She was still the chambermaid. Still the outsider. Always had been and probably always would be.
Unnoticed, she walked across the crowded terrace and perched on the edge of a fountain so that she could people-watch and listen to the band. She saw people hovering around Kulal and couldn’t deny the sudden wistful punch to her heart as she surveyed his powerful physique and jet-dark hair. But the music and the scent of jasmine were pleasures in themselves and Hannah sat sipping at her cocktail, in which floated tiny violet flowers. She watched a waitress tottering along the edge of the swimming pool carrying a tray of drinks, a deliberate sway of her curvy bottom as she passed the Sheikh only adding to her precarious posture.
She’s going to drop those if she isn’t careful, thought Hannah anxiously, just as the loud crash of crystal hitting marble tiles shattered the buzz of the party.
It was almost comic, the way everyone stared at the waitress scrabbling around amid the debris, as if she were an alien who’d just fallen from space. Quickly, Hannah put her glass down and went to help, crouching down and stilling the woman’s shaking fingers, terrified she was going to slice her hand open. The chatter resumed as Hannah took over the clear-up operation, becoming so engrossed in her task that it wasn’t until she’d dropped the final piece of crystal onto the tray that she suddenly became aware of someone standing over her.
Looking up, she met Kulal’s bemused expression and was still so caught up in what she was doing that she spoke to him almost absently. ‘Do you think you could get me a dustpan and brush from somewhere?’
‘A dustpan and what?’ he echoed incredulously.
She realised he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about and was wondering how to explain what it was—perhaps by some elaborate form of charade—when a waiter came over and started berating the waitress in a torrent of furious French.
‘Come,’ said Kulal firmly, pulling her to her feet. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough. Let them sort it out among themselves. Unless you’re planning to put on an apron and take over her job for the rest of the evening? Do you ever stop working, Hannah?’
In the darkness, Hannah blushed as she registered his sardonic tone. ‘I couldn’t just leave the poor girl to struggle by herself—and nobody else was bothering to help, were they?’
‘Not everybody here has your skill-set,’ he said drily.
She realised that his hand was at her elbow and he was leading her away from the curious eyes of the onlookers, towards the shadowed lawns which stretched out behind the swimming pool. It was peaceful here. And deserted, too. She could still hear the music, but it was just her and Kulal—who had a look on his face which was mid-way between irritation and amusement.
‘Are you enjoying the party?’ he questioned.
‘It was very kind of you to bring me.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked, Hannah.’
Awkwardly, she shrugged. ‘I’m glad I came.’
‘Oh?’
She hesitated, but something in the piercing gleam of his black eyes made her answer his question truthfully. ‘It made me realise that high-society parties aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.’
‘And why might that be?’
She hesitated only for a second. ‘Well, nobody really talks about anything very much, do they? All the men seemed so competitive and most of the women were all over you like a rash, which made me think that bringing me here wasn’t as effective as you’d hoped. Or maybe I’m cramping your style.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘In which case, I could easily make myself scarce until you’re ready to go, if that’s what you want.’
Kulal felt a tug of admiration. He’d heard people around him exclaiming in horror when the little chambermaid had been crouching down, careless of the way her costly dress had been rucked up around her bare thighs, yet he had admired the way she had leapt to the defence of the hapless waitress. And now, instead of plying him with saccharine words of gratitude, she was echoing his very own sentiments about these kinds of occasions.
His eyes narrowed. People rarely told him what he needed to hear—only what they thought he wanted to hear, and the two were rarely the same. And suddenly the desire to feel her in his arms was overwhelming. Too overwhelming to resist—and why should he? What harm would it do? ‘Dance with me instead,’ he said.
Hannah blinked at him. ‘What, here?’
‘Right here.’
Perhaps if he’d insisted on taking her to the small dance floor in front of the band, where they would have been visible to the other partygoers, Hannah might have refused. But he didn’t. He just pulled her into his arms as if he danced on moonlit lawns every night of the week and every bit of apprehension drained from her body. Because what woman would have objected to being held by the Sheikh like this? Hadn’t this been one of the forbidden fantasies she’d tried not to have while she’d been working for him? Only she was discovering that sometimes reality exceeded the fantasy—exceeded it in a way which was outside her understanding.
Suddenly, the dance seemed irrelevant to what was happening inside her body. Her nipples had become rock-hard and she wondered if he could feel them pushing insistently against his dress shirt. And now there was a distracting ache, low in her belly, and she knew she needed to stop this before she did something she regretted—like whispering her lips along the darkened edge of his jaw and begging him to kiss her. Her cheeks were burning as she pulled away from him and she met the hectic glitter of his dark gaze.
‘I think I’d better go back now,’ she said huskily. ‘To the hotel, I mean.’
‘Oh?’ On the shadowed lawn, he raised a laconic eyebrow. ‘Why?’
You know why. Because you’re making me want things I have no right to want. Because I’m a virgin and you’re a man of the world and I’ve spent my whole life being cautious.
‘I’m tired,’ she said.
He must have known it was an excuse, but he didn’t query it. Maybe he realised that it was the right thing to do. Or the only thing to do. There was a brief silence before he nodded. ‘Okay. I could use an early night myself. Let’s go.’
And wasn’t human nature unpredictable? Because as soon as Kulal agreed to her request, Hannah began to regret her decision. Couldn’t she have danced with him a bit longer? Enjoyed what was happening without making such a big deal of it and bringing the evening to such an abrupt end?
The waiting helicopter whisked them back through the starry skies and her heart was racing as they crept through the hotel corridors. But they managed to slip into Kulal’s private elevator and make it back to the penthouse suite without being seen. The usual inscrutable bodyguards lined the corridor but Hannah had become so used to seeing them that she barely gave them a second glance. She came to a halt outside the door to her room and stared up into Kulal’s carved features, wondering if she ought to offer to turn down his bed for him before she retired for the night. Until she drew herself up short. Was she crazy? Was she planning to tiptoe into his vast bedroom and leave a chocolate on the pillowcase?
