Crowned For The Sheikh's Baby: Crowned for the Sheikh's Baby. Melanie Milburne
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been brought to life—yet was she really misguided enough to think the sexy desert King would give a second glance at her—plain and inexperienced Hannah Wilson?
Her heart was pounding as she prepared his coffee. After his short-tempered response at their initial meeting she had expected him to be difficult to work for. She’d thought he would be all distant and haughty, as befitted a man of his status. Yet it was funny how sustained contact with someone could make them seem more human—even someone as exulted as a desert king.
She tipped extra sugar cubes into a porcelain bowl because the Sheikh was rather partial to sugar. In fact, as far as she could make out, sweetening his coffee was the closest he got to indulgence. He didn’t drink alcohol, nor smoke those pungent cigars which some of the richer clients puffed on when they were out on the smoking terrace. He even seemed able to go without food for long periods of time—as if fasting came naturally to him. Which might explain the magnificence of his iron-hard body which she had once seen—inadvertently—when he had emerged unexpectedly from the shower.
Even now it made her breathless to remember it. Diamond droplets of water had glittered against his dark skin and Hannah had found herself mesmerised by endlessly muscular legs and narrow hips against which the white towel slung round them had looked woefully inadequate. For a moment, she had been completely flummoxed, unprepared for the sudden rush of heat which had made tiny beads of sweat appear on her heated brow.
‘Oh!’ she remembered exclaiming weakly, clutching onto her feather duster as if it were a life-raft, yet unable to drag her gaze away from his spectacular body.
To his credit, he had seemed as surprised to see her as she was him, a deep frown making his jet-black eyes appear even more laser-like in their intensity than usual. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he had demanded.
‘I work here, Your Royal Highness.’
‘You told me you’d finished for the day.’
Hannah had been so startled by the realisation that he’d actually been listening to her that she’d begun to recount the boringly domestic reason why she’d still been on the premises. ‘I had,’ she’d said quickly. ‘Only I spotted a cobweb, high up on one of the ceilings, and since I thought you’d already left for your helicopter flight—’
‘You decided to destroy the poor spider’s home?’ he’d drawled, his eyes gleaming with what had appeared to be mischief. ‘My, my, what a heartless woman you can be, Hannah.’
And Hannah had blushed even more. She had gone the colour of a beetroot or one of those dark ‘heritage’ tomatoes which room service kept always sending up whenever the Sheikh asked for a salad. Because she wasn’t used to being teased—and she certainly wasn’t used to being teased by a half-naked man, with an implied level of intimacy which was completely outside her comfort zone. Maybe that was why she’d blurted out the first stupid thing which had come into her head and said it with a fierceness which had seemed to take him by surprise.
‘I would never kill a spider. They have just as much right to be here as we do.’
There had been a pause. ‘Then I must be careful what I accuse you of in the future,’ had been the Sheikh’s slow and thoughtful response.
Even now Hannah’s cheeks went pink when she remembered it. Did he say things like that just to get a rise out of her? Sometimes she suspected he did—until she forced herself to remember the reality of her situation. As if someone like Kulal Al Diya would have the inclination to tease the lowliest of hotel workers when she knew for a fact that a famous American singer with an instantly recognisable name had called him yesterday afternoon. Hannah had almost dropped the phone when she’d answered it. Briefly, she’d thought about how much this particular woman’s autograph would raise if you auctioned it on the Internet—before handing the phone over to the black-eyed desert King. The Sheikh had shut the door of his bedroom to take the call in private...and Hannah had been unprepared for the sudden rush of envy she had experienced.
And that was when she’d started wondering what it would be like to have a man like Kulal Al Diya as your lover. Imagining what it would be like to wake up in those powerful arms while his black eyes raked over you. Or how it would feel to have those long fingers slowly stroking skin which was growing heated even as she thought about it.
Just stop it, Hannah. Had that cheesy film she’d watched on her day off kick-started such crazy fantasies? Or was it because she’d been sitting there with nothing but a bumper carton of popcorn for company, surrounded by couples who were making out? With an impatient click of her lips, Hannah straightened an embroidered silk cushion. For some people, this would have been the job from heaven but it was rapidly turning into the job from hell—and all because she couldn’t stop obsessing about a hotel guest in a totally unprofessional way. Had she chosen someone completely out of reach because that was safe?
Or was it talking to her sister the other night which had made Hannah feel more of a loser in love than usual? Tamsyn had sent a photo of herself about to go out for the evening, her red hair cascading down her back like a fiery waterfall, her big green eyes fringed with spectacular black lashes. And hadn’t Hannah felt a little resentful—wondering how it was that, despite Tamsyn’s dire financial situation and lack of regular employment, she could still manage to look like a film star and go out and have a good time?
‘Are you ever going to serve that coffee, Hannah? Or are you just going to stand there muttering to yourself all morning?’
The richly accented voice breaking into her thoughts made Hannah jump and she turned to see the Sheikh sauntering into the room, with all the unleashed power of a hand-reared leopard. She watched as he sat down. It had taken a bit of adjustment to get used to his western taste in clothing because she hadn’t realised that sheikhs wore jeans...especially not spray-on faded ones which made him look like a poster star for the brand. Her fingers tightened around the coffee cup, but not nearly as much as her breasts were tightening beneath the snug fit of her uniform dress. Had she been talking out loud?
Was he aware she’d been having stupid fantasies about him?
Of course he wasn’t—he might be a famously good negotiator, but he wasn’t that clever!
‘Certainly, Your Royal Highness,’ she said efficiently as she carried the cup over to his desk, where he was looking at some exotic-looking map. He liked looking at maps, and on one memorable occasion had pointed out a mountain range on the north-eastern side of his country, describing the snowy peaks in a way which had made Hannah feel all dreamy. He’d told her about Mount Taljan, which was the highest and most beautiful mountain in all of Zahristan, casually mentioning that he’d scaled it when he was just seventeen years old.
He looked up as she put the cup down in front of him, his black eyes raking over her like glowing coals and, as usual, she was momentarily flustered by the intensity of that gaze.
‘Is...is there anything else I can get you, Your Royal Highness?’ she questioned politely.
Kulal leaned back in his chair to study her, knowing if he did so for long enough then her cheeks would inevitably take on that rosy hue he found so entrancing. And then she would squirm with embarrassment until he put her out of her misery and dismissed her. His lips curved into a reflective smile. He knew she was attracted to him—which came as no great surprise; what was surprising was her total lack of attempt to capture his interest, especially given her rare proximity to his royal presence. In his own country, the majority of his personal servants were male and, in the west, few women would have been given the unfettered access which Hannah had been granted.
Yet there had been no change to her outward appearance, which would have been usual. No subtle lick of lipstick, or an application of mascara to make those extraordinary aquamarine eyes look even bigger. Nor copious amounts of perfume applied to wrist or cleavage, intended to beguile his nostrils with the scent of her femininity. His eyes narrowed. And wasn’t her lack of artifice refreshing—coupled with a naivety which was rarely found in the world he inhabited?
He dropped a sugar cube into