From innocent maid...
...to the sheikh’s pregnant queen!
The last thing sensible maid Hannah Wilson expects is to be whisked off to a glamorous party by Sheikh Kulal Al Diya. Their intense chemistry and searing kiss lead to the most amazing night of her life—with the most shocking consequences! Now Kulal will do anything to claim his heir. Even if it means making Hannah his desert queen!
“You’ll love the twists and turns of this gorgeous story—a maid turned sheikh’s queen, and an unexpected consequence!” —USA TODAY bestselling author Lynne Graham
“You don’t even know why I’m here,” Hannah said.
“Of course I do.” Kulal’s hawk-like features hardened into a cynical expression. “You’ve decided that you’re in love with me, haven’t you?”
Hannah thought she might be sick. It wasn’t just the sheikh’s swaggering arrogance that she found nauseating—it was the way he said the word love. As if it was some unspeakable illness.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The fact that I took your virginity has probably given our night together more significance than it warrants. Am I right, Hannah?”
Hannah flinched, wondering how she could have fallen into the arms of someone so unspeakably arrogant. Because he’s so irresistible—even now, when he’s looking down his haughty nose at you.
“I hate to disillusion you,” she said, concentrating on trying to match his own emotionless tone. “But I am definitely not pining for you.”
“No? So why come here?” he drawled.
She had to tell him. But it was with a sinking heart that she met the ebony coldness of his eyes. “I’m pregnant, Kulal,” she said quietly.
One Night With Consequences
When one night...leads to pregnancy!
When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire, it’s impossible to think past the morning after!
But with the sheets barely settled, that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test, and it doesn’t take long to realize that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!
Only one question remains:
How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?
Find out in:
The Italian’s Christmas Secret by Sharon Kendrick
A Night of Royal Consequences by Susan Stephens
A Baby to Bind His Bride by Caitlin Crews
Claiming His Nine-Month Consequence by Jennie Lucas
Contracted for the Petrakis Heir by Annie West
Consequence of His Revenge by Dani Collins
Princess’s Pregnancy Secret by Natalie Anderson
The Sheikh’s Shock Child by Susan Stephens
Look for more One Night With Consequences coming soon!
SHARON KENDRICK
Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby
Sharon Kendrick once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realize that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Harlequin, and her books feature often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life...
Books by Sharon Kendrick
Harlequin Presents
A Royal Vow of Convenience
Conveniently Wed!
Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed
One Night With Consequences
The Italian’s Christmas Secret
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride
Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress
Crowned for the Prince’s Heir
Carrying the Greek’s Heir
Wedlocked!
The Sheikh’s Bought Wife
The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition
The Billionaire’s Legacy
Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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This book is dedicated to the urbane and dashingly handsome Matt Newman, with thanks and gratitude for his generous donation to the amazing charity, The Back-Up Trust.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM THE SECRET THE ITALIAN CLAIMS BY JENNIE LUCAS
PROLOGUE
We trust you will find everything to your satisfaction.
KULAL’S MOUTH HARDENED into a cynical smile. As if. When did anything in life ever truly satisfy?
Crushing the handwritten note—one of the many personal touches which made this Sardinian hotel complex so achingly luxurious—he threw it into the bin in a perfect arcing shot and walked over to the balcony.
Restlessly, his eyes skated over the horizon. He wondered why he could feel no joy in his heart or why the warmth of the sun left him feeling cold. He had just achieved a life’s ambition by bringing together some of the world’s biggest oil moguls. They’d told him it was impossible. That masterminding the diaries of so many powerful men simply couldn’t be done. But Kulal had proved them wrong. He liked proving people wrong, just as he enjoyed defying the expectations which had been heaped on him since the day his older brother had turned his back on his heritage and left him to rule.
He had worked day and night to make this conference happen. To convince attendees with his famously seductive tongue that it was time to look at renewable energy sources, rather than relying on the fossil fuels of old. Kings and sheikhs had agreed with him and pledges had been made. The cheers following his opening speech had echoed long into the night. There were now but a few days left for him to hammer out the fine details of the deal—and he was able to do it in a place which many people considered close to paradise. Yet he felt...
He gave a heavy sigh which mingled with the warm Sardinian breeze.
Certainly not drunk with glory, as other men in his position might be, and he couldn’t work out why. At thirty-four, he was considered by many to be at his intellectual and physical peak. He was known as a fair, if sometimes autocratic ruler and he ruled a prosperous land. And yes, he had a few enemies at court—men who would have preferred his twin brother to have been King because they considered him more malleable. But all rulers had to deal with insurrection. It came with the job—it was certainly nothing new.
So why wasn’t he punching the air with glee? Kulal contemplated the horizon without really seeing it. Perhaps he had been working so hard that he’d neglected the more basic needs of his body. Not to put too fine a point on it—his legendary libido, which had been sidelined ever since he had finished with his long-term mistress a few months back. It didn’t help that she had made the break-up official with a tearful interview in one of those glossy magazines that filled women’s heads with meaningless froth. And that as a consequence, his name had zoomed back to the top of one of those tedious ‘most eligible’ lists—and he now seemed to be on some kind of matrimonial hi
t list. Rather ironic since he had always avoided marriage like the plague, no matter how determined the woman.
He yawned. His relationship with the international supermodel had lasted almost a year—a record for him. He had chosen her not just because she was blonde and leggy and could work wonders with her tongue, but because she seemed to accept what he would and wouldn’t tolerate in a relationship. But in the end, she had sabotaged it with her neediness. He’d stated at the start that he wouldn’t put a ring on her finger. That he had no desire for family or long-term commitment. Because didn’t domesticity forge cold chains, which could suffocate? He had promised sex, diamonds and a fancy apartment—and had honoured those pledges in full. But she had wanted more. Women always did. They wanted to bleed you dry until there was nothing left.
Dark and bitter memories washed over him, but he forced himself to block them out as he leaned against the rail of the balcony, looking out at boats bobbing around on the Mediterranean. He thought how different this busy stretch of water was from the peace of the Murjaan Sea, which lapped on the eastern shores of his desert homeland. But then, everything about this place was different. The sights. The scents. The sounds. The women who lay on sun-loungers in their minuscule bikinis. One of his aides had told him that the loungers directly beneath his penthouse suite were always the first to go—presumably occupied by those hoping to catch the eye of Zahristan’s Desert King. Kulal’s lips curved in disdain. Did they, like so many others, imagine themselves in the role of Queen? That they would succeed where so many had failed?
Surveying the women directly beneath him, he felt not a flicker of excitement as he glanced at their half-naked bodies, which glistened in the sun. He thought they looked like oiled pieces of chicken about to be thrown onto the barbecue, their half-open mouths thick with lipstick and tilted straw hats protecting their hair extensions.
And then he saw her.
Kulal tensed, his eyes narrowing and his heart beginning to pound.
Did she capture his focus and keep it captured because she was wearing more than anyone else, as she hurried across the terrace with an anxious look on her face? In fact, she was wearing the standard hotel uniform—a plain yellow dress, which was straining over her voluminous breasts and clinging to the swell of her curvy buttocks. He though how fresh she looked with that shiny ponytail swishing against her back as she walked. Certainly, when contrasted with all the flesh on show, the brunette seemed positively wholesome and, although such women were rare in Kulal’s world, he reminded himself that she was a member of the hotel staff. And sleeping with staff was never a good idea.
But a small sigh escaped his lips as he turned away.
Pity.
CHAPTER ONE
‘HANNAH, DO NOT look so nervous. I merely said I wished to speak to you about the Sheikh.’
Hannah tried to smile as she looked up at Madame Martin—fixing her face into the kind of expression which would be expected of a highly experienced chambermaid. She must look eager—and at all times, because this job was the opportunity of a lifetime and breaks like this didn’t come along very often. Wasn’t it true that every other chambermaid at the Granchester in London had been green with envy when Hannah had been picked to work in the fancy Sardinian branch of the hotel group because they were short-staffed? She suspected they would have been even more envious if they’d realised that Sheikh Kulal Al Diya was a guest here—a billionaire desert king who everyone on this Mediterranean island seemed to think was some kind of walking sex god.
But not her.
No, definitely not her. She’d only seen him a couple of times, but each time he’d terrified her with all that dark brooding stuff going on and that way he had of slanting his black eyes in a way which had made her feel most peculiar. Hadn’t her breasts sprung into alarming life the first time she’d seen him, causing her nipples to feel as if they were about to burst right through her bra? And hadn’t she wanted to squirm with a strange and unfamiliar hunger as that ebony gaze had swept over her? For once, she hadn’t felt in control and that had made her feel extremely uncomfortable, because Hannah liked to feel in control.
She brushed her clammy palms down over her lemon-coloured uniform—a bad idea since it drew the attention of Madame Martin to her hips and instantly the Frenchwoman frowned.
‘Tiens!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your dress is a little tight, n’est ce pas?’
‘It’s the only one they had which fitted, Madame Martin,’ said Hannah apologetically.
The elegant woman who was in charge of all the domestic staff at Hotel L’Idylle raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘C’est vrai.’ She gave a resigned sigh. ‘You Englishwomen are... ’Ow you say? Big girls!’
Hannah’s smile didn’t slip because who was she to deny the truth behind Madame Martin’s words? She certainly wasn’t as slim as her continental peers. She liked her food, had a healthy appetite and wasn’t going to make any apology for it. Like much else, mealtimes had been unpredictable when she’d been growing up and you never forgot something like that. She’d never forget the dull gnaw of hunger, or how eagerly she’d seized on any scraps she’d managed to salvage to put together something resembling a meal. She didn’t spend her life picking at her food, that was for sure—unlike her sister, who seemed to think that eating was an unnecessary waste of time.
But she wasn’t going to worry about her sister, or dwell on the troubled times of their growing-up years. Hadn’t that been one of the reasons for leaping on this job so eagerly—even though she’d never even been out of England before? She had decided she was going to start living her life differently from now on and the first part of that plan was to stop worrying about her baby sister. Because Tamsyn wasn’t a baby any more; she was only two years younger and perfectly able to stand on her own two feet—except that was never going to happen if Hannah kept bailing her out every time she got herself into trouble.
So think about yourself for once, she reminded herself—and concentrate on the unbelievable bonus you’ve been offered for a few months of working in this Sardinian paradise.
‘What exactly did you wish to talk to me about, Madame Martin?’ she enquired eagerly.
The Frenchwoman smiled. ‘You are very good at your job, Hannah. It is why you were sent here by our London branch, but I have observed you myself and thoroughly approve of their choice. The way you fold a bedsheet is a joy to watch.’
Hannah inclined her head to accept the compliment. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are quiet and unobtrusive. You move comme une souris—like a mouse,’ Madame Martin translated in reply to Hannah’s confused look. ‘Put it this way—nobody would ever notice you in a room.’
‘Thank you,’ said Hannah again, rather more cautiously this time because she wasn’t sure if that really sounded like a compliment.
‘Which is why the management have decided to give you some extra responsibility.’
Hannah nodded, because this was something she was good at. Throw responsibility at her and she would soak it up like a sponge with water. ‘Yes, madame?’ she said and waited.
‘What do you know about Sheikh Kulal Al Diya?’
Hannah tried to smile, but it was difficult when an unwanted shiver was rippling its way down her spine. ‘He is the ruler of Zahristan, one of the biggest oil-producing countries in the world, but he’s a leading exponent of alternative energy. All the staff were briefed about him before he arrived,’ she added hastily, in response to Madame Martin’s look of surprise.
‘Bien,’ said the Frenchwoman approvingly. ‘It was he who organised this international meeting, which has brought so many prestigious leaders to the hotel and has done much to elevate the profile of our new conference centre.’
‘Yes, Madame Martin,’ said Hannah, still not quite sure where this was heading.
‘And you are perhaps aware that many people have been trying to seek out the S
heikh’s company,’ said Madame Martin slowly. ‘Since he is a man of great influence.’
‘I’m sure they do.’ Hannah noted the pause which followed and which she somehow got the idea she was expected to fill. ‘It was exactly the same in the London branch of the Granchester—the more powerful the guest, the more people want to get to know them.’
‘Especially if the man happens to be newly single and extremely good-looking,’ said Madame Martin, with a busy wiggle of her manicured fingers. ‘But His Royal Highness has no wish to be the focus of the attentions which someone in his position always attracts. It is why he occasionally chooses to travel with only a very modest entourage, but unfortunately that only makes him more accessible to the general public. Why, only last night, a well-known heiress managed to bribe her way past security and make her way to his table.’
Hannah winced. ‘Was there a scene, madame?’
‘I’m afraid there was, and we do not tolerate “scenes” here at L’Idylle. Which is why, for the remainder of his stay, Sheikh Al Diya intends to finish the rest of his business in the sanctuary of his suite, which is certainly big enough to accommodate his needs.’ There was a pause. ‘And why you are being assigned to work exclusively for him.’
Hannah screwed up her face in confusion. ‘You mean, I’m to make his bed and change his towels?’
‘Of course. But you will also serve His Royal Highness any meals he orders and make sure there are drinks and snacks for his guests. Keep the water in the flowers topped up. Tidy up after him and make sure that nobody unauthorised tries to gain entry to his rooms. Security here is tight, but there is no such thing as completely reliable security. Why, even in your famous Buckingham Palace, intruders have successfully gained access, is that not so?’ The Frenchwoman’s face grew stern. ‘Do you think you are capable of what I am asking of you, Hannah?’
Hannah’s first instinct was to say no. To protest that she was a chambermaid and nothing more. Someone who silently serviced the hotel bedrooms and learnt more about the guests than they would probably be comfortable with, if they only realised how many clues about themselves they left laying around the place. She wasn’t really confident enough to wait on a desert king, or to swish around topping up the water in expensive vases of flowers. She wasn’t really a maid.
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