‘Thank you very much for the evening, Your Royal Highness,’ she said formally as she pushed the door open. ‘I’ll put the dress, shoes and necklace into a bag and drop it off first thing and now I’ll say goodnight.’
The Sheikh didn’t appear to be listening; he was too busy looking over her shoulder into her room, his black eyes thoughtful. ‘It’s very small,’ he observed, his gaze skating over the narrow bed and functional furniture.
‘Of course it’s small,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m staff, remember?’
But Kulal wasn’t really thinking about her status right then. He wasn’t really thinking about anything other than the frustration which was heating his blood and refusing to be cooled by reason. He had been very turned on during that tantalisingly brief dance and, despite all his best intentions, had been contemplating brushing his fingertips over her luscious breasts when she’d pulled away and told him she wanted to go home. He remembered feeling startled because that had never happened before—not unless it was with the expectation that they would quickly adjourn to the nearest bedroom. But not with this little chambermaid. She was primly saying goodnight to him as though that was exactly what she wanted, even though the darkening of her aquamarine eyes left him in no doubt that their desire was mutual.
If he was being sensible, he would turn away. Go to his room and kill off his ardour with an icy shower. And maybe, instead of flying straight to Zahristan tomorrow, he could take a detour via Sweden—call in on that delicious blonde actress he’d never got around to bedding a few years back. Hadn’t she sent him a text the other day, disingenuously saying she was sorry to hear about his recent relationship break-up? He thought what else she had written as a postscript, making it graphically clear she wanted him as her lover.
But he didn’t want that woman with her bony hips which would grind into a man’s flesh like weapons. He wanted softness and voluptuousness. Lush breasts he could bury his head in and a trembling mouth he could plunder to his heart’s content. For the first time in his life, he wanted someone who was outside his realm of experience—was it novelty value which made him hunger for the little chambermaid so much?
He pulled Hannah into his arms and saw her eyes widen as he began to run his fingertip down her spine.
‘Kulal?’ she whispered.
‘Yes?’ he whispered back, lowering his head so that their mouths were centimetres apart. He was close enough to kiss her, but he paused long enough to allow her to shake her head. To give her a second opportunity to pull away from him. Because that was the right thing to do, even if every atom in his hungry body rebelled against such an idea.
But she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted and as lust fired in his belly, he knew he wasn’t going to take her back to his own bedroom. That he had no desire to walk past the line of bodyguards stationed there, even though they had witnessed countless transgressions such as this in the past. And maybe it was better this way. Less intimidating for her—and certainly more novel for him. He pulled her a little closer and felt his erection grow even harder.
‘Wh-what are you doing, Kulal?’ she questioned breathlessly.
It occurred to him that women were rarely original at moments like this. What did she think he was doing—writing a research paper on solar energy? He allowed his lips to drift over the silky texture of her neck, his words muffled by the lazy indulgence of that first, slow kiss. ‘I think we both know the answer to that question. I’m going to make love to you, that’s if you want me to—which I think you do.’
Hannah swallowed, trying to fight the feelings which were fluttering inside her. She should tell him to stop before this went any further. Before he started to touch her trembling breasts, which were aching to be touched. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. How could she turn her back on something which felt so wonderful? The most wonderful thing she’d ever experienced. She hadn’t realised that being in a man’s arms could make you feel like this—as if you could leap up into the air and just fly. She made a helpless little sound as his mouth brushed along her jaw and her eyelids flickered to a close. Was that his tongue she could feel, trailing an erotic and moist little path over her skin? She shivered as he did it again. Yes, it was.
She wasn’t sure if he was waiting for some kind of response, but she guessed she gave one when she suddenly folded her arms tightly around his shoulders.
‘I’m taking it that’s a yes?’ he said on a low growl.
‘It’s certainly not a no,’ she said, with a boldness she hadn’t known she possessed.
He laughed as he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind them and then he was kissing her properly. Or maybe that should have been improperly. His hands were sliding over her silky dress as he murmured something in a language she didn’t understand. But maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe this was something which was meant to be enjoyed without commitment or expectation. And didn’t they say that the language of love was universal?
She should have felt shy as he slid her zip down and peeled the delicate dress from her body, but she didn’t. Not when it seemed that her voluptuous curves pleased him. The stylist who had transformed her had insisted on matching underwear and Hannah was glad now that she had agreed. Glad she was wearing a deceptively delicate bra which disguised the fact that it had needed to do a lot of elemental support work. Deftly, he unclipped it and as her breasts came spilling out, he gave another appreciative murmur before locking his hot lips around one thrusting nipple. Hannah gasped—she couldn’t help it. She felt as if she’d taken a one-way trip to heaven. As if she’d found something she hadn’t believed existed. And suddenly she wanted to touch him.To feel the Sheikh’s skin beneath her fingers.
With the nimbleness which had made her the finest chambermaid in the Granchester group, she slid free the mother-of-pearl buttons to liberate his powerful chest, her hands running greedily over the hard muscle which sheathed the silken skin. Was that what made him groan like that? What made him pick her up as if she were composed of nothing heavier than feathers, before carrying her towards the tiny single bed and depositing her on the mattress?
And still she didn’t feel shy—not even as he removed the clothes from his body, his eyes not leaving her face. Nor when he was completely naked and leaning over to slither her panties all the way down her thighs and she felt cool air wash over her naked skin. There was no time to feel anything—other than a joyful recognition of the greedy hunger which was spiralling up inside her, so that when Kulal lay down on top of her—because the bed wasn’t really big enough for any other kind of combination—all Hannah could do was to give a shuddering little moan of relief.
‘You like that?’ he said, a smile playing around the edges of his lips as he gazed down at her, his hand between her thighs.
Was he referring to the fact that she could feel his blunt hardness pushing unashamedly against her belly? Or was it one of those questions which didn’t really require an answer—not when he was now discovering the molten heat between her legs with a finger which was making her writhe with pleasure?
‘This is crazy!’ Hannah gasped. ‘I can’t—’
‘Oh, yes, you can,’ he said, his tongue snaking over her breasts until her nipples felt as if they were going to explode.
