Читать книгу The Royals Collection - Ким Лоренс, Rebecca Winters - Страница 18
ОглавлениеHER FATHER WAS there to greet them at the private airstrip where they landed, and Hannah was relieved he looked better than the previous day, almost his old self. She was sandwiched between the two men in the back seat of the limo and by the time they arrived at Brent Hall the effort of maintaining a reassuring pretence for her father’s sake had taken its toll, her persistent nagging headache showing signs of becoming a full-blown migraine.
‘I think I might go to my room, unless you want me to help.’ There was evidence of the preparations for tonight everywhere.
‘No, you have a rest. Good idea. Tonight is all under control. I got a new firm in and they seem excellent—they’re doing the lot. I have a few ideas I want to run past your husband.’ He glanced towards Kamel and joked, ‘Not much point having a financial genius in the family if you don’t make use of him, is there? I’m sure he’ll even write your thank-you letters.’
Hannah laughed and her father winked conspiratorially at her. ‘A family joke.’
And one that was at his daughter’s expense, thought Kamel, who had seen the flinch before the smile. How many times, he wondered, had she been on the receiving end of such jokes? For a man who cared deeply for his daughter, Charles Latimer seemed remarkably blind to her sensitivity.
‘I am aware of Hannah’s dyslexia. Is that the family joke?’
‘She told you?’ Hannah’s father looked startled.
‘She did. But even if she hadn’t I would have noticed how uncomfortable the family joke made her.’
Hannah’s father looked horrified by the suggestion. ‘It’s just that some of her mistakes have been so...’ His stammering explanation ground to a halt in the face of his new son-in-law’s fixed, unsmiling stare. ‘Hannah has a great sense of humour.’
‘I don’t.’
* * *
Instead of heading for her room, Hannah made her way down to the kitchens. But finding the place had been taken over by outside caterers, she made her way to Sarah’s private flat.
The cook was delighted to see her. So was Olive, the dog sitting in her basket, surrounded by her puppies, who licked Hannah’s hand and wagged her stumpy little tail.
Without being asked, Sarah produced some painkillers along with the coffee and cakes. ‘Now, tell me all about it.’
Hannah did—or at least the approved version. She stayed half an hour before she got up to leave.
‘Where are you going?’ Sarah called after her.
‘To my room. I need to get ready.’ She pulled a face.
‘Not that way, Hannah.’ Sarah laughed. ‘You can’t sleep in your old bedroom. You’re a married woman now.’
‘Oh, God, I forgot!’ Hannah groaned.
If the cook thought this was an odd thing to say she didn’t let on. Instead she enthused about the complete refurbishment of the guest suite that Hannah was to stay in. ‘Mind you, if you’re used to palaces...’
‘I’m not used to palaces. I’ll never be used to palaces. I hate them and I hate him!’ Then it all came tumbling out—the whole story.
‘I knew something was wrong,’ Sarah said as she piled sugar in a cup of tea and made Hannah drink it. ‘I don’t know what to say, Hannah. I really don’t.’
‘There’s nothing to say. I’m sorry I dumped on you like this.’
‘Heavens, girl, that’s what I’m here for. You know I’ve always thought of you as my second daughter.’
‘I wish I was,’ Hannah replied fiercely, envying Eve her mother. ‘Dad thinks I’m all right with it. You won’t tell him, will you? I worry so much that the stress will...’ She didn’t have to explain her worries to Sarah, who knew about the heart attack. She’d been with Hannah when she’d got the call and had travelled with her to the hospital.
Having extracted a firm promise that Sarah would not reveal how unhappy she was, Hannah made her way to the guest room and discovered that Sarah had not exaggerated about the makeover.
She explored the luxurious bedroom. An opulent silk curtained four-poster bed occupied one end of the room. She quickly looked away, but not before several illicit images slipped through her mental block. Her stomach was still flipping lazily as she focused on the opposite end of the room where a bathtub deep enough to swim in sat on a raised dais.
Behind it there were two doors. One opened, she discovered, into a massive wet room—she pressed one of the buttons on a glass control panel that would have looked at home in a space station and the room was filled with the sounds of the ocean. Unable to locate a button that turned it off, she closed the door and pushed open the other door. The lights inside automatically lit up, revealing a space that was the size of her entire flat, lined with hanging space, mirrors and shelves.
