Crowned For The Sheikh's Baby

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

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?