And who was she to contradict him, when their bodies seemed to fit together as if they had been made for each other? When she was so hungry for him that she even managed to giggle as he clumsily tore open what was obviously protection and heard him give a muffled curse. She didn’t stop to think, or to question why he just happened to be carrying a condom around with him because for the first time in her life, Hannah hadn’t just stepped outside her comfort zone—she’d taken a great flying leap into unknown territory.
And she loved it.
She loved everything about it. Kissing him and touching him. Running her fingers through the tousled splendour of his thick black hair. Skating her palms over the honed planes of his spectacular body until he bit out that he couldn’t take much more. Suddenly, she wasn’t humble Hannah Wilson any more—but a woman who seemed to be able to drive this hawk-faced man wild with desire. Her initial shyness had been melted away by their rapidly growing intimacy, and suddenly Hannah realised he was pushing her thighs open to enter her.
The next few seconds were a bit of a blur. There was a little bit of pain—though not very much. And there was undeniable surprise on the face of the Sheikh as he stilled, mid-thrust. But then their bodies seemed to take over and everything else got forgotten when he started moving again until she was gasping out words she hadn’t realised she knew. She heard herself making broken little pleas as she hovered on the edge of something which seemed tantalisingly out of reach.
But at last she found it. And it wasn’t just what she had thought it might be—it was more. So much more. She gave a disbelieving cry, and as she began to convulse around the Sheikh’s thrusting hardness, he gave a low and exultant shout of his own. And as Hannah felt his big body quivering with pleasure, she found herself thinking that she never wanted this night to end.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
‘SO WHEN WERE you planning to tell me?’
Swallowing down the nausea which was rising in her throat, Hannah looked at her little sister, trying not to react to the accusing stare which had accompanied her accusing words. Trying to convince herself that Tamsyn couldn’t possibly know—not when she’d only just found out herself.
‘Tell you what?’ she questioned weakly.
‘About your pregnancy, of course,’ hissed Tamsyn. ‘Or were you planning to keep it a great big secret until you were just about to pop?’
Hannah swallowed again, only this time the saltiness in her throat felt suspiciously like the taste of tears—and she’d convinced herself she wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t, she thought fiercely. Because tears wouldn’t solve anything. She’d learnt that the hard way.
‘How did you know?’ she whispered.
‘Hello? Are you serious?’ Tamsyn filled up the kettle, not appearing to notice that she was splashing water all over Hannah’s carefully polished tiles. ‘It must be obvious to everyone.’
‘Nobody at the Granchester knows,’ said Hannah quickly.
‘Really? Well, maybe the other staff don’t have eyes in their heads or maybe I just know you better than anyone, but it’s as obvious to me as the nose on your face. Look at you, Hannah—your breasts are enormous and your complexion looks green...’
‘Thanks,’ said Hannah tonelessly.
‘I can’t believe it. You, of all people.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Tamsyn shrugged. ‘You’re the one who was always so good. Who never put a foot wrong.’
Hannah didn’t answer, just stared up into her sister’s bewildered face. It was true. She’d been the model child. The peacemaker. The quiet one who had learnt that saying as little as possible and pretending the bad stuff wasn’t happening was the best way for things to get back to normal. Whatever normal was. But this was one situation where pretending it wasn’t happening wasn’t going to work.
‘So who’s the daddy, Hannah?’ continued Tamsyn. ‘I didn’t even realise you were in a relationship.’
Because she wasn’t in a relationship, that was why. Hannah leaned back in the armchair and closed her eyes, not wanting to betray her fear, knowing that sooner or later she was going to have to come clean. To say the words out loud. Because words would make it real. They would confirm what up until now had just been a nagging fear.
She was pregnant.
She was carrying the desert King’s child beneath her thundering heart.
Her mind took her back to that crazy night when Kulal had laid her down on that narrow single bed, his black eyes full of intent as he had run a careless thumb over her thrusting nipple. What had happened next had seemed inevitable—but that wasn’t really true. She could have stopped him. He’d given her every opportunity to do so, but she had just carried on regardless. She had broken every rule in the book—and she wasn’t just thinking about the Granchester’s strict policy of not fraternising with guests. Hadn’t she clung onto her virginity as if it was something very precious? Hadn’t it been a big deal for her, having seen what the fallout from casual sex could be? While most women her age seemed content to be free with their bodies, Hannah had been the opposite—as prim as a woman from a different age.
And she had surrendered all that innocence to a man who had simply taken it as his due! Who afterwards had looked at the ceiling with a reflective look on his hawk-like features.
‘I’ve never done it in such a narrow bed before,’ he had observed thoughtfully, his fingers sliding between her thighs and easing them apart. ‘I think it adds a certain something.’
But even that arrogant boast hadn’t been enough to kill her hunger for him. Instead, she had just turned to him with silent invitation in her eyes and he’d done it to her all over again. And again. She remembered the intensity of feelings which had seemed to explode inside her, like a bomb which been waiting a long time to be detonated. Was that why she had responded like someone she didn’t really know—showing a side of herself she hadn’t realised existed? Like a wildcat, she thought guiltily. Like...
She remembered what he’d said, just before the first time.
‘You want this, Hannah?’
‘Yes.’
‘And so do I. But it’s one night only—do you understand? Not just because I am a king and you a chambermaid, and our positions in life are so incompatible. The truth is that I’ve just come out of a relationship and I’m not looking for another one. If you want more than that, I cannot give it to you and I’ll walk out of this room right now and leave you alone, no matter how hard I might find it.’
But Hannah had been powerless to resist him. How could she have resisted him when just looking into those gleaming black eyes had made her want to melt?
‘One night is fine with me,’ she had whispered back.
‘So who’s the daddy?’ repeated Tamsyn, cutting impatiently into Hannah’s uncomfortable thoughts.
And that was when Hannah realised that the tables were turned for the first time in their lives. That Tamsyn, for all her wildness, had never presented with a problem as big as this. A problem which seemed insurmountable. Which had made her thoughts spin with increasing desperation, ever since she’d first seen that blue line on the pregnancy test.