It was not a full wardrobe, but neither was it empty. The selection of clothes and shoes that were hung and neatly folded were her own. Shoes, bags, underclothes—there was something for every occasion, including an obvious choice for this evening where all eyes would be on her. She pushed away the thought of the evening ahead and lifted a silk shirt to her face. Feeling the sharp prick of tears behind her eyelids, she blinked them back.
After the last few days Hannah had imagined that nothing could shock her ever again. But when she opened the large velvet box on the dressing table and looked at the contents displayed on the silk lining, she knew that she had been wrong!
* * *
Kamel glanced at the closed door, then at his watch. He was expecting her to be late and he was expecting her to be hostile; she was neither. At seven on the dot the door opened and his wife stepped into the room.
Kamel struggled to contain his gasp. He had seen her at her worst and that had been beautiful. At her best she was simply breathtaking. The satin gown she wore with such queenly confidence left one shoulder bare, Grecian style. The bodice cut snugly across her breasts, continued in a body-hugging column to the knee where it flared out, sweeping the ground. Her skin against the black glowed with a pearly opalescence.
The silence stretched and Hannah fought the absurd urge to curtsey. What was she meant to do—ask for marks out of ten?
Anxiety gnawed her stomach lining and tension tied the muscles in her shoulders but her expression was serene as she took a step towards him and fought the ridiculous urge to ask for his approval. ‘Am I late?’
‘You are not wearing the diamonds,’ he said, noticing the absence of the jewels he had had removed from the vault that morning.
‘I’m a “less is more” kind of girl.’ She could not explain even to herself her reluctance to wear the jewels.
He arched a sardonic brow. ‘And I’m an “if you have it flaunt it” sort of guy.’
‘All right, I’ll put them on,’ she agreed without good grace before sweeping from the room. ‘Satisfied now?’ she asked when she returned a short while later wearing the jewellery. On the plus side, nobody would be looking at her now—they’d be staring at the king’s ransom she wore.
Hannah watched the lift doors opening and felt her stomach go into a steep dive. She did not question the instinct that warned her not to be in an enclosed space with this man. She picked up her skirt in one hand. ‘I’m fine with the stairs.’
‘I’m not.’
Not anticipating the hand against the small of her back that propelled her forward, she tensed before retreating into a corner and standing there trying not to meet her own eyes in the mirrors that covered four walls of the lift.
She exited the lift a step ahead of him, almost falling out in the process.
‘Relax.’
The advice drew a disbelieving laugh from the resentful recipient, who turned her head sharply and was reminded of the chandelier earrings she wore as they brushed her skin. ‘Seriously?’
The man had spent most of their flight giving her a last-minute crash course in how princesses were meant to behave. The consequences of her failing had not been spelt out, but had left her with the impression the political stability of a nation—or possibly even a continent—could be jeopardised by her saying the wrong word to the wrong person or using the wrong fork.
So no pressure, then!
‘If I’d been listening to a word you said I’d be a gibbering wreck, but happily I’ve started as I mean to go on. I tuned you out.’ She smiled at his expression, catching the flicker of shock in his eyes, and chalked a mental point in the air. Then, producing a brilliant smile, she laid a hand on his arm as they reached the double doors of the ballroom.
‘I do know how to work a room, you know.’
Despite the assurance, she was actually glad to enter the room beside a figure who oozed authority. She’d been acting as a hostess for her father for years, but it was a shock to find few faces she recognised in the room.
Despite her initial misgivings, a glass of champagne later she was circulating, accepting congratulations, smiling and doing a pretty good job of lying through her clenched teeth. Until she saw a familiar figure. She went to wave, and then the man he was speaking to turned his head.
She knew, of course, that her father and Rob Preston still saw one another on a personal and professional level, but her ex-fiancé had never been invited to any event when she was present previously.
Hannah moved across the room to where her father stood chatting.
‘Excuse me, can I borrow my father for one minute?’
‘What’s wrong, Hannah?’
‘Rob is here!’
‘He is one of my oldest friends. You’re married now, and I think it’s time we drew a line under what happened, if Rob is willing to forgive and forget.’
‘I should too.’ She took a deep breath. This was what happened when you put your pride before the truth. ‘You’re right, Dad. Fine,’ she said, thinking that it was so not fine.
As the party progressed a few people began to drift outside into the courtyard, and Hannah joined them, having spent the evening avoiding Rob, who to her relief had shown no inclination to speak to her.
