A Whisper of Disgrace

‘No, I haven’t got anyone cowering in the bedroom—not that it’s any of your business if I had,’ she snapped. ‘I was about to go to bed myself when I was rudely interrupted by your unwanted appearance.’

Kulal felt his pulse quicken. So she was alone, was she? Alone and probably as hungry for him as she’d been the other night. And wouldn’t that be the easiest way to get her to agree to his proposition—by getting her horizontal? His lips curved with the hint of an expectant smile. Because a woman would agree to pretty much anything when a man was making love to her.

Now that he was safely in her hotel room, he allowed himself to study her closely—thinking that she looked very different to the sexy strumpet who had writhed around the pole in her tiny crimson dress the other night. Her dark hair was tied over one shoulder in a single plait and she wore a heavy, silken robe, which shimmered to the ground as she moved. A classy kind of garment, he thought approvingly. And even though it covered every inch of her body, the delicate fabric still clung to every delicious curve, reminding him all too vividly of what lay beneath.

‘You are looking very beautiful tonight,’ he murmured.

Rosa stiffened because the calculating look she’d seen hardening his eyes was completely at odds with the silken caress of his voice. And yet stupidly, her body couldn’t seem to stop reacting to him. She wanted him to pull her into his hard body and she wanted him to kiss her again. But he was trouble. She knew that. He might exude an undeniable appeal which was clawing away at something deep inside her, but she sensed an undeniable danger about him.

‘I asked what you were doing here,’ she said quietly. ‘And so far you haven’t come up with a satisfactory answer.’

Kulal frowned. She was certainly behaving very differently this evening. She wasn’t coming on to him at all, or making any indication that she wanted to continue the delicious kiss which had been abruptly terminated by the appearance of his brother’s aide.

‘We need to have a conversation,’ he said.

‘At this time of night?’

He nodded. The concealing cloak of nighttime was infinitely preferable to a meeting conducted in the harsh light of the Mediterranean sunshine. And even though this rather humble hotel was not the kind of place which usually attracted the paparazzi, his striking looks always made him the subject of prying eyes. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Then you’d better hurry up and get on with it, Mr …?’

He met the challenge in her voice, thinking how spectacular her eyes were, as they looked at him with impertinent challenge. ‘I think you were made perfectly aware by the interruption which took place yesterday that I am not a “Mr,”’ he said shortly. ‘In fact, I am a prince.’

‘A prince?’ she echoed, like someone waiting for the punchline to a joke.

He nodded. ‘Although I prefer to think of myself as a sheikh first and a prince second. I am Sheikh Kulal Al-Dimashqi, the second son of the royal house of Zahrastan.’ He elevated his dark brows in careless question. ‘But perhaps you have found out a little more about me since we were parted so abruptly. Was your interest not piqued by the stranger you almost had sex with?’ He gave a mocking smile. ‘Especially when you discovered that his brother was a king.’

Rosa glared at him, trying to ignore his crude taunt. ‘If you must know—I thought that you might be involved in some kind of scam.’

‘A scam?’ he echoed.

‘Yes. That man turning up and announcing that the “king” wanted to see you.’ She gave him a scornful look. ‘People pretend to be aristocrats all the time! It helps them get into expensive hotels without paying.’

He gave the room a deprecating glance. ‘Then I don’t imagine they’d be targeting a place like this, do you?’

Rosa didn’t rise to the taunt. Why should she, when it was true? She’d chosen the hotel precisely because it hadn’t been expensive. Because it was the last place on earth that you would ever expect to find a Corretti staying and therefore it was unlikely that any of her family would come looking for her here. But the Hotel Jasmin was exactly what she needed in her troubled state. She liked the peace of the place. The laid-back attitude and the old-fashioned gardens. There were mostly French people staying here and the service was simple and unobtrusive. There were no tourists, no dull international menu or any Wi-Fi connection which might have encouraged people to sit around, tapping away on their computers so that you felt as if you’d walked into a giant office.

‘If you don’t like it, then leave,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not stopping you.’