# Christmas Bride For The Sheikh

Carol Marinelli

His midwife under the mistletoeThis Christmas, midwife Flo is determined to avoid all mistletoe! Whilst she’s a secret romantic, she’s fed up with only kissing frogs. Until she meets notorious prince, sheikh Hazin al-Razim, and is enticed into the most sizzling night of her life…Hazin hides a wealth of pain behind his playboy façade and beautiful Flo is the first person to warm his frozen heart. So, when she’s hired to deliver his brother’s Christmas Eve baby, it’s Hazin’s chance to claim his own Christmas miracle – Flo as his bride!Ruthless Royal Sheikhs Two royal brothers – bound by duty, but driven by desire!

His midwife under the mistletoe

This Christmas, midwife Flo is determined to avoid all mistletoe! Though she’s a secret romantic, she’s fed up with only kissing frogs. Until she meets notorious sheikh prince Hazin al-Razim and is enticed into the most sizzling night of her life...

Hazin hides a wealth of pain behind his playboy facade, and beautiful Flo is the first person to warm his frozen heart. So, when she’s hired to deliver his brother’s Christmas Eve baby, it’s Hazin’s chance to claim his own Christmas miracle—Flo as his bride!

Dear Reader,

I’ve been unfaithful!

Sheikh Prince Hazin al-Razim was born as the requisite ‘spare’, and I have to confess I fell more than a little in love with him while writing his brother Ilyas’s story.

Ilyas, the Crown Prince, has the running of the country on his mind—whereas the next in line, Hazin, runs wild and apologises to no one.

He has his reasons, though, and they made me tear up several times while writing his story.

It was clear to me that this bad boy hero needed a very special heroine to tame him. Possibly someone who runs a little wild herself.

Well, along comes Flo, a gorgeous midwife, who attracts all the wrong sorts and has sworn off men. She’s doing very well with that pledge until the night she meets Hazin!

I don’t blame her a bit. :)

Happy reading!

Carol

CAROL MARINELLI recently filled in a form asking for her job title. Thrilled to be able to put down her answer, she put ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation and she put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked for her hobbies. Well, not wanting to look obsessed, she crossed her fingers and answered ‘swimming’—but, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

ANNIE O’NEIL spent most of her childhood with her leg draped over the family rocking chair and a book in her hand. Novels, baking, and writing too much teenage angst poetry ate up most of her youth. Now Annie splits her time between corralling her husband into helping her with their cows, baking, reading, barrel racing (not really!) and spending some very happy hours at her computer, writing.

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

Carol Marinelli


www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Books by Carol Marinelli

Mills & Boon Medical Romance

Paddington Children’s Hospital

Their One Night Baby

Desert Prince Docs

Seduced by the Sheikh Surgeon

The Hollywood Hills Clinic

Seduced by the Heart Surgeon

Playboy on Her Christmas List

Their Secret Royal Baby

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Billionaires & One-Night Heirs

The Innocent’s Secret Baby

Bound by the Sultan’s Baby

Sicilian’s Baby of Shame

The Sheikh’s Baby Scandal

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Praise for Carol Marinelli

‘It had me in tears at the beginning, and then again at the end, and I could hardly put it down. A brilliant emotional read by Carol Marinelli!’

—Goodreads on The Baby of Their Dreams

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Booklist

Praise

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

I PROMISE I’LL be good.

Florence Andrews lay on her side beneath the sheets, with a heavy male arm pinning her, and promised that if the powers that be could possibly reverse the mistakes made last night then she would be good for the rest of her life.

‘Morning,’ he said sleepily, and she felt the morning swell of him on the back of her thigh. It was so insistent he might just as well have been prodding her to get up.

She said nothing, deciding it was far safer to feign sleep.

Flo was all too used to getting it wrong with men.

Petite, with blonde hair and china-blue eyes, Flo had found that she attracted a rather specific type of male—ones whose names began with a B and ended with a D.

Bad.

Bastard.

Either would fool her.

The last man she had dated had practically had to come with written references before she’d even agreed to go out with him, yet he had turned out to be just like the rest.

A louse.