With the tree branches filled with white lights and the sound of laughter and music from inside drifting out through the open doors, it was a magical scene. Most people had sensibly avoided the damp grass and remained on the paved area around the pool, laughing and talking, all except a middle-aged couple who reappeared from amongst the trees. The woman’s hair was mussed and her shoes were in her hand.
Hannah looked down at her own feet—they ached in the high heels that matched her gown. She wriggled her cramped toes, forcing blood back into the cramped extremities and wincing at the painful burn. What page on the princess handbook said you weren’t allowed to take off your shoes and walk on the grass? It would be there along with anything else spontaneous and fun. The wistful ache in her throat grew heavier as she watched the man...maybe her husband...slide a shoe back onto the pretty woman’s foot while she balanced precariously on the other. The woman tottered and her partner caught her. There was a lot of soft laughter and a brief kiss before they went back indoors.
Hannah was taking a last deep breath of fresh air and painting on a smile just as a figure emerged, his eyes scanning as if he was searching for something or someone. Her bodyguard stood out like a sore thumb, albeit one in black tie.
Hannah found herself moving backwards into the shadow of a tree. She realised she was holding her breath and closing her eyes like a child who wanted to disappear. She looked down at her hands clenched into tight fists and slowly unfurled them. The sight of the deep grooves her nails had cut into the flesh of her palm drew a fleeting frown of acknowledgement but didn’t lessen her defiance.
The buzz lasted a few moments, but as the exhilaration of her small rebellion faded away she stared at her shoes sinking into the damp ground. Was this going to be her life in future? Ignoring ‘don’t walk on the grass’ signs just to feel alive?
As rebellions went it was pathetic.
She was pathetic.
She took a deep breath and, taking her shoes off and holding them in one hand, she used the other to lift her skirt free of the damp grass as she straightened her slender shoulder. ‘Man up, Hannah,’ she muttered to herself as she moved towards the lights that filtered through the bank of trees.
‘Hello, Hannah. I knew you wanted me to follow you.’
Hannah let out a soft yelp of shock and dropped both her shoes and skirt. The fabric trailed on the wet ground as she turned around.
The comment came from a man with a massive ego, a man who thought everything was about him.
The acknowledgement shocked Hannah more than the fact Rob had followed her. Even after she had discovered his infidelities there had been a small, irrational corner of her brain that had made excuses for him.
There were no excuses, not for him and not for her either for being so damned gullible—for not seeing past the perfect manners, the practised smile and the thoughtful gifts. She’d seen little flashes of the real Rob and she’d chosen to ignore them and the growing unease she had felt. If she hadn’t walked into Sal’s room and found them...
She closed her eyes to blot out the mental image, and lifted her chin. She had been dreading this moment but now that it was here...how bad could it be? She’d spent two days in a prison cell. She could definitely cope with an awkward situation.
‘Hello, Rob.’ He’d been drinking heavily. She could smell it even before he stepped into the patch of moonlight and she was able to see his high colour and glazed eyes. Seeing Rob when she had thought he was the love of her life had always made her stomach quiver, but now it quivered with distaste.
‘No, I didn’t want you to follow me. I really didn’t.’
He looked taken aback by her reaction. Clearly I’m not following the script he wrote, she thought. Drunk or not drunk, he was still a very handsome man, the premature silvered wings of hair giving him a distinguished look, along with the horn-rimmed glasses that she had been amazed to discover were plain glass, though they gave a superficial impression of intellect and sensitivity.
But then Rob always had been more about style than substance. Deep down Hannah had always known that, she had just chosen not to think about it. But for the first time now she was struck by a softness about him. Not just the thickness around the middle that regular sessions with a personal trainer could never quite eliminate, but in his features... Had he always looked that way or was it just the contrast? She had spent the last two days in the company of a man who made granite look soft.
An image of Kamel floated into her mind: his strong-boned aristocratic features, his mobile, sensual mouth.
‘Just like old times. Remember the time we brought a bottle of champagne out here and—?’
Hannah stiffened and matched his hot stare with one of cold contempt. ‘That wasn’t me.’
He stopped, his eyes falling as his lips compressed in a petulant line. ‘Oh! She never meant anything—’
Did he even remember who she was? The anger and bitterness was still there, and most of all the knowledge that she had been a total fool. But now she could see the black humour in it...in him.