‘You won’t be able to keep it a secret for ever, you know.’ Tamsyn poured boiling water into the teapot before looking up. ‘Is it that bloke who works in the accounts department—the one you got off with at the Christmas party?’
Hannah shuddered. No way. That particular encounter had ended humiliatingly when he’d shoved his hand up her jumper and she’d jumped away and told him she didn’t want sex in the stationery cupboard, and he had sneered and told her she was fat and frigid.
She certainly hadn’t jumped away in horror when Kulal had touched her, had she?
But she knew Tamsyn was right. She couldn’t keep it a secret. She had no right to do that. And wasn’t the truth of it that if she disregarded her thoughtless and stupid behaviour... She swallowed again. If she thought about the reality rather than the repercussions—then she couldn’t deny the unexpected sense of excitement which was bubbling away inside her. She was going to have a baby and she would love and protect that baby with all her heart, just as she’d done for her little sister—no matter what obstacles lay ahead.
‘His name is Kulal.’ For the first time since she’d lain in his arms she said his name out loud and even as she uttered it, she thought how bizarre it was that her very first lover should have been the influential desert King.
‘Nice name,’ said Tamsyn approvingly. ‘What’s he like?’
And here it was—in all its unvarnished and frankly unbelievable truth.
‘He’s...well, he’s very powerful and dynamic.’
‘Really?’
She heard the doubt in Tamsyn’s voice which she couldn’t quite disguise and, for the first time in her life, Hannah wasn’t sure how to respond. Because she had always been the one who came armed with words of wisdom. Words to soothe and comfort. There hadn’t been a single bad situation during their growing up which she hadn’t felt equipped to deal with.
Until now.
Had she been guilty of thinking she was so clever—so invulnerable—that she would never find herself in a situation like this? Well, here was reality—about to teach her the hardest lesson of all.
‘He’s a sheikh,’ she said.
Tamsyn screwed up her face. ‘What are you talking about?’
Hannah swallowed. ‘The father of my baby. He’s a...’ She cleared her throat because not only did it sound unbelievable—it also sounded slightly grandiose. ‘A desert king,’ she finished quietly.
She could see that Tamsyn was trying not to laugh, but then the gravity of the situation must have hit her and the smile was wiped from her sister’s wide mouth. ‘This is no joking matter,’ she said crossly.
‘I’m not joking—he is a desert king.’
‘Hannah.’ Tamsyn glared. ‘You’re not experienced. You don’t realise what men are like. They say all kinds of things when they’re trying to get a woman to—’
‘He is!’ declared Hannah, with an uncharacteristic burst of fervour because usually, she trod carefully where Tamsyn was concerned. ‘He’s called Sheikh Kulal Al Diya and he’s the King of Zahristan.’
‘Good...grief.’ There was a pause and then, the tea-making forgotten, Tamsyn slumped against the sink, her eyes wide. ‘Not...not the one in the papers who was described as—’
‘One of the world’s most eligible bachelors?’ supplied Hannah. ‘Yes, that’s him.’
‘But...how? I mean, how?’
The question was well-meant, but it hurt. Because Tamsyn’s incredulity said a lot. It said: how could someone like Kulal have possibly become involved with a woman like her? Yet Hannah was in no position to criticise her sister’s disbelief, when she felt pretty much that way herself.
‘He needed a partner to take to a fancy party.’
‘And he chose you?’
Hannah drew her shoulders back and spoke to Tamsyn with uncharacteristic coolness. ‘Yes, he did. I was working for him.’
‘As a chambermaid?’
‘As a chambermaid,’ Hannah agreed tightly. ‘I was assigned to work solely for him. Sometimes we used to chat about stuff. We got on quite...well.’
Tamsyn gave a raucous laugh. ‘I’ll say. So you went off to a party with him and...?’
‘I’m not going to spell it out for you, Tamsyn—it’s pretty obvious what happened.’
Tamsyn looked momentarily surprised—as if this new and rather bolshie sister, who usually trod so carefully, was taking a little getting used to. She nodded. ‘So what are you planning to do?’
Hannah hesitated before answering because this was the bit she still wasn’t quite clear about. Because the moment she told him, she would lose control over the situation. Instinct told her that. Kulal wasn’t just a powerful man—he was also a desert king and weren’t royals notoriously possessive about their heirs? The truth was that she didn’t know how he would respond because she didn’t really know him. He might try to take control of her and the baby. He might deny all responsibility and send her packing. In many ways, it would be easier all round if she just crept away and brought up the baby on her own without bothering to tell him.
A long sigh escaped from her lips. It would be easier, yes—but deep down she knew she couldn’t go through with it. Because Hannah had grown up never knowing or meeting her father, and she knew all about the huge emotional hole that could leave at the centre of a child’s existence. There were risks involved in letting him know—of course there were—but these were risks she had to take.
‘I’m going to tell him, of course,’ she said. ‘As soon as you’ve gone, I’m going to telephone him.’
The only problem being that she didn’t actually have a number for him, because he hadn’t given her one. Well, why would he, when he’d never been intending to see her again? There had been one final, lingering kiss and Hannah, completely exhausted after their energetic night, had fallen into a deep sleep. And when she’d woken up, he was gone. The penthouse suite along the corridor had been cleared of all evidence that Kulal had stayed there. The bodyguards had disappeared and so had the Sheikh’s luggage. Even the fancy dress and priceless necklace were gone, presumably on their way back to the stylist. It might have all been a dream, were it not for the pleasurable aching of her body. And yet she had still been suffering from some kind of delusion, hadn’t she? There had still been a stupid part of her which had wondered if he might have left her a note or something.
But whisking her way around his suite—supposedly giving it the most thorough cleaning of its life—had failed to produce any kind of sentiment that Kulal Al Diya would ever give her another thought. Hannah had felt flat—there was no denying it. It had been the most spectacular introduction to sex and now she was going to have to resign herself to her usual frigid life. Yet it had been more than that. In his arms, she had felt like a woman who was capable of anything. He had been tender with her. And passionate. In fact, he had been everything a woman dreamt a man could be.
