by Penny Jordan
She was trembling as he drew her even closer to his body, but not with fear… not even with apprehension.
While he kissed her, and she clung eagerly to the sweet magic of his kisses woven on her senses, she could feel his hands trembling over the tiny buttons that closed her dress. When he had opened them as far as her breasts, he groaned and buried his mouth in the soft warm hollow between them, telling her hoarsely, ‘You can’t know how much I wanted to do this again.’
She was trembling uncontrollably now, hardly able to speak as she told him, ‘I know how much I’ve wanted you to do it, though.’
It was as though she had turned a key in a secret lock, as though her words had unleashed a powerful magical force within both of them, so that her inexperience, the long years of celibacy, might never have been, and immediately her body, her senses, her emotions were so responsive to his that each touch, each kiss, each murmured word of praise and longing increased her awareness of her own sensuality, of her body’s female strength, of her age-old ability to please this man whom she loved so deeply, to pleasure him, just as he was pleasuring her, with her hands, with her mouth, with her voice as she whispered to him her delight, her need, her love, her pleasure in his body and her own, and finally with the whole of her body, as he drew her down on the floor beside the fire, studying her in silence, before his hands drifted over her naked fire-gilded body, stroking it into liquid silken eager responsiveness so that when he finally entered her her response to him was so immediate, so powerful that, even as she wrapped her legs around him, even as she arched and told him beseechingly how much she wanted him, how much she loved him, how much she needed the sensation of his flesh moving so powerfully, so deeply within her own, pleasure coalesced and built up into such a fiery core that its implosion within her made her tense and cry out in shocked awe, her senses totally unprepared for the awesomeness of so much pleasure.
While her body shook with the shock of so intense an emotional and physical completion, Silas held her tenderly, whispering reassuringly to her that there would be time enough later for him to achieve the same ecstatic state, that there would be all the time in the world for them to share and explore their physical desire for one another, just as they would share and explore their love.
He wanted her for ever, he told her, not just for today, for tonight, but for ever, and he hoped that she wanted him in the same way.
She did, Hazel assured him shakily.
‘Enough to marry me?’ he asked her gravely.
And it was only then, when she looked at him and saw the uncertainty, the need in his eyes, that she actually did realise that in his love for her he was just as vulnerable as she was herself.
‘Yes,’ she told him equally gravely. ‘Enough for that, and to spare.’
* * *
THEY WERE MARRIED just before Christmas, the quiet church ceremony they had planned somehow becoming a large joint family celebration.
All Silas’s family were there, and on an impulse she couldn’t really name Hazel had invited Jimmy’s mother, all his brothers and sisters, and their children as well.
As Katie happily told anyone who would listen to her, she was the one who was responsible for this marriage. She had known from the moment she set eyes on Silas that he was exactly right for her mother, and as she had already fondly told Hazel, when Hazel had broken the news of their marriage to her, ‘Only the best is good enough for you, Ma, and Silas is the best.’
Hazel hadn’t been able to disagree with that. Even now she could hardly believe she had found such happiness, been blessed with such love.
As she glanced at her new husband now and he looked back at her, she blushed at the promise she could read so clearly in his eyes, hoping that no one else could read it equally clearly.
There had been such a rush to arrange things, to put the house on the market and look for somewhere they could start their lives together, and to make all the other arrangements, that they had barely had any time at all together, alone. They had been lovers on less than a dozen occasions and each time Silas made love to her it increased her physical desire for him to such a pitch that now merely to look at him was enough to make her body positively hum with anticipatory delight.
She told herself sternly that it was a ridiculous way to feel at her age, but then Silas smiled at her, and she forgot all about her age, and remembered only that she was a woman and very much in love… very, very much in love.
‘Time for us to leave, I think,’ Silas whispered to her, adding, under his breath, ‘Have I told you recently how much I’m aching to be alone with you?’
‘Not for the last hour,’ Hazel responded mischievously.
‘You just wait,’ he threatened her. ‘You just wait until tonight…’
They were standing together, so wrapped up in one another that Hazel didn’t even hear Katie approach until her daughter whispered in her ear, ‘The way you two are looking at one another is almost making me blush.’
‘We’re just leaving,’ Silas grinned at her, and then, looking tenderly at Hazel, added, ‘That’s if you’re ready to leave, my love.’
‘I’m ready,’ Hazel told him huskily, while Katie laughed again and then hustled them both towards the door, claiming that now they really were embarrassing her.
* * * * *
Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of Sharon Kendrick’s next book,
CROWNED FOR THE SHEIKH’S BABY
Sensible Hannah never expected to attend a glamorous party with Sheikh Kulal. A searing kiss leads to an incredible night—and shocking consequences! Now Kulal will claim his heir, by making Hannah his desert queen!
Keep reading to get a glimpse of
CROWNED FOR THE SHEIKH’S BABY
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, whi
ch 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 which 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 the 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.’