Modern Romance July 2018 Books 1-4 Collection. Sharon KendrickЧитать онлайн книгу.

       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?

      ‘I’m worried how we’re going to get out of the hotel without me being noticed.’

      He smiled suddenly as if he had decided to enjoy the subterfuge. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said airily. ‘It’s all taken care of.’

      Hannah soon realised that Kulal wasn’t exaggerating—and that pretty much anything was possible when you were a king. He might not have a full entourage of staff in tow, but there were enough bodyguards and heavies who seemed to appear from out of nowhere to swarm around them in a protective coterie as they were taken through the maze of back corridors to the helipad outside where a helicopter was waiting. And even if anyone had bothered to spare Hannah a second glance—most eyes were on the imperious strut of the Sheikh, because he was the one who commanded everyone’s attention. Nobody would have guessed that the woman in the expensive dress and glittering jewels was really a humble chambermaid they’d barely noticed earlier.

      She felt a little queasy as the helicopter made its swaying ascent into the sky but soon they were up amid the stars, looking down onto the twinkling lights of L’Idylle, and Hannah looked around her, breathless with wonder.

      ‘Ever been in one of these before?’ questioned Kulal above the sound of the clattering blades.

      Hannah was so engrossed in the view that she spoke without thinking. ‘What do you think?’

      Despite her undeniable lack of protocol, Kulal smiled. How refreshing it was to be out with someone so deliciously unsophisticated! Instead of hanging onto his every word, she was sitting exclaiming about the beauty of the stars. Unless that was an attempt to convince him that she had depth. He felt a slight whisper of self-admonishment as he acknowledged his own cynicism, wondering when such a jaded attitude had fixed itself firmly in his heart and taken root there.

      You know when, he thought, unable to prevent the rush of memory which still had the power to make his heart clench with pain. When your mother took the ultimate revenge on your father and destroyed your faith in women for ever.

      Did she feel his eyes on her? Was that why she turned, a look of uncertainty crossing over her face, as if she’d just remembered where she was—and who she was with. ‘You haven’t told me anything about this party,’ she said.

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Well, like who’s throwing it, for a start.’

      He leaned forward to alleviate the need to shout above the clatter of the blades. ‘An Italian property tycoon called Salvatore di Luca, who happens to be one of my oldest friends,’ he said huskily, his throat growing dry as the subtle fragrance of her perfume had a predictable if unwanted effect on his senses. ‘I first met him when I was studying in Norway.’

      ‘What were you studying?’

      It was a long time since anyone had asked him that, but the interest in her eyes looked genuine. ‘A Master’s degree in energy and natural resources.’

      ‘Gosh. That sounds very high-powered. Did you like it?’

      Kulal tensed. As much as it would have been possible to have liked anything at that time. He had used the course as an escape from the unbearable events at home, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He never talked about that. Not even with his twin brother, who had found her. Who had...

      He cleared his throat, but it didn’t quite remove the bitter taste in his mouth. ‘I liked it well enough and it has been very useful to me in my role as Sheikh. Salvatore and I were on the same course and we’ve stayed in touch, although our lives are very different. He lives in Rome but has a holiday place here in Sardinia.’

      ‘So what’s the party in aid of?’

      ‘Why, me, of course,’ he said softly. ‘Once my old friend discovered I was working on the island, he wanted to show me some of the hospitality for which he is renowned.’

      ‘You don’t sound overjoyed about the prospect.’

      He shrugged, as he spoke in a rare moment of candour. ‘Sometimes it becomes rather tedious always to be the focal point of people’s attention at these events.’

      She chewed her lip. ‘So how are you planning to explain me?’

      A slow smile curved his lips. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. I never have to explain anything,’ he said arrogantly. ‘Nobody need know your true identity. Tonight you can be whoever you want to be, Hannah.’

      Hannah’s heart pounded. It felt as if he were waving another magic wand—a continuation of the spell which had made her into this glossy woman travelling by helicopter to a party. It was exciting but it was scary, too. She stole a glimpse at his hawk-like profile, knowing that she mustn’t make the mistake of believing