Maybe it was easy to be that way when you knew you were never going to see someone again. When you knew that you weren’t even going to have to speak to them in the morning. She told herself she should be grateful he’d just crept away in the early hours, because the reality of waking up in that cramped staff bedroom would have been embarrassing. Would she have boiled the electric kettle which was jammed onto one of the shelves and offered to make him a mug of herb tea? Then watched as he put on his clothes and tried to make his escape as quickly as possible?
She’d tried to feel indignant that he’d beat such a hasty retreat, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to be angry with him. Had she somehow been aware—on a deep, subliminal level—that the cells of his child were already multiplying rapidly inside her? Was that why she found it so difficult to stop thinking about him, with a heart that beat a little too fast and a soft yearning which made her feel uncomfortable?
But Hannah knew that feelings passed. All of them. And that eventually the intensity of what was happening to you faded with time. She’d told herself to be grateful that nobody at the Granchester had found out and her job was safe. She’d got away with it, scot-free. Or so she’d thought. She had worked for two more weeks at the Sardinian hotel before returning to London, just in time to discover that her period was late and to try to deny to herself why that might be. Until denial was no longer an option...
Hannah clicked onto the Zahristan website but, naturally, there was no handy link to the King’s email account. She found the number of the Embassy in London and tried ringing, in the hope of being able to convey a subtle message through one of the diplomats. But the phone system was automated and her dilemma didn’t fall into the category of someone visiting the country who was chasing up their visa. She supposed she could mail Kulal a letter and emblazon it with ‘private and confidential’—but there was no guaranteeing he would receive it unopened. The embassy might think it was from a crackpot and even if they didn’t, it meant that the Sheikh would discover he was going to be a father after his staff had found out. Hannah knew very little about royal protocol, but even she could recognise that would be a big mistake. A very big mistake.
She needed to tell him in person—but how?
There was a solution—to use the money she’d been squirrelling away since she’d first started work. The little sums of money which had grown, bit by bit, into a halfway decent sum which would one day become a deposit on a home of her own.
Could she break into it to buy herself an airline ticket to Zahristan?
Her heart began to pound. There was no other option—because how else was she going to get to see Kulal? But that money was sacrosanct and symbolic. She’d promised herself she would never touch it and now fear washed over her as she realised that once again she wasn’t playing safe. Because this wasn’t risk-averse Hannah. This was more of the same Hannah who had leapt into bed with the desert King, when deep down she’d known she shouldn’t. Her hand went down to cradle her belly because she knew she had little choice. She’d protected Tamsyn when they had been growing up—just as she would protect her baby now. She didn’t know how Kulal would respond, but that wasn’t her problem. She needed to give their child the best possible chance—and everything else was outside her control.
And surely he would have the decency to refund her air fare?
Which was how she ended up in a plane, crossing the Murjaan Sea and heading towards the Sheikh’s homeland.
She was fortunate that Zahristan had opened its borders a decade ago, after winning the war with neighbouring Quzabar, and fortunate that she had enough annual leave to book herself a last-minute break. She couldn’t decide if it was good fortune or fate that her visa-acquiring trip to the Zahristan Embassy had introduced her to a helpful woman called Elissa. Elissa had informed her that visitors were allowed access to the Sheikh’s palace every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, and His Royal Highness was actively encouraging trips from foreign visitors. At this, Hannah’s heart had leapt—because surely she could engineer some kind of meeting if she gained access to Kulal’s home.
After consulting a weather map, she discovered that the temperature of her destination was roasting and so she used some more of her precious savings to buy some suitable clothes. Inexpensive clothes in natural fabrics in light colours which wouldn’t absorb the heat. Clothes which would disguise her tender breasts which were the only outward sign of her pregnancy. But most important of all—new clothes which meant she wouldn’t turn up at a fancy palace looking like a tramp.
The flight was long and her limbs felt cramped, because she hadn’t wanted to squander any of her precious money upgrading her seat. She tried distracting herself by reading what was supposed to be the definitive history of Zahristan, but the clunky paragraphs didn’t manage to hold her attention for long. For a long time, the book lay open on the same page as she wondered what would happen when she finally gained access to Kulal. Would she be thrown in some dark jail—forced to wait for the British consulate to come and bail her out and put her on the next flight to England, with a fierce lecture on compromising international diplomacy ringing in her ears?
But even if the worst happened and she didn’t get within a hundred yards of him, at least she would have tried.
Hannah stared out of the plane window—at the seemingly endless expanse of desert. As the aircraft began to descend, she could see the welcome green of palm trees and in the distance a gleam of water, surrounded by tents. And now they were approaching a city—with turrets and gleaming spires, just like in a fairy tale. There were flashes of blue and lots of gold. This must be Ashkhazar, which she’d just read about. A rich city with a troubled history. Hadn’t Kulal mentioned it briefly when she had run her fingertip over the raised scar which ran from nipple to groin and was the only blemish which marred his perfect body? But he hadn’t wanted to talk about what had caused it. The truth was he hadn’t wanted to talk about anything much, except how much he liked her breasts. Well, he was going to have to talk about his baby, whether he liked it or not.
And then her stomach gave a flip as the airport watchtower grew closer and she closed her eyes as the huge aircraft began to swoop towards the runway.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
FROM BEHIND THE tinted windows of his heavily bullet-proofed car, Kulal watched the plane land and he felt a wave of anger as the passengers began to disembark.
He saw her immediately—instantly recognisable, and not just because she was the only woman travelling solo.
Did she really think she could sneak into his homeland without him getting wind of it?
Her head was uncovered, but at least her shoulders were not bare. She was wearing a pale dress which hung almost to her ankles. It was a modest dress, even by Zahristan standards, but it failed to disguise the generous curve of her breasts or the womanly swell of her buttocks, and Kulal’s jaw tightened. It would be easier all round if he simply had her brought to his car for the short drive to the city but that might amount to something resembling an official welcome and he would not countenance that. He watched as another black limousine edged onto the tarmac and one of his most trusted aides got out of the car.
Kulal spoke rapidly to his driver. ‘Wait until Najib gets her into the limousine,’ he bit out. ‘And then tail them.’
‘Yes, sire.’
