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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.
