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Say what, now?
‘Um, yes,’ Orla murmured, struggling to control the full body blush that was currently incinerating her.
So the Crown Prince hadn’t told his staff the truth about their engagement.
‘Please call me Orla, by the way,’ she added, unused to the formality with her own family’s staff. The few she had been able to retain had become friends and allies over the last few years.
‘Oh, I couldn’t do that, Miss Calhoun. Mr Khan wouldn’t approve,’ the housekeeper replied. ‘After all, you are going to become the Crown Princess of Zafar.’
The surreal unreality of the situation struck Orla again as she watched the housekeeper finish laying out the breakfast.
‘Now, I must get back downstairs. Would you like me to send up one of the maids, to help you dress?’ she asked.
‘No, really, I’m good,’ Orla replied.
‘Can I tell the Crown Prince you’ll be down in half an hour?’ Edith asked, the hopeful look making Orla wonder if the housekeeper was going to get chastised by her employer if she didn’t get a move on.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Orla said, even though the last thing she wanted to do was see him again. There wasn’t much point in postponing the meeting, though, especially if it was going to get Edith into trouble.
The woman smiled then left Orla standing alone in the room.
Abandoning the breakfast, she headed for the suite’s palatial bathroom. With her stomach churning she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite of the lavish display of fresh fruit, pastries, pancakes and eggs and bacon, laid out on the table.
Her stomach turned over again. And even if she could, she doubted she would be able to keep it down once she got downstairs.
Twenty-nine minutes later, Orla arrived downstairs, to be greeted by a butler who led her to Khan’s study, a large, beautifully appointed room that looked onto the mansion’s extensive gardens.
Her heart pummelled her tonsils as she spotted Khan’s muscular frame silhouetted against the large mullioned window. In dark grey expertly tailored suit trousers and a white shirt rolled up at the sleeve, showing off the dark skin of his forearms, he looked like exactly what he was—a rich, powerful and supremely confident playboy prince. He turned as she entered the room. And her lungs squeezed.
Correction: a rich, powerful, supremely confident and impossibly hot playboy prince.
‘Orla, at last,’ he said. The familiarity of her name on his lips made her pulse rate accelerate as he strode across the thick carpeting to greet her. But when he took her hand and lifted her fingers, she jolted, the hot weight in her abdomen ready to detonate, as he skimmed her knuckles with his lips.
It was the first time he had touched her, let alone with such familiarity—the feel of his lips, firm and entitled, had sensation racing through her body. She struggled to relax as his eyes narrowed with displeasure
.
Then she spotted the other man in the room for the first time.
The charade had begun, she realised, and she had already made a mess of things.
Was he angry with her? He had to be—he was paying her a great deal of money to play his besotted bride-to-be. But the slight frown had gone and all she could see in his gaze was something that looked like scepticism.
Taking her hand in a firm grip, he folded her arm over his, trapping her against his side to escort her across the room. Unwanted desire raced over her skin, but she forced herself to breathe.
Act natural, you’re supposed to be lovers, you dope.
‘This is the head of my legal team, Orla, Phillip Carstairs, who has some papers for you to sign,’ he said, introducing her to the other man.
‘Ms Calhoun.’ The dignified man in his fifties greeted her with a warm smile. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last. Karim has been telling me all about your whirlwind courtship. My wife will be starry-eyed when I give her the details,’ the solicitor added, without a hint of sarcasm, as he held out his hand.
‘Thank you, Mr Carstairs.’ She shook his hand, trying to stop her own from shaking and look suitably excited—while wondering what the story was Khan had told his solicitor. It might have been nice if he’d bothered to clue her in.
‘Yes, it all happened so very fast,’ she added, directing an awestruck look at the man beside her.
Not surprisingly, that wasn’t at all hard to fake, as she felt Khan’s biceps flex and the warm skin of his bare forearm—lightly furred with hair—burned her fingertips.
Khan turned his searing gaze on her.
