Not Fit for a King?

As soon as Lady Andrea left, Hannah checked her phone to see if she’d missed a call or text. Nothing.

But why nothing? Hannah pressed two fingers to her temple trying to ease the pressure building in her head. Where was Emmeline?

Hannah sent her yet another text. What’s happening? Where are you? When will you arrive?

Phone tightly clutched in her hand, Hannah paced her suite, desperate for a response. Call, call, call, she silently chanted, anxious beyond belief. But minutes crawled by without a word from Emmeline. Five, ten, twenty. And each minute made Hannah more nervous.

Lady Andrea returned, flustered. “Your Highness, His Majesty can’t reschedule this morning’s meeting. He asked that I remind you that you just approved the document and its contents two weeks ago—”

“I understand,” Hannah interrupted, panic sharpening her tone, “but I’m not feeling well enough to meet him—much less sign anything—right now. Please send my apologies—” Hannah broke off as her phone suddenly buzzed. She glanced at her phone. Emmeline.

Thank God. She must have just landed. Everything would be okay. Hannah would just postpone the signing for an hour or two to allow Emmeline to arrive at the palace.

Hannah glanced at Lady Andrea, and smiled weakly. “Please see if we can’t reschedule for after lunch. I’m sure my headache will be gone by then.”

Hannah didn’t even wait for the door to close behind Lady Andrea before reading the Emmeline’s text message.

Couldn’t get flight plan approved last night—

What? No. No!

Tiny spots danced before Hannah’s eyes. She swayed on her feet, shocked, sickened. Emmeline hadn’t even left Florida yet?

Hannah read the rest of the message with tears of frustration burning her eyes. Trying to get permission now. Don’t panic. Will be there soon! xxx Emme

Don’t panic? She nearly threw her phone across the room. How could she not panic?

“No!” Hannah choked, blinking tears, adrenaline making her heart race. “No, no, no!”

She was so furious and frustrated she missed the knock on the outer door, as well as the fact that it had opened.

Hannah might not have heard anyone enter but she felt it immediately, her nape tingling and goose bumps covered her arms. She wasn’t alone anymore. Even the energy in the room felt different.

Hannah lifted her head, her fingers stilling about the phone’s tiny keypad. Zale.

And he was upset.

She saw his expression and it took her by surprise.

Why was he so angry? Was it because she had pushed back this morning’s signing? But that didn’t make sense. Why would rescheduling the meeting upset him so much?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking a step back.

“What is this about?” he demanded imperiously, approaching her, his handsome features grim, his amber gaze holding hers, commanding her attention.

She sucked in a nervous breath, overwhelmed by his intensity. Zale Patek hadn’t just entered her room, he owned it, dominated it and in turn, dominated her.

Was this the same man who’d kissed her senseless last night?

Was this the man she couldn’t bear to leave?

“I don’t understand,” she said, taking another step back.

Zale kept walking toward her, tension radiating from him in waves. “Neither do I.” His tone was clipped, hard. “Explain to me why you’ve canceled the meeting.”

She bumped up against the delicate coffee table between the pink silk sofa and armchairs and had no more room to run. “I woke up with a headache and it’s just gotten worse.”

“I’m sure you could suffer through for a thirty-minute signing.”

“But I can’t. The pain’s so bad I can’t even read right now.” “I’ll read it to you, then.”

His sarcasm stung. Why was he being awful? Was it necessary to be rude? Necessary to be so inflexible? “I’m sure we can reschedule—”

“No.”

“And why not?” she demanded, just as curtly.

He tipped his head, studying her, his short crisp hair dark, but definitely not black, just as his eyes were neither brown nor gold but a shade somewhere in between. This morning he wore a black suit with a white dress shirt open at the collar. His throat was the same bronze tone as his face. She could almost see him in the sun, his lean, chiseled features glazed by light.

Gladiator. Warrior.

King.

“Because,” he said slowly, clearly, “the lawyers are here, the paperwork is ready and the agreement is to be signed now.” “Even if I don’t feel well?”

His features tightened, his mouth compressing. “I should have known the games weren’t over.”