He didn’t say another word during the journey which followed, his eyes fixed resolutely on the car in front of them as they drove at speed through the wide roads which led into the city. When the first limousine drew to a halt, he could see the look of consternation on Hannah’s face as she gazed up at the impressive gilded façade of the famous building and for a moment, he wondered if she might refuse to go inside and then what would they do? But Najib was a master at getting people to carry out his master’s wishes and within minutes, she was walking up the marble steps, while yet another aide carried her single suitcase.
He waited for several minutes before discreetly entering the building, two of his bodyguards tailing him like shadows. But as the elevator ascended, Kulal found his thoughts drifting back to another similar ride—when he had been obsessed by the rise and fall of Hannah’s magnificent breasts, covered in the delicate silk of the dress he had ordered for her to wear to the party. Had he been completely insane? Carried away by what he’d convinced himself was nothing but an altruistic action to give the little chambermaid a well-deserved treat, without bothering to examine the real motive of desire which was bubbling beneath the surface of his intentions? Probably. His mouth hardened into a grim mockery of a smile. Didn’t they say that men were architects of their own destruction?
The elevator doors opened and as he strode along the corridor he saw Najib standing sentry outside a door, his face inscrutable.
‘What did she say?’ questioned Kulal as he grew close, and Najib gave a brief bow before shrugging.
‘She was a little militant at first, sire—but then she seemed to grow resigned to her fate and offered no resistance.’
‘Good. Let us hope that state of affairs continues. Stand back, Najib.’
‘Should I not accompany you inside, sire?’
Briefly, Kulal’s lips curved. ‘You think the little Englishwoman will attack me?’
‘I thought I saw fire in her eyes, sire.’
Kulal’s lips hardened. ‘The fire will soon be doused, Najib. Make no mistake about that.’
He pushed open the door and saw Hannah. She was standing by the window, as if she had been staring out onto the magnificent mixture of ancient and new to be found in the city streets outside. At the sound of the door closing, she whirled round and his first thought was that Najib had been right. That was definitely fire he could see in her eyes—something he had not witnessed in all the time she had serviced his penthouse suite. The blaze of aquamarine as she glared at him almost dazzled him and she must have been shaking her head because gleaming strands of mahogany hair had broken free from the confinement of their elastic band and were tumbling in glorious disarray around her shoulders. For a few distracting seconds, he felt the instant flare of lust before instinctively subduing it. Because wasn’t it lust which had got him into this predicament?
‘Would you mind telling me what is going on?’ she demanded, her voice rising. ‘Why I was bundled off the plane and into a waiting car as if I was some sort of criminal? And why I’ve been brought here—to this fancy hotel—when I have a room reservation at the Souk Vista Hostel?’
Kulal had been anticipating many reactions, but such a feisty question from a woman of her stature only confirmed his suspicions about the reason for her journey. His eyes narrowed, for although he had encountered determination from ex-lovers many times in the past—nobody had ever been quite as audacious as Hannah Wilson. Well, she would soon discover that coming here had been a big mistake. A very big mistake.
‘I assume you wanted to see me,’ he said coolly. ‘So I thought I would curtail any unnecessary time-wasting by bringing you straight here.’
‘When your aide said...’ For a moment her confidence appeared to waver. ‘When he said he was taking me to the palace...’
Kulal’s lips curved into a smile he fully intended to be cruel because now he was dealing with something he’d encountered ever since he first became aware that his blood was blue, and he was in possession of connections most people could only dream of. Was that what Hannah ultimately wanted? he wondered cynically. A share of his unimaginable riches and access to his privileged life? In which case, perhaps it was necessary to teach her a small lesson—just to set the matter straight before she let her imagination run away with itself. ‘And you thought they meant they were bringing you to my palace?’ he queried, his gaze deliberately lingering on the golden logo of a crown which was embroidered onto one of the napkins which adorned a gleaming table. ‘Rather than the Royal Palace Hotel?’
The dull flush of her cheeks told Kulal his guess had been accurate and, mockingly, he raised his eyebrows. ‘I hope you aren’t too disappointed, Hannah. Did you think our one night together would entitle you to enjoy some of the perks of having a royal lover? And that I would be taking you on a sightseeing tour of the fabled gardens of my palace, or dipping into the Al Diya jewellery collection to present you with a precious bauble?’
‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly.
‘I thought you would feel more at home in a hotel,’ he added carelessly. ‘And of course, it carries the extra benefit of not compromising me in any way.’
It was the most patronising thing she’d ever heard and Hannah had to suck in a deep breath to stop herself from shaking, telling herself that nothing would be achieved by giving into the rage which was smouldering inside her, like a fire which refused to die. Because showing your feelings made you vulnerable—and she had the scars to prove it. Letting emotion get the better of you was a bad idea. Remaining cool and calm was the first law of survival—she knew that. But although she’d spent most of her life following that creed, she wasn’t finding it so easy right now. Were her fluctuating hormones once again to blame—making her react in a way which was alien to her? Or did none of the usual rules apply now that she had an unborn child to protect?
Because things were different now and she needed to recognise that. When she’d been looking after Tamsyn, she’d been nothing but a child herself and her options had been limited. But she was an adult now. She might not have Kulal’s material wealth or power, but she was resourceful as only someone in a dilemma could be and would not be treated like some docile little prisoner.
So stick to the facts.
‘You don’t even know why I’m here,’ she said.
‘Of course I do.’
She blinked at him and gulped. ‘You do?’
‘Oh, Hannah.’ He gave a short laugh before his hawk-like features hardened into a cynical expression. ‘You wouldn’t need to be a genius to work it out. You’ve decided that you’re in love with me, haven’t you?’
For one stomach-churning second, Hannah actually thought she might be sick. But it wasn’t just the Sheikh’s swaggering arrogance which she found so nauseating—it was the way he had said the word love. As if it were some unspeakable type of illness. As if it were something beneath his contempt... Clenching and unclenching her fingers, she looked up at him, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘You have been pining for me, I guess,’ he said softly, before shrugging his broad shoulders. ‘That in itself is not unusual—but the fact that I took your virginity has probably given our night together more significance than it warrants. Am I right, Hannah?’
