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

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

ISBN: 978-1-474-09566-2

CROWNED FOR THE SHEIKH’S BABY/TYCOON’S FORBIDDEN CINDERELLA

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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

Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby

Back Cover Text

Introduction

One Night With Consequences

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby

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

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

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

‘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.

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