by Jane Porter
Hannah rolled back over onto her stomach and pressed her face into her pillow, and let out a muffled shout.
“I can hear that,” Zale said dryly, next to her in the dark. “Anything you’d care to share?”
She pushed up onto her elbows and looked his way although the heavy drapes and blackout shades made it impossible to see. “I threw myself at you.”
“I liked it,” he said, shifting onto his own back and plumping pillows behind his head. “You did, too.”
“I know I did, but …” she gritted, throwing back the covers and about to leave the bed when Zale’s hand shot out, caught her by the wrist and pulled her toward him.
“But what?” he demanded, rising over her, straddling her hips and pinning her arms down over her head.
The air against her bare breasts made her nipples tighten and goose bumps danced across her skin. She arched against the pressure of his hands, which just made her nipples pebble harder.
She felt Zale shift, his hips sinking against her as his head dipped, his lips claiming one of her taut nipples, taking it into his warm, damp mouth.
Hannah shivered as he sucked on the sensitive bud, his tongue lazily flicking and then stroking until her hips strained up, pushing against him. His body was hard, his shaft long and rigid, the thick, rounded head pushing at the juncture of her thighs. All she had to do was bend her knees, open her legs.
And then she did, sliding her legs open beneath the weight of his, allowing his body to settle lower, the head of his shaft teasing her inner lips, nudging her hot, slick opening.
She wiggled beneath him, needing more but he didn’t push forward, didn’t do anything other than lift his head and move to the other breast, giving the tender nipple the same attention he’d shown the first.
Hannah panted and wiggled again, lifting her hips up to grind against him. The smooth silken head of his shaft rubbed up and down her opening, sliding over her clitoris and then down over her wetness. She shivered and trembled and wiggled again.
He sucked harder on her nipple and she nearly screamed out loud. “Zale,” she choked, skin hot, and unbearably sensitive. “Fill me.”
He didn’t need a second invitation. Using his knees he parted her thighs wider, and pushed against her entrance, stretching her open and sinking deeply into her body, which was definitely hot, wet, ready.
Last night the tempo had been slow, leisurely, but he took her hard now, driving into her as if he was trying to prove a point, teach her a lesson. But Hannah loved the sensation and friction, welcomed his hardness and heat and the way he filled her, making her forget everything but him.
There was just him. Him and her. Him with her. Him forever with her.
She was going to come again but the sensation of it was almost too much. She felt too much, felt pleasure and love. Felt love.
Not possible, couldn’t be, but that’s what she felt. She loved him. Loved him completely.
She closed her eyes at the dizzying rush of white-hot sensation, the pleasure so sharp it was excruciating. She pressed her feet into the mattress and dug her fingers into his shoulders, skin pressed to skin as her control slipped and the orgasm took her.
“Emmeline.” Zale ground out her name, loud, hoarse, his powerful body tensing, muscles clenching, as his body emptied into hers.
Emmeline.
Hannah slowly opened her eyes, aware of the warm weight of Zale on her, and the strength of his thighs between hers, and his thick erection still hot inside her body.
Emmeline.
Oh, God. This entire time, it hadn’t been them, not him and her, but him and Emmeline.
Because that’s who he wanted, Emmeline. Not Hannah, never Hannah. Hannah was nothing and nobody.
Her eyes burned. Hot. Scalding. She tried to blink but couldn’t, frozen, shattered, stuck.
Stuck in a part she’d created, stuck in a lie she’d perpetuated.
If Zale found out the truth, he’d hate her. He’d never forgive her.
And did she blame him? She’d done everything he despised most—tricked, manipulated and played him.
Zale’s hand touched her cheek, catching a tear as it fell. “Emmeline, why are you crying?”
“I’m not.”
He gently touched the tip of his finger with the tear to her lips. “Trust me. You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”
Trust me … you can tell me anything …
Her chest squeezed so tight her heart felt as if it would burst. “Everything’s good,” she said, fighting to keep her voice from breaking.
“Then why the tears?”
“Happy,” she choked out, gulping air as fresh hot tears welled. “Just happy to be with you.”
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut as Zale settled onto his side and drew her close, exhaling in a sigh of utter satisfaction.
He sounded relaxed, sated, happy, while she writhed inwardly, tormented by self-loathing.
She was bad, bad, bad … so bad. What had she done? How could she have done it?
Horrified and ashamed that she’d sleep with Emmeline’s fiancé, Hannah pressed the soft sheets to her chest, regret filling her, making her conscience hurt and heart sting.
She should have told him the truth yesterday. Should have confessed her part in the charade, accepted the consequences and then gone home.
Or at the very least, she should have just gone home.
Instead she’d stayed, allowing herself to be seduced by her senses, and this impossible fantasy. As if she could be a princess. As if her life was a fairy tale.
Worse, she hadn’t stayed for Emmeline. She’d stayed for herself. Stayed for the most selfish of reasons—she’d wanted Zale. And so she’d taken what wasn’t hers.
And now the reality of her foolishness, and selfishness, was hitting her like a sledgehammer.
Zale stroked her hip, a slow, lazy caress. “We didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and yet we both have busy days.” “Do we?”
“I’ve meetings this morning, and you need to finish sitting for your portrait. Once done with that, I’ll have Krek give you a tour of our private wing and then hopefully we can meet for lunch.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t need entertaining,” she said, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand as it moved leisurely up and down her body making her feel cherished and beautiful. “I’ve got plenty to do.”
“I’m sure you do, but you said that you wanted to learn everything you could about me so I’ve arranged for Krek to take you on a tour.”
“I won’t be adding to his workload, will I?”
“No. Krek lives for this sort of thing,” he answered, kissing her cheek before pulling away. He left the bed and crossed to the window, to pull back the heavy drapes, allowing the morning light to flood the room.
Hannah blinked at the light, and rubbed her eyes before pushing a tumble of heavy hair back from her face.
Zale was still standing at the window, gazing out over the walled city to the sea. He was naked and completely comfortable with it. But of course he would be. He had that sinfully sexy body—big shoulders, rock hard stomach, a small, firm butt and those long, lean muscular legs.
He was so perfect. She was not. “Can I have my coat please?” she asked, sitting up and still holding the sheet to her breasts.
“I can’t believe you’re shy,” he said, collecting her nightgown and coat and carrying it to her. “I’ve heard you sunbathe topless on friends’ yachts.”
Hannah wrinkled her nose, unable to imagine going topless in public.
But then, her father had been very strict when Hannah was growing up. He’d frequently reminded her that her mother had been a lady and Hannah would be a lady, too. Which meant no short shorts or revealing tops. She hadn’t been allowed to date until she was sixteen and even then it had to be on a group date. Anyone she wanted to date had to come to the ranch and be grilled for an hour by her dad, so mostly, no boys in Bandera wanted to.
“It
’s chilly,” she said, taking the coat from him and sliding one arm into a sleeve, and then the other before knotting the sash tightly about her waist.
Head held high, Hannah rose from the bed, prepared to dash out of the bedroom, but Zale caught her by the wrist as she passed, pulling her toward him.
“You keep surprising me,” he said hoarsely, holding her against him. The coat provided little protection. She could feel the entire length of him, from his thick chest to his warm torso and firm, narrow hips.
She sucked in a breath, heat surging to her cheeks as his body hardened against her. “Is that good or bad?”
The expression in his eyes was possessive. “Both.” He drew his thumb across her mouth, his gaze fixed to her soft lips as they parted in a silent gasp.
“How can it be both good and bad?” she whispered, licking her dry lips.
“You’re more than I expected.” He hesitated. “Which is good.”
“So what is bad?”
He slowly dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, tugging it down, making her feel alarmingly exposed. “How much I want you. Still.”
His words and touch were unbearably erotic. She shuddered in response, her defenses caving. He made her feel so carnal. Made her want all the things that were forbidden.
Like him.
“I’ve just had you, three times in the past nine hours. I shouldn’t need you again,” he added, his voice deepening, rougher than usual, even as his shaft rose against her belly, an insistent nudge that made her feel weak. Every time he touched her, she melted. Just one touch and she became his.
His, she repeated silently, dazed by the waves of pleasure surging through her one after the other. He made her feel drunk but it was on passion and emotion.
She’d never felt anything close to this with anyone, and she didn’t think she’d ever feel this way about anyone else, either.
“And that’s bad?” she asked unsteadily.
He tugged the coat back from her shoulder, exposing one full pale breast.
“Yes.” He cupped her breast and she exhaled at the warmth of his hand against her cool skin. He stroked the soft underside, a light teasing caress that made her nerve endings dance and her lower back tingle.
“But you don’t really need me,” she whispered, trying her best to stay coherent—rational, knowing she needed to focus. But thinking was virtually impossible when she was so overwhelmed by sensation. “You’ve had plenty—”
“But apparently not plenty enough,” he contradicted, as his erection grew bigger, thicker.
She rubbed against him, feeling the broad rounded tip, remembering how amazing it had felt last night as he entered her, slowly, deeply.
The memory made her shudder and he groaned as she rubbed against him.
With a muttered oath he caught her hips in his hands, pressed her even more firmly to him, his breathing ragged. “I don’t want to want you this much.”
“I don’t want to want you this much, either,” she flung breathlessly at him, as his hand moved down to cup her backside. He was kneading her cheek, squeezing and lifting the cheek away from the other, as if to part her legs and make room for him between.
The sensation of his hands on her butt, the feeling of being opened for him, was so provocative her legs nearly gave away.
“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?”