Hannah flinched, wondering how she could ever have fallen into the arms of someone so unspeakably arrogant.
You know how, whispered the voice of her conscience. Because he’s so irresistible—even now, when he’s looking down his haughty nose at you.
Because despite the insulting reception he’d given her, she was far from immune to the attraction which had got her into all this trouble in the first place.
In Sardinia, she had only ever seen Kulal dressed in western clothes. Faded jeans and T-shirts, impeccably cut business suits or, on that fateful night, a dark dinner suit, just like those worn by all the other men at the party. But today, he was looking emphatically sheikh-like in a robe of white silk which flowed down over his muscular body. A matching headdress, held in place by a circlet of knotted gold, emphasised the stark outlines of his hawk-like features. He looked exotic and powerful. He looked like a stranger. He was a stranger, she reminded herself bitterly. A stranger whose child was now living beneath her breast.
‘I hate to disillusion you,’ she said, concentrating on trying to match his own emotionless tone. ‘But I am definitely not pining for you.’
‘No? So why come here?’ he drawled. ‘Why bother flying out here in secret?’
But it hadn’t been a secret, had it? His words reminded Hannah that this whole set-up seemed premeditated and that a car had been waiting for her when the plane had touched down. She lifted her chin, the pulsing of a nerve above her jaw the only outward sign of her growing anxiety—because if Kulal knew she was here, then who else did? How would such an action appear to the outside world—and, more importantly, to her employers? A lowly chambermaid flying out to confront a desert king! She reflected on her many years of service at the Granchester and a ripple of fear whispered down her spine at the thought of being sacked for such unprofessional behaviour. ‘How...how did you know I’d be on that flight?’ she questioned croakily.
‘Are you really that naïve?’ He spat out the question impatiently. ‘My security people run automatic checks over all the flight lists and flag up anyone of particular interest and naturally you fell into that category. A woman who needs an urgent visa to visit my country—didn’t you consider that might have alerted the suspicions of the authorities?’ He gave an impatient sigh. ‘Especially since you were asking so many questions about access to the royal palace—and a further check threw up the fact that you work for the Granchester Group and I’d recently been staying in one of their hotels.’
Hannah stared down at her fingernails she’d spent the past few weeks forcing herself not to chew, and suddenly she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to tell him. But it was with an instinctively sinking heart that she met the ebony coldness of his eyes. ‘I’m pregnant, Kulal,’ she said quietly.
There was a pin-drop silence as he looked at her, the expression on his hawk-like features inscrutable as he shook his head.
‘You can’t be. I used protection.’ His voice was cold. ‘I always do.’
Had he added that last bit just to hurt her? To remind her that she was nothing special? Just another women who had succumbed to all that arrogant alpha appeal...? Hannah chewed her bottom lip. Probably. But she wasn’t here to protect her own feelings—she was here to do the best for her baby and reacting with anger to his inflammatory comments would serve no useful purpose. ‘I’m afraid I can,’ she contradicted. ‘I’m carrying your baby, Kulal,’ she added for extra emphasis and saw his body tense.
Kulal felt the sudden rush of blood to his head as adrenalin flooded through his system and disbelief warred with the evidence right in front of his eyes—because she was here, wasn’t she? A place where she had no right to be. He observed her stillness and the unnatural calmness of her expression—as if he was waiting for her to relax and tell him she’d made the whole thing up—but he knew he was waiting in vain. Of course she was pregnant—why else would she have flown out here in a dramatic way he suspected was completely out of character? His heart began to pound loudly in his chest and he recognised the sensation instantly because he used to feel that way when he was about to go into battle. But war had never filled him with the uncertainty which now assailed him and which instantly put him on the offensive.
‘So have you come here to bargain with me, Hannah?’ he demanded. ‘To see how much money you can get out of me?’
Hannah flinched. If she had been in London—if her baby’s father had been a normal man—she would have risen from the chair, no matter how shaky her legs, and walked out of the room, telling him she would speak to him when he was prepared to be reasonable. Because surely a display of emotion would be justified in those circumstances.
But she wasn’t in London and Kulal was not a normal man, no matter how much she wished he were. She was stuck in a fancy hotel room in his country, miles away from home and everything she knew. The air felt icy from the over-efficient pump of the air-conditioning and outside the huge windows she could see the golden gleam of a beautiful dome. It couldn’t have been more unlike the view from her own humble little bedsit, but she mustn’t let the undeniable glamour of the location stop her from dealing with practicalities.
‘No, I haven’t come here to bargain with you,’ she said quietly. ‘Nor to be spoken to as if I were someone motivated by nothing other than greed.’
‘Really? Then what do you want?’
Wasn’t it obvious? Wouldn’t anyone with a shred of decency in their soul have done the same—or was Hannah just hypersensitive about the subject of paternity because her own start in life had been less than ideal? She looked into his eyes, but they were cold and hard. As hard as the dagger she’d suddenly noticed was hanging at his hip... ‘Because I wanted to give you the opportunity to be a part of your baby’s life,’ she said quietly.
‘In what capacity?’
He was so cold. So unfeeling. Hannah wanted to pick up a tiny golden box which sat on one of the polished tables. She wanted to hurl it against the wall or the chandelier. To make a noise and to break something—as a gesture of defiance as well as one of protest. But she wasn’t going to act like a wronged woman—causing a scene and wringing her hands together as she begged him for help. She was going to act with a dignity which would surround her and the baby with a calm and protective aura.
‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead,’ she said. ‘I didn’t get much further than figuring that you deserved to hear it from me, before anyone else. It’s why I came.’ She tried and failed to suppress the sudden shiver which made her skin grow all goosebumpy. ‘I would have phoned if I could—but, as we both know, you didn’t leave a number.’
Kulal nodded, the sudden blanching of her cheeks plucking at his conscience and making him walk towards an inlaid table on which reposed a selection of bottles and glasses. He poured her a long glass of fire-berry cordial and handed it to her, and as their skin touched, the sheer enormity of the life-changing fact once again hit him like a sledgehammer.
