“Yes, you do,” he answered, lowering his head to kiss her, his lips and teeth nipping at her lips. “You are so hot you’re almost on fire.”
It was true. Little stars exploded in her head and Hannah pressed her thighs tight, sending rivulets of pleasure everywhere. She wasn’t just hot, she was wet, and desperate for him to fill her, answering the terrible ache throbbing inside of her. “You’re deliberately turning me on, making it impossible to function—”
He cut her off with a kiss, the pressure of his mouth parting her lips, his tongue taking her mouth as if it belonged to him. She loved the way he kissed her—hard, fierce—and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him closer. With his cool tongue in her mouth and his hands against her heated skin she thought she’d let him do anything, have anything.
The handsome clock on the gold marble mantel suddenly chimed, and continued to chime repeatedly.
Zale lifted his head, listened to the chiming of the clock. “Can’t be,” he muttered, glancing at his watch then pushing her firmly away. “This is what I mean. I have a meeting in just a few minutes and yet I am still here.”
“Not my fault!”
“No, I know. It’s mine.” His gaze swept over her. “But that’s the part I don’t like. Because self-control has never been a problem. Not until I met you.” Then with a short, sharp shake of his head, he walked into his adjoining bath to shower, shave and start his day.
Dazed, body numb, Hannah climbed back into bed and drew the covers up to her chin.
She was lost. And she wanted her own life back. She needed it, and she needed to be herself. And Zale needed to know the truth.
She had to tell him.
Had to let him know she wasn’t his Emmeline. Hannah must have fallen asleep because the next thing she heard was the sound of Celine wheeling a breakfast trolley laden with tempting treats into her room.
Celine positioned the trolley next to the bed and began uncovering dishes—strawberries and cream, buttery croissants, warm savory meat pastries, poached eggs, Greek yogurt, granola, fresh squeezed orange juice and a tall silver pot of coffee.
“His Majesty thought you might enjoy breakfast in bed today,” Celine said, transforming the trolley into a table next to the bed, acting as if it was perfectly normal for Hannah to be in the king’s bed.
Hannah sat up. “All for me?”
“His Majesty said you’ve a long day of appointments, activities and meetings, starting with this morning’s portrait sitting, so you’ll need a good breakfast. And once you’ve eaten, we’ll return to the Queen’s Chambers and get you ready for your portrait sitting.”
Emmeline’s personal stylists were waiting for her as she emerged from her bathroom a half hour later, swaddled in a Turkish towel.
Camille had everything ready to do Hannah’s hair and it wasn’t long before Hannah was back in the dress she was wearing for her portrait, the pale shimmering gown clinging to her curves, the color highlighting her golden beauty, as Camille ran the flat iron over the ends of her hair making sure it was perfectly straight.
Teresa was passing time by sitting on a stool and flipping through a magazine, sometimes reading an article aloud. Suddenly she stopped flipping pages to stare at a photograph.
“There she is!” Teresa exclaimed. “That Hannah Smith, Your Highness, the American lookalike we told you about in Palm Beach.”
“The one you said helped organize the polo tournament?” Hannah answered vaguely.
Camille smoothed a strand of hair with the flat iron. “Yes, and it’s a shame you didn’t meet her. Teresa and I were dying to see the two of you together … would have been fascinating.”
“Mmm.” Hannah feigned boredom. “You said she’s in the magazine?”
“Yes. This week’s issue.” Teresa drew the magazine closer to study the photo and caption. “They snapped her leaving a South Beach nightclub and she’s with someone who isn’t happy at all … oooh! Sheikh Makin Al-Koury. It looks like he’s dragging her out of the club.” Teresa glanced up at Hannah. “I wonder if that’s her boyfriend?”
Hannah’s brows flattened. “I thought she just worked for him?”
“I don’t know, but he looks really ticked off. He’s practically dragging her out of the club.” Teresa grinned. “Just like a jealous boyfriend.”
“What does the caption say?”
“Not much, just Sheikh Al-Koury and unidentified friend leaving Lounge Mynt.” Teresa looked up. “Although that is a really trendy club. Impossible to get into unless you’re a VIP.”
“I’m sure they’re not dating,” Hannah said firmly, staggered by the news that Emmeline and Makin Al-Koury were together. “Sheikhs do not date their secretaries.” Hannah impatiently held her hand out for the magazine. “Can I see?”
Teresa slid off the stool and carried the magazine to Hannah. “There,” she said, holding the magazine out to Hannah while Camille peeked over her shoulder for a look, too. “Doesn’t he look angry with her?”
Hannah couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Emmeline and Makin stepping out of a South Beach nightclub, which was all the more incredible because Sheikh Makin Al-Koury did not go to nightclubs, avoiding places celebs and paparazzi hung out. He was a very private man and never dated women who liked the limelight.
She glanced from Makin Al-Koury to Emmeline. Emmeline looked terrible. Gaunt. Frail. Eyes deeply shadowed. “She doesn’t look well,” Hannah said. “She’s too thin.”
Camille leaned closer to the photo. “She’s probably partying too much. Everyone does everything in South Beach.”
“Not Makin,” Hannah said under her breath, thinking Teresa was right. Makin looked absolutely livid in the photo. What was going on between them? What were they doing together? And when had Princess Emmeline met up with Hannah’s boss?
“What’s everyone looking at?” Zale asked from the doorway.
Hannah jumped and shoved the magazine back into Teresa’s hands. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” he drawled, entering the dressing room. “Then why do all three of you look guilty?”
“Because we were all drooling over clothes. Expensive clothes. Something you’d never do,” Hannah answered with a laugh. “What brings you here, Your Majesty?”
“You.”
His rich voice and Raguvian accent made everything he said sound sinful. Sexy.
Heat swept through her. Her cheeks burned as she turned in her chair to face him. He was wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks and yet he looked incredibly fit, as though he’d just returned from a long run. “I’m honored.”
“How are the preparations coming for your sitting?”
“Good. Just need my makeup and I’m off.”
Camille and Teresa discreetly disappeared and Zale approached her carrying a large black velvet box.
“I have a gift,” he said. “Something I should have given you when you first arrived.”
She tipped her head back, looked him straight in the eyes, loving the heat in his amber gaze. “But you haven’t been sure about me.”
“That’s true.” He handed the velvet box to her. “But I’m sure now.”
Hannah opened the lid of the black box, revealing a tall, glittering tiara.
“It was my mother’s,” he said, “and my grandmother’s