He was a joke.
‘And now you mean nothing to me.’
As he sensed her shift of attitude, sensed he had lost his power, his expression darkened. ‘That’s not true and we both know it.’
‘Look, Rob, Dad wanted you to be here and that’s fine. But you and I are never going to be friends. Let’s settle for civil...?’ She gave a sigh and felt relief. This was the moment she had been dreading—coming face to face with the man she had considered the love of her life only to discover he meant nothing.
Her relieved sigh became a sharp intake of alarm as Rob lumbered drunkenly towards her, forcing Hannah to retreat until her back hit the tree trunk. She winced as the bark grazed her back through the thin fabric of her gown.
‘You were meant to be with me. We are soul mates... What went wrong, Hannah?’
A contemptuous laugh came from Hannah’s lips. She was too angry at being manhandled to be afraid. ‘Maybe all my friends—the ones you bedded after we were engaged?’ She made the sarcastic suggestion without particular rancour. Rob was pathetic.
‘I told you, they meant nothing. They were just cheap...’ His lips curled. ‘Not like you—you’re pure and perfect. I was willing to wait for you. It would have been different after we were married. I would have given you everything.’ He clasped a hand to his heart.
The dramatic gesture caused Hannah’s discomfort to tip over into amusement. He looked so ridiculous.
His eyes narrowed at her laugh, then slid to the jewels that gleamed against the skin of her throat. ‘But I wasn’t enough for you, was I?’
She swallowed; the laugh had been a bad idea. ‘I think I’d better go.’
‘A love match, is it? Or should that be an oil deal?’ He saw her look of shock and smiled. ‘People talk, and I know a lot of people.’
On the receiving end of his fixed lascivious stare, she felt sick. ‘Well, I’m not pure or perfect but I am extremely pis—’
Rob, in full florid flow, cut across her. ‘A work of art,’ he raved. ‘Sheer perfection, my perfect queen, not his—he doesn’t appreciate you like I would have. I’d have looked after you...the other women, they meant nothing to me,’ he slurred. ‘You must know that—you are the only woman I have ever loved.’
How did I ever think he was the man of my dreams? she wondered, feeling queasy as he planted a hand on the tree trunk beside her head and leaned in closer.
Struggling not to breathe in the fumes, she countered acidly, ‘Well, you know, you can’t miss what you’ve never had.’
Having followed the spiky imprints of her heels across the wet grass, Kamel took only a few minutes to locate the couple in the tree. He didn’t pause. Unable to see them, he heard their voices as with a face like thunder he charged straight through a shrub.
This wasn’t a moment to stop and consider, not a moment for subtlety. He’d bent over backwards to be reasonable but she wasn’t a woman who responded to reasonable. Was she pushing boundaries, checking just how far she could push him? Or maybe she simply lacked any normal sense of propriety? This wasn’t about jealousy. It was one thing to have a pragmatic approach to marriage, but she had not just crossed the line, she had obliterated it!
The couple came into his line of vision about the same moment that he mentally processed the interchange he had just heard. It was astonishing enough to stop him in his tracks.
‘Well, he’s welcome to you!’
Hannah struggled and failed to swallow a caustic retort to this petulant response. ‘Well, the idea that I was your soul mate didn’t last long, did it?’
‘Bitch!’ Rob snarled. ‘You think you’ve landed on your feet now, but we all know what happens to people when they get in your husband’s way...’
Hannah was shaken by the malice and ugly jealousy in his face. Jealousy...! She shook her head in disbelief. Perhaps he’d been acting the injured party so long he actually believed it.
The full realisation of just how lucky she had been hit home. She could have been married to him.
Her stomach gave a fresh shudder of disgust as she pulled in a breath, trying to surreptitiously ease away from him. As nice as it would have been to drop the icy dignity that had got her through that awful day, this wasn’t the time and definitely not the place, she thought, to have the last word.
This could get ugly.
‘They have a habit of disappearing.’ He mimed a slashing action across his throat. ‘So watch yourself.’
The sinister comment drew a startled laugh from her. It was clearly not the reaction Rob had wanted, as his face darkened and he grabbed for her. Things happened with dizzying speed so that later when she thought about it Hannah couldn’t recall the exact sequence of events.
Kamel surged forward but Hannah was quicker. Unable to escape, she ducked and her attacker’s head hit the tree trunk with a dull thud.