She was pregnant.
Pregnant with his baby.
Didn’t matter that he’d never wanted a child of his own. That he sometimes thought he would prefer his paternal cousin to inherit the kingdom, rather than condemning himself to family life—a way of life he had always carefully avoided because of the chaos and pain of his own childhood. Even his natural love of independence now took second place, because this changed everything. And he needed to think carefully about what to do next.
Very carefully.
He stared at Hannah, at the fatigue which was creasing the corners of her mouth and the untidy tumble of her hair. ‘It’s been a long day and you look exhausted, so why don’t you go and freshen up?’ he suggested.
She put down the half-drunk cordial and as the pink liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass, she regarded him with suspicious eyes. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
He felt a flicker of irritation. Did she think he was making a pass at her? That he wanted her to go and bathe and prepare herself for him? That he would actually want to be intimate with her at a moment like this, when his whole life was about to change and she was the instrument of that change? But that wasn’t all he felt, was it? There was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt a steely clench around his heart.
Was it fear?
Yet he was known for his fearlessness—even as a teenager, when he’d run away to join the Zahristan forces during the fierce border war with Quzabar. His late father had hit the roof when Kulal returned, with the livid blade mark which travelled from nipple to navel. He had been lucky not to die, the old King had raged—but Kulal hadn’t cared about his brush with death. Even before he’d left the palace to fight, he had been given hints of the frailty of human existence. He had learnt lessons which had stayed darkly in his heart. And now it seemed there was another lesson to be learnt.
He stared at her, his lips curling. ‘I am merely suggesting you might wish to change—perhaps to rest—before we have dinner.’
She gave a hollow laugh. ‘You really think I want to have dinner with you, Kulal?’
‘Actually, no. I don’t. I think we’ve been forced into a position where we’re going to have to do things which neither of us will find particularly palatable—’
‘I’m keeping my baby!’ she defended instantly.
Kulal stiffened, his nostrils narrowing as he inhaled an unsteady breath. ‘How dare you imply that I should wish otherwise?’ he flared. But although his anger would have filled any of his subjects with fear, it was having no effect on Hannah, for she was tilting her chin in a way which was positively defiant.
‘I’m just letting you know the ground rules from the start, so there can be no misunderstanding,’ she said. ‘And I can’t see the point of us having dinner.’
‘Can’t you?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to eat and we need to talk. Why not kill two birds with one stone?’
Her gaze became hooded, thick lashes shuttering her aquamarine eyes like dark feathers. ‘I feel it’s my duty to tell you,’ she flared, ‘just in case you’re getting any autocratic ideas of whisking me away so I’m never heard of again—that my sister knows exactly where I am and she has the number of the police on speed-dial.’
It was such an outrageous remark that Kulal almost smiled until the gravity of the situation hit him and all levity vanished. Because humble Hannah Wilson was not as compliant as he had initially thought, was she?
‘Let’s say eight o’clock, shall we?’ he questioned, eager to reassert his authority. ‘And please don’t keep me waiting.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ub98eb93d-3791-5e01-9ad0-6a3e823603db)
PRIMED FOR THE Sheikh’s knock at precisely eight o’clock, Hannah sneaked one last glance at the mirror, then wished she hadn’t. Because this was the reverse side of the fairy tale, wasn’t it? This was the reality. Last time she’d spent the evening with Kulal, she had been transformed with a wave of the stylist’s magic wand. With her costly jewels and a silken gown she’d looked like someone he might wish to be seen with. But not any more. She had been sick during the early weeks of her pregnancy and, as a consequence, her face had acquired a horrible gauntness. Her dress looked cheap—because it was—her breasts felt heavy, and now she was going to have to endure a stilted dinner in some fancy restaurant with a man who had never wanted to see her again and meanwhile...
Kulal hadn’t said a single positive word about the baby.
He hadn’t said any of the things she’d secretly been wishing for, even though she’d told herself it was madness to expect anything from such a man. He hadn’t reassured her that, although becoming a father had been the last thing on his mind, he would step up to the plate and take responsibility—and he certainly hadn’t cooed with pleasure or puffed his chest with pride. He had just studied her dispassionately as if she were no longer a woman, merely an inconvenience who had suddenly appeared in his life. He had installed her in a suite at the Royal Palace Hotel—admittedly the biggest suite she had ever seen. But she had felt small and insignificant within its gilded walls and, when she’d woken from her restless nap, had wandered aimlessly from room to room, wondering what on earth was going to happen next.
An authoritative rap put paid to any further introspection and Hannah opened the door to find Kulal standing there, the bronze shimmer of his robes alerting her to the fact that he too had changed. Had he rushed back to the real palace for a quick wash and brush-up, she wondered—just about to tell him that she wasn’t sure she could endure going to a stuffy restaurant, when she noticed two hotel employees wheeling a vast trolley towards them, bearing unseen dishes topped with gleaming silver domes.
‘I thought we’d eat here,’ he said peremptorily, walking into the room without invitation, the waiters trundling the trolley immediately behind him.
Hannah opened her mouth to object to his cavalier attitude then shut it again. Because really, what was the point? While one waiter set the table positioned in a far alcove, she was forced to endure the tops of the silver dishes being triumphantly whipped off by the other, like a magician producing a series of rabbits at the culmination of his act. But she felt no enthusiasm for the feast which was revealed, despite the alluring display of pomegranate-peppered rice and vegetables cooked with nuts and a sweet paste she’d never heard of. She waited until she and Kulal were alone before turning to him, not caring whether her face showed her growing frustration or not.
‘Why are we eating here?’ she questioned baldly. ‘Because you’re ashamed of being seen with me?’
He didn’t react to her truculent tone, adopting instead a tone of voice she suspected was meant to calm her down.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/melanie-milburne/crowned-for-the-sheikh-s-baby-crowned-for-the-sheikh-s-ba/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
MELANIE MILBURNE и Sharon Kendrick
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Crowned For The Sheikh′s Baby: Crowned for the Sheikh′s Baby, электронная книга авторов MELANIE MILBURNE и Sharon Kendrick на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы