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It hadn’t been the passionate experience she’d hoped for. Alejandro had been impatient, even irritated. She’d been surprised by the emptiness and roughness of the lovemaking but told herself that it’d be better the next time, that as she grew to love him, she’d learn how to relax. She’d learn how to respond. She’d heard that sex was so different when you were emotionally close and she hoped that it was true.
But there hadn’t been a next time. And now she was pregnant.
Ridiculous. Horrifying. Especially as she was engaged to another man. It was an arranged marriage, one that had been planned years ago for her when she was still in her teens, and the wedding was scheduled for just ten days from now. Obviously she couldn’t marry King Patek pregnant with Alejandro’s baby. So Alejandro needed to man up. Do the right thing, and accept his responsibility in this catastrophe.
Shoulders thrown back, head high, Emmeline entered the darkened VIP room, her narrowed gaze scanning the low plush couches filled with lounging guests. She spotted Alejandro right away. He was hard to miss in his billowy white shirt that showed off his dark hair, tan skin and handsome Latin profile to perfection. He wasn’t alone. He had a stunning young brunette in a shocking red mini-dress on his lap.
Penelope Luca, Emmeline thought, recognizing the young model who had recently become the new It girl. But Penelope wasn’t merely sitting on Alejandro’s lap. Alejandro’s hand was up underneath the young model’s short red skirt, his lips were nuzzling her neck.
For a moment Emmeline couldn’t move or breathe. For a moment she stood transfixed by the sight of Alejandro pleasuring Penelope.
And then humiliation screamed through her.
This was the man who’d promised to love her forever? This was the man who wanted her, Emmeline d’Arcy, above all others? This was the man she’d sacrificed her future for?
“Alejandro.” Her voice was low, clear and sharp. It cut through the pounding music, hum of voices and shrill laughter. Heads turned toward Emmeline. She was dimly aware that everyone was looking at her but she only had eyes for Alejandro.
He looked up at her from beneath his lashes, his lips still affixed to the girl’s neck, his expression mocking.
He didn’t care.
Emmeline’s legs shook. The room seemed to spin.
He didn’t care, she thought again, horror mounting. He didn’t care if she saw him with Penelope. He didn’t care how Emmeline felt. Because he didn’t care for her. He’d never cared, either.
It hit her that it had all been a game for him … to bed a princess. The challenge. The chase. The conquest. She’d merely been a beautiful royal scalp to decorate his belt. And now that he’d possessed her, taken her innocence, he’d discarded her. As if she were nothing. No one.
Fury and pain blinded her. Fury with herself, pain for her child. She’d been stupid, so stupid, and she had no one to blame but herself. But wasn’t that her problem? Hadn’t that been her Achilles’ heel her entire life? Needing love? Craving validation?
Her weakness sickened her, shamed her. Nausea hit her in waves.
“Alejandro,” she repeated his name, her voice dropping, breaking, fire licking her limbs, daggers slicing her heart. “I will not be ignored!”
But he did ignore her. He didn’t even bother to look at her again.
Her legs shook. Her eyes burned. How dare he mock her this way. She marched closer, temper blazing. “You’re a liar and a cheat. A pathetic excuse for a man—”
“Stop.” A deep, hard male voice spoke from behind her, interrupting her, even as a hand settled on her shoulder.
She struggled to shake the hand off, not finished with Alejandro yet. “You will take responsibility,” she insisted, trembling with rage.
“I said, enough,” Sheikh Makin Al-Koury repeated tersely, head dropped, mouth close to Hannah’s ear. He was angry, very angry, and he told himself it was because his assistant had gone missing in action, and that he resented having to chase her down like a recalcitrant puppy, but it was more than that.
It was her, Hannah, dressed like … looking like … sex. Sex in high heels.
Impossible. Hannah wasn’t sexy. Hannah wasn’t hot, but here she was in a cocktail dress so snug that it looked painted on her slim body, the turquoise satin fabric clinging to her small, firm breasts and outlining her high, round ass.
The fact that he noticed her ass blew his mind. He’d never even looked at her body before, didn’t even know she had a body, and yet here she was in a tight shimmering dress with kohl-rimmed eyes, her long dark hair tumbling free over her shoulders.
