Her eyes filled with tears. ‘This isn’t fair,’ she whispered. ‘You have to leave me something, Jake. My pride, at least.’
He smiled. ‘Why should I, kitten? You haven’t left me anything but days and nights of anguish.’
‘Don’t.’ She sighed as he drew her against his heart. ‘Don’t lie to me. There’s no reason.’
‘You’re right, there isn’t. That’s why I’m going to tell you the truth.’ He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth. ‘I love you, kitten.’
Wild joy filled her heart—but then she remembered.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t.’
‘Don’t I?’
Dorian closed her eyes. ‘I’ve seen Alana, remember?’
Jake’s brows rose. ‘Alana?’
She looked at him. ‘Yes. And if you’re going to tell me that a prerogative of royalty is—is having both a wife and a mistress, I’m not interested.’
He smiled. ‘That’s a very old-fashioned notion, kitten.’
Her mouth trembled. ‘Didn’t I ever tell you, Jake? I’m an old-fashioned girl.’
‘Very well.’ He let go of her, reached into his pocket, and held out her passport. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘take it. It belongs to you.’
Well, what had she expected? He was the abdhazim and Alana was the bride he’d chosen. Carefully, eyes downcast so that he would not see the tell-tale gleam of tears on her lashes, Dorian took the passport from him.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. What are you going to do with that, now that you’ve got it?’
Dorian looked up. ‘You know what I’m going to do with it. I’m going to go back to the States.’
He nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. I’ll be doing the same thing in another few weeks, when my cousin’s fully able to resume normal activities.’
‘The abdhan’s all right, then?’
‘Yes.’
She smiled tremulously. ‘I’m glad,’ she whispered. ‘Now you won’t have to be abdhan. You can go back to your old life.’
Smiling, he reached out and touched her hair. ‘Well, with some modifications, I suppose. I’ve agreed to spend part of the year here, to help Seref modernise our country.’
‘Good. I mean, I know that’s important to you.’
‘And then, there’s my marriage.’
Dorian swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘Yes. Your marriage.’ She turned away. ‘I wish you only the best, of course.’
‘Of course.’ His voice was solemn. ‘Well. I suppose I’d better get back to my people. When I got the call that you were trying to leave, we’d just got word of Seref’s recovery. The celebration is still going on.’
She nodded. Don’t cry, she warned herself fiercely, as he started to turn away, don’t you dare cry!
‘But I suppose I should warn you, though…’
‘Warn me?’
‘Yes.’ Jake looked at her. ‘They won’t accept your passport.’
She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s not stamped.’ He frowned, but she could see the laughter in his eyes. ‘You’re in the country illegally, and that’s a serious offence.’
‘But—but we’ve been through all this! I am here legally!’
He shook his head. ‘Nope,’ he said, leaning back against the door and folding his arms over his chest, ‘you’re not. And your passport lists you as Dorian Oliver.’
‘Of course it does. That’s my name!’
He smiled lazily. ‘No, it isn’t. Your name is Dorian Alexander. Or Dorian Alexandrei.’ He laughed. ‘Or maybe even Dorian Prince.’
A tremor went through her. ‘Jake. What are you talking about?’
He reached for her and drew her to him. ‘We’re married, kitten. You’re my wife.’
‘No. No, I’m not. It wasn’t legal. You said so yourself.’
A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I lied.’
‘What?’
‘Well, what else was I going to do? You had to agree to that ceremony, or it would have been the end of the line.’ He tilted her face to his. ‘Besides, when a man finds love, he’ll do anything to keep it.’ His smile became a grin. ‘Even get married.’
‘Married?’ she whispered. ‘We’re really married?’
He laughed softly. ‘Don’t look so upset, darling. We can take our vows again, if you like, in a proper setting with all the trimmings.’
‘But—but what about Alana?’
Jake nuzzled her throat. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, you can’t marry the both of us, not even in Barovnia.’ She frowned and the tip of her tongue touched her lip. ‘Can you?’
‘Not unless I want Seref to take me out and shoot me.’
Dorian stared at him. ‘Seref?’
‘Alana is just what Kasmir said she was, sweetheart. She’s the betrothed of the abdhan. The three of us grew up together, but it’s been special between the two of them for a long, long time.’ He smiled. ‘I’m going to warn Seref that he and Alana had better have enough little princes and princesses so I never have to worry about becoming the abdhan again.’
‘Oh, Jake. I thought…’ She shook her head. ‘Why did you let me think we were going to the Valley of the Two Suns?’
Jake’s mouth twisted. ‘I suppose—I suppose I didn’t trust you. I was going to explain…’
‘But there wasn’t time.’
He nodded. ‘Exactly. Can you forgive me?’
Dorian smiled. ‘I’ll forgive you,’ she whispered, ‘if you forgive me.’
He kissed her, and she sighed. ‘That last night, though—I kept hoping you’d tell me the truth about yourself, but you didn’t.’
‘I wanted to. But if anyone in camp had recognised me, all bets were off. They might have held us for ransom; they might have decided to slit our throats.’ He gathered her tightly into his arms. ‘It was a burden I couldn’t share with you, kitten. Do you see?’
She nestled into his embrace. ‘What I see,’ she said softly, ‘is that you’ve protected me from the minute we met.’
‘And I’ll go on doing it for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.’
He kissed her deeply. After a long time Dorian stirred.
‘Have you forgotten, my abdhazim, that your people are waiting for you?’
Jake swung her up into his arms. ‘How do you feel about keeping to the old ways, sweetheart?’
Dorian smiled. ‘You mean, you want me to quit WorldWeek?’
‘No.’ He took a deep breath. ‘No, love, I wouldn’t ask that of you.’
‘But you can,’ she said softly. ‘You see, I’d much rather be at my husband’s side than at my desk in New York.’
‘You really are an old-fashioned girl,’ he said, smiling. ‘Who would have dreamed it?’
She linked her arms around his neck. ‘But I’d never agree to walk ten paces to the rear of my husband.’
‘No,’ Jake said. His smile broadened. ‘I didn’t think you would.’
‘And I’d never promise to remain mute.’
‘The custom I had in mind is a little bit different, kitten. It’s one that says that the abdhazim brings his bride to his castle and shows her to his people, so they can all see how beautiful she is.’
‘Ah. Well, that sounds lovely.’
Jake kissed her. ‘And then,’ he whispered, ‘he takes her to his rooms, and he makes love to her until the sun is high in the sky.’
Dorian sighed and laid her head against his shoulder.
‘Sometimes,’ she said softly, ‘the old ways are very definitely the best.’
* * * * *
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, 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 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 sis
ter, 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.
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