Her attempt to slip under his arm was less successful, and by the time Kamel reached her the man, with blood streaming from a superficial head wound, had caught her arm and swung her back.
‘Bitch!’
Hannah hit out blindly with her free hand and then quite suddenly she was free. Off balance, she fell and landed on her bottom on the wet grass. When she looked up Rob was standing with one hand twisted behind his back with Kamel whispering what she doubted were sweet nothings into the older man’s ear, if the white-lipped fury stamped on his face was any indication.
Rob, who had blood seeping from a gash on his head, seemed to shrink before her eyes and started muttering excuses in full self-preservation mode.
‘If I ever see you in the same postcode as my wife...if you so much as look in her direction...’ Kamel leaned in closer, his nostrils flaring in distaste at the smell of booze and fear that enveloped the man like a cloud, and told him what would happen to him, sparing little detail.
Hannah struggled to her feet imagining the headlines. ‘Don’t hurt him!’
The plea caused Kamel’s attention to swivel from the man he held to Hannah.
‘Please?’
A muscle along his jaw clenched as he stared at her. Then, with a nod that caused two invisible figures to emerge from the trees, he stood aside and the trio walked away.
‘Sure you don’t want to go and hold his hand?’
‘I wasn’t protecting him. I was protecting you.’ Why are you explaining yourself to him? she wondered. It’s not as if he’s going to believe you and it’s not like you care what he thinks.
A look of scowling incredulity spread across his face. ‘Me? You are protecting me?’ He had no idea why her caring about someone who was clearly an abusive loser bothered him so much, but it did.
Her eyes moved slowly up the long, lean length of his muscle-packed body. It was hard to imagine anyone who looked less like he needed looking after.
‘The press could dub you something worse than The Heartbreaker Prince.’ She paused and saw him absorb her comment. His anger still permeated the air around them but it simmered now where it had boiled before. ‘Rob likes to play the victim. I can just see the headlines now...’
‘I wasn’t going to hit him, but if I had he wouldn’t have been running to any scandal sheet,’ he retorted, managing to sound every bit as sinister as Rob had implied he was. While Hannah believed Rob’s comments were motivated by malice, there was no escaping the fact that she knew very little about the man she had married and what he was capable of.
Unwilling to release his image of her as a cold-hearted, unapproachable ice bitch, he asked, ‘What the hell were you thinking of meeting him out here?’
What the hell had she been thinking about getting involved with him to begin with? The man had been mentally filed in his head as a victim. Stupid, but a victim, and now he turned out to be a... His fists clenched as he found himself wishing he had not shown restraint.
Temper fizzed through her body, sparking wrathful blue flames in her eyes. ‘Are you implying that I arranged this? Rob followed me!’
‘And I followed him.’ It was an impulse that he had not checked even though it was a situation that had not required his personal intervention. In fact his abrupt departure had probably caused more speculation than Hannah’s.
‘Why? I thought you delegated all that sort of thing.’
‘There are some things that a husband cannot delegate.’ She might not be wife material but she was definitely mistress material. She might be the sort of woman he would normally cross the road to avoid, but there was no denying that physically she was perfect.
‘So you thought it was your duty to rescue me.’ She had about as much luck injecting amusement into her voice as she had escaping his dark, relentless stare. It was becoming harder to rationalise her response to his strong personal magnetism, or control the pulse-racing mixture of dread and excitement whenever he was close by.
‘Little did I know you had it all under control.’
Her clenched teeth ached at the sarcasm. ‘My hero riding to the rescue yet again.’
‘I thought I was rescuing your...’
‘Victim?’
He dragged his smouldering glance free of her cushiony soft lips and found himself staring at her heaving bosom. ‘The man is...’ He said a word that she didn’t understand but it was not hard to get the drift. ‘What is your ex doing at our wedding party?’
The accusation made her blink. ‘The word party suggests celebration. Tonight has felt more like a punishment. And yes, we all know this is my fault, though I have to tell you that line is getting a bit boring. I’m willing to take my medicine and make nice and pretend you’re almost as marvellous as you think you are, but if this marriage is going to last, and I’m talking beyond the next few seconds, it won’t be on a speak-when-you’re-spoken-to, walk-two-steps-behind-me way. I am not willing to be a doormat!’
She released a shuddering sigh and warmed to her theme. ‘So from now on I expect to be treated with some damned respect, and not just in public!’ Oh, God! Overwhelmed with a mixture of horror and exhilaration, she could not recall losing control of herself quite so completely in her life. Hannah brought her lashes down in a protective veil as she gulped in several shallow breaths while her heart rate continued to race.
The ice queen is dead! Long live the princess of passion! His mental headline tugged the corners of his mouth upwards, but the curve flattened out as he felt his body stir lustfully. It wasn’t the physical response that bothered him; it was the strength of it and the fact it kept intruding.
Mentally and physically, discipline and order were important to Kamel. He had never made a conscious decision to compartmentalise the disparate aspects of his life, but he took the ability for granted and it enabled him to combine the role he had unexpectedly inherited and any sort of personal life.
It had not crossed his mind that being married would lead to any overlap. Tonight came under the heading of duty, with a capital D. Such occasions were more than useful, they were essential, and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about how she’d look naked, and how soft and inviting her mouth was. Had she just said what he thought she had? He clenched his teeth and struggled to regroup his thoughts. Focus, Kamel—but not on her mouth.
‘Would I be right in thinking that was an...’ he spoke slowly, winged brows drawn into a straight line, and shaking his head slightly as though the concept he was about to voice was just so off the planet as to be unreal ‘...ultimatum?’
Hannah didn’t pause to analyse the weirdness in his voice. If he wanted to call it that it was fine by her! Like an angry curtain, the protective veil of her lashes lifted, but her militant response was delayed as their glances connected and the subsequent sensual jolt caused her brain to stall.
‘I if...I...?’
The nerve endings in her brain might have stopped sending messages, but during that long, nerve-shredding pause those elsewhere had stepped up to fill the vacuum. She could almost feel the blood racing through her veins—it felt dark and hot like the ache low in her pelvis. She snatched a breath, let it out in a quivering sigh, and lifted her chin.
‘Yes, it is, and,’ she added, wagging her finger as she took a squelchy step towards him, ‘if you want to know about the damned guest list why ask me? Ask Dad. I probably know half a dozen people here by first name. You’re the one in the loop. I’m here to smile and take one for the team.’
‘Take one for the team?’
‘What else would you call it?’ His outrage struck her as the height of hypocrisy. ‘Apologies to your ego, but don’t expect me to pretend I like the situation when we’re alone!’
‘No. You’ll just pretend you haven’t thought about what it will be like.’
‘What what would be like?’
His slow predatory smile sent a pulse of sexual heat through her body.
‘Oh, that.’ She faked amusement to cover her embarrassment. ‘Now? Here?’ She laughed a high-pitched laugh. ‘Has anyone ever mentioned your awful timing?’
‘Actually, no.’
She swallowed hard, thinking, That I can believe. ‘Silly me! Of course, even if you were lousy in bed they’d still tell you how marvellous you were because you’re—’ She broke off and finished lamely, ‘You’re...a prince.’
‘You’re a princess.’
‘What?’
‘You’re a princess.’
As in dignified, serene, gracious, aloof...qualities that when she’d been plain old Hannah Latimer she’d had in abundance. Now she was the real deal—a real princess—she’d turned into some sort of fishwife!
It isn’t me, it’s him, she thought, levelling a look of breathless resentment up at his impossibly handsome face. He was the one who was making her act this way, the one who was making her feel...out of control. Because of him she was saying the first thing that popped into her head. She’d lost every vestige of mental censorship; she was saying things she didn’t know she felt...
‘Oh, God!’ Without warning, the adrenalin wave that she’d been riding suddenly broke and she started shaking.
Watching her wrap her arms around herself, an action that didn’t disguise the fact she was shaking like a leaf, Kamel felt a sharp stab of guilt. ‘You’ve had a bad experience.’ A fact he was a little late acknowledging.
She slung him a look. Anybody hearing him would think he gave a damn. ‘I’m fine. Look, it was handy you turned up when you did.’ He was the last person in the world she would have wanted to see her in that position, but that didn’t alter the fact she had needed saving. ‘And if the opportunity ever arises and some ex-girlfriend of yours comes to scratch your eyes out I’ll return the favour.’ By the time the last syllable had left her lips Hannah was utterly drained; her ironic smile was not weak, it was non-existent.
‘So you will rescue me?’ He was torn between amusement, astonishment and an uncharacteristic impulse that he firmly quashed. Comforting embraces were so not his style.
She felt the colour rush to her cheeks. ‘You think that’s funny because I’m a woman.’ Hopping on one foot while she bent to try and retrieve the shoe that had been sucked into a patch of mud, she turned her head and threw him a look of frowning dislike. ‘You going to stand there and watch?’
He held up his phone, his eyes trained on her bottom, the firm, curvy outline very clear against the silk of her gown. ‘That really is a good look for you!’
‘You dare!’ she growled.
Still grinning—the grin made him look normal and nice and far too good-looking—he shrugged and slid the phone back into his pocket before he bent and grabbed the protruded strap of her shoe. It came free with a massive slurping sound.
‘Well, Cinderella, you can go to the ball but I don’t think that you’re going to be doing much dancing in this,’ he said, shaking free the larger dollops of mud that clung to the heel. His brows suddenly lifted.
‘What?’
‘I never realised,’ he said, his glance transferring from the wrecked shoe to her foot and back again, ‘that you actually have really big feet.’
Hannah’s jaw dropped.
‘As for women being weaker...Have you ever seen a tigress protecting her young?’ It was not the image of a tigress that formed in his mind, though. It was Hannah with a baby in her arms at her breast.
‘I suppose you have.’ There was an air of resignation in her response. He’d done all the things she hadn’t... An image that she had seen in a magazine during her last hairdresser’s appointment superimposed itself over his face: the gorgeous scantily clad model strutting her stuff at a red-carpet event while her escort looked on indulgently.
‘I have no doubt that a woman can be fierce in defence of what she considers hers.’
‘You’re not mine,’ she blurted, embarrassed by the suggestion and slightly queasy. In her head the damned supermodel was now doing things to the man she had married that Hannah knew she never could...which was a good thing, she reminded herself.
‘And I’m not fierce. I’m...I just like to pay my debts.’
‘And you shall.’
Promise, threat...Hannah was beyond differentiating between the two even in her own head. ‘By having sex with you?’
Anger drew the skin tight across his hard-boned features. ‘I have no intention of negotiating sex with my own wife,’ he asserted proudly.
‘You think I’m going to have sex with a man I don’t like or respect?’ She barely spoke above a whisper but her low voice sounded loud in the charged silence.
‘You don’t have to respect or like someone to want to rip off their clothes.’
‘My God, you do love yourself.’
‘This isn’t love, but it is a strong mutual attraction.’
Heart thudding, she dodged his stare and snatched the shoe from him, grimacing as she slid her foot back in. ‘Thank you.’ She managed two steps before the heel snapped and threw her off balance. The jolt as she struggled to stay upright caused her chignon to come free, effectively blinding her. She took several more lopsided strides forward before she stopped and swore.
Throwing him a look that dared him to comment, she took off both shoes and threw them in a bush. Hitching her skirt a little higher, she continued barefoot, feeling his eyes in her back.
‘Go on, say it!’ she challenged him.
‘Say what?’
‘Say whatever sarcastic little gem you’re just aching to say. Go ahead,’ she said, opening her arms wide in invitation. ‘I can take it.’
Their eyes connected and her challenging smile vanished. She dropped her arms so fast she almost lost her balance. She would have lowered her gaze had his dark, glittered stare not held her captive. The silence settled like a heavy velvet blanket around them. She had to fight for breath and fight the weird compulsion that made her want to...
‘You want to take me, ma belle?’ His eyes cancelled out the joke in his voice.
She could feel the heat inside her swell and she thought, Yes, I do. ‘You can’t say things like that to me.’
‘What do you expect? You are a very confrontational woman.’
‘I’m cold.’
‘So the rumour goes, but we both know different. What were you doing with a man who wants to put you on a pedestal and worship you from afar?’
‘Many girls dream of that.’
‘Not you, though. You want to be touched and you looked like you’d seen a ghost when you saw him.’ Kamel had made it his business to find out who the man was who was responsible for her shaken look.
Hannah heaved in a deep breath. She longed to be touched. She shivered; he saw it and frowned. ‘You’re cold.’
‘Oh, and I was just getting used to the idea of being hot,’ she quipped back.
He threw her a look. ‘I will explain to the guests that you are feeling unwell. Rafiq will see you to your room.’
On cue the big man appeared. Hannah was getting used to it—she didn’t jump, but she did accept with gratitude the wrap he placed across her shoulders.
