The Heartbreaker Prince

‘You have dyslexia and you got a degree in Classics?’ Now that was something that required serious determination.

‘Not a first, but I can make a cup of tea and toast a slice of bread, and at least I don’t judge people I don’t know...’ She stopped and thought, Why am I playing it down? ‘I got an upper second and actually I’m a good cook—very good.’ She’d be even better if she had accepted the internship at the restaurant that Sarah had wangled for her: awful hours, menial repetitive tasks and the chance to work under a three-star Michelin chef.

For once she hadn’t been able to coax her father around to her way of thinking—he had exploded when he’d learnt of the plan. It hadn’t just been to please him that instead she had accepted the prestigious university place she had been offered; it had been because she had realised that the contentious issue of her career had become a major issue between her father and his cook.

His mistress.

The smile that hitched one corner of Kamel’s mouth upwards did not touch his eyes; they remained thoughtful, almost wary. ‘I have married a clever woman and a domestic goddess. Lucky me.’

Her jaw tightened at what she perceived as sarcasm.

‘Lucky me,’ he repeated, seeing her in the wedding dress, her face clustered with damp curls, her lips looking pink and bruised, her passion-glazed eyes heavy and deep blue, not cold, but hot. He rubbed his thumb absently against his palm, mimicking the action when he had stroked her cheek, feeling the invisible fuzz of invisible downy hair on the soft surface.

The contrast with the cold, classy woman before him could not have been more dramatic; they were both beautiful but the woman last night had been sexy, sinfully hot, available—but married. He didn’t sleep with drunk women; the choice was normally an end-of-story shrug, not hours of seething frustration while he wrestled his passion into submission, cursing his black and white sense of honour.

The same honour that had made him push Amira into Hakim’s arms.

He was either a saint or an idiot!

Hannah gave a mental shrug and turned a slender shoulder, telling herself that it didn’t matter what he thought of her...she still wanted to hit him.

Or kiss him.

Dusting an invisible speck off her silk dress, she gave a faint smile and thought about slapping that expression of smug superiority off his hateful face.

‘Relax, we leave at twelve-thirty.’

Relax, no. But this was the best news she had had in several nightmare days.

‘Where are you off to?’ She didn’t care but it seemed polite to ask.

‘We.’

Her expression froze. ‘We? What are you talking about? There is no we!’

‘Please do not treat me to another bout of your histrionics. Behind closed doors there is no we.’ Lips twisted into a sardonic smile, he sat on the edge of the desk. ‘But in public we are a loving couple and you will show me respect.’

‘When you stop lying to me. You said we would not have to live together.’

‘You didn’t really believe that. I said what you wanted to hear. It seemed the kindest thing at the time.’

She let out a snort of sheer disbelief—was this man for real? ‘Perhaps I should thank you for kindly lying through your teeth.’

He glanced at the watch on his wrist, exposing the fine dark hairs on his arm as he flicked his cuff. ‘Quite clearly we have things to discuss,’ he conceded.

Hannah, who was breathing hard, flashed a bitter smile. ‘Discuss’ implied reasonable and flexible. It implied listening. ‘You think?’

He refused to recognise the irony in her voice. ‘Yes, I do think.’

‘You are giving me a time slot?’ She was married to a man she was expected to make an appointment to talk to? Now that really brought home how awful this entire situation was. She had walked into it with her eyes wide open and her brain in denial. The fact was that deep down she had never stopped being a person who believed in happy ever after, who believed that everything happened for a reason.

A spasm of irritation crossed his lean, hard features.

She shook her head and gave a laugh of sheer disbelief. ‘Or should that be granting me an audience?’ she wondered, letting her head tip forward as she performed a mocking curtsey.

The childish reaction made his jaw clench.

‘You’re used to people dropping everything when you require attention. But I’ve got a newsflash...’ He let the sentence hang, but the languid contempt in his voice made it easy to fill in the blanks as he glanced down at the stack of papers spread out on the inlaid table.