Not Fit for a King?

Then he turned on Lady Andrea. “How dare you allow a designer to speak to Her Highness that way? Where is your loyalty? Where is your allegiance? Perhaps you need to pack up your things, too, and join Monsieur Pierre on his plane home.”

Lady Andrea covered her mouth, holding back a sob. “Your Majesty, forgive me. I was just about to intervene—”

“When?” He interrupted. “I stood outside the door listening.

I heard it all. When were you going to intervene? How far did you intend to let it go?”

Lady Andrea shook her head and wiped away tears that were falling fast and furious.

“That’s all the answer I need,” Zale retorted. “Pack your things.”

He turned to Celine, Camille and Teresa next. “And you three? What is your excuse? Why did none of you protect Her Highness?”

Celine’s eyes were huge in her face. “I should have, Your Majesty. I wanted to. But I was scared.” “Why?”

Celine glanced at Hannah and then back to Zale. “I didn’t think it was my place because Monsieur Pierre is so famous and Princess Emmeline’s favorite designer …” Her voice drifted off and she pressed her hands together. “Should I pack my things, too?”

Zale looked at Hannah who still stood on the stool with the gaping chiffon gown clutched to her chest. His jaw jutted, eyes blazed and for a moment he just looked at her, expression impossible to read, then turned back to Celine. “I will let Her Highness make that decision. But I want all of you to leave us now. I’d like to speak to Princess Emmeline alone.”

The staff escaped from the dressing room and closed the outer door to the suite.

Zale crossed to the stool where Hannah was standing. “Give me your hand.”

She did and he helped her step off the stool and onto the ground.

“Turn around,” he instructed.

She did and he drew the zipper down so she could step from the dress.

“How could you let him speak to you that way?” He gritted, his features hard, his expression savage. “I’m supposed to be thin,” she whispered.

“Utter nonsense. You are perfect. I wouldn’t change one thing about you.”

Her eyes burned and she blinked. “Yes, but fashion designers prefer very slim models. Clothes look better that way.”

“I couldn’t care less about clothes. I care about you.”

Her heart staggered a bit inside her chest. “You do?”

“Can’t you tell? I haven’t kept my hands off you since you arrived.”

“I figured you had a healthy sex drive.” “I do, but I’ve had no problem managing it until I met you.” She smiled crookedly. “You still make that sound like a problem.”

“It is. I pride myself on my self-control but you have challenged it, and challenged me, at every turn. But I’m glad. It’s made me realize just how strong my feelings are for you.” He drew a rough breath, his expression darkening all over again. “My God, how dare Pierre talk to you that way? I nearly thrashed him! I still want to go after him, teach him a thing or two.”

He did sound angry, crazy angry, which was so not Zale Patek, King of Cool. “But what about tonight’s ball? I need something to wear.”

“We’ll get that one altered,” he said. “I know a Raguvian designer who puts Anton Pierre to shame.”

“You think she can fix it?”

“Not just fix. Eva will improve the design.” He looked at her, shook his head. “She’ll take what I think is a rather boring dress and will make it extraordinary. You are an extraordinary woman and deserve no less.”

Her heart skipped.

He’d just called her extraordinary. The words her father had used for her late mother. The words she’d always wanted to hear. “Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking.

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. His head dipped and his mouth covered hers, lips traveling slowly, leisurely over hers, drawing a hot, hungry response.

Hannah gloried in his warmth, and slipped her hands up his broad chest to wrap her arms around his neck.

His hands moved to her hips and he molded her against him. He was hard and hungry for her but after another long, melting kiss he pushed her gently away. “If I don’t make some calls now, and track Eva down, you won’t have a dress to wear tonight.”

She gave him a naughty smile. “That’s okay. I’ll go naked.”

“The hell you will,” he said on a growl.

Hannah laughed as he swatted her backside and was still smiling after he left and she threw herself onto her bed.

She stretched happily, recalling how Zale had swept into the dressing room and ordered Pierre out. It was like a scene from a movie. Zale Patek, rushing in on his white stallion to save the lady in distress.