Crowned For The Sheikh's Baby: Crowned for the Sheikh's Baby

‘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

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?’