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‘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 hi
s 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?