In fact, even thinking of him had Flo screwing her eyes more tightly closed in shame.

She’d sworn off men, so it had been an awfully long time since she’d gone out with anyone.

Not that she and Hazin had ever been out. It hadn’t even been a date.

She opened her eyes and the view of a cold, grey London in autumn was as stunning as it had been last night. Big Ben let her know it was just after eight and from the dizzy height of the presidential suite it looked like a black and white photo, except for the rain hitting the vast windows.

Flo knew she had outdone herself in the rake stakes this time.

Sheikh Prince Hazin al-Razim of Zayrinia came with warnings attached rather than references.

She knew his title, not because he had told her but because of her friend.

Well, she had actually known of him before Maggie had got mixed up with his brother. Scandalous photos of Hazin were plastered over the Internet. His handsome face and naked body—with a generous black rectangle covering the necessary—appeared from time to time in the trashy magazines that the mothers read on the maternity ward where she was a midwife.

They would sometimes even giggle with Flo about him.

His reputation was appalling. Hazin was completely irredeemable; in fact, he was bad to the bone.

Yet he was adored by all.

And last night he had been, without a shadow of doubt, the best lover of her life.

Hazin had either fainted from a lack of blood to the head or he was asleep again, because the arm that had been pulling her back was loose now on her stomach and his breathing was even.

It gave her a pause.

How long the peace would last, she could not be sure.

Did she tell him she knew who he was and explain how their seemingly chance meeting had come about?

Would there even be conversation, given all they had between them was sex?

How the hell had she got into this mess? Flo wondered as she lay there. She was supposed to have been helping out her friend!

* * *

Flo had no intention of going out this evening. Maggie had texted and asked if Flo could stop by at the café where Maggie worked. Her friend had brought a souvenir home from her backpacking trip around the world—she was six months pregnant.

By Crown Prince Sheikh Ilyas of Zayrinia!

‘I have to tell him.’ Maggie said as they lunched. ‘But I don’t know how to.’

Privately, Flo wasn’t too sure that Maggie did have to tell the father.

Oh, she was all for parental responsibility, but her friend was her main concern and she was pregnant by a future King, no less!

The baby was due just after Christmas. But as well as that, Maggie had recently found out she was having a little boy, and Flo was concerned how that might impact the situation.

Still, it wasn’t for Flo to decide and so she told Maggie what she knew.

‘His brother will be at Dion’s tonight.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he gets kicked out of there every Friday. Hazin is the reason they’re so popular now!’

Flo knew all about where the rich and beautiful gathered.

Dion’s was a bar set within a very plush hotel. It had once been a sedate place to gather for pre-theatre drinks and dinner.

It was old-fashioned and had become oddly trendy, a sort of retro fifties-style bar that people now lined up to get into.

‘You could go there tonight and tell Hazin that you need to speak with his brother.’

‘Just walk in and tap him on the shoulder?’ Maggie rolled her eyes.

‘Get talking.’ Flo shrugged. ‘Flirt a little...’

‘I’m nearly six months pregnant by his brother!’

‘Oh, yes, I see your point.’

‘And I doubt Hazin would be particularly pleased to see me. I caused an awful lot of trouble for him. No doubt he thinks I was involved in the plan to set him up.’

Maggie had been unwittingly used in a plan to stitch up Hazin and bribe the Palace. She had ended up in Hazin’s cabin aboard his Royal yacht where a camera had been hidden overhead.

But whoever had assumed that Maggie would drop her bikini bottom for Hazin had not known her.

Maggie and Hazin had done nothing but have a conversation.

Not that the Palace had known that at the time. Ilyas had kidnapped Maggie to find out what had happened aboard the yacht.

Yes, kidnapped, Flo reminded her friend. ‘Which, in my opinion, means you’re under no obligation to tell him.’

‘I want to, though.’ Maggie said. ‘Flo, I know I’ve given you an awful impression of Ilyas but he really was wonderful to me.’

He must have been, Flo conceded, because Maggie trusted so few people.

Flo thought for a moment. She didn’t want to go to Dion’s, it was where she had met her ex and he still drank there on occasion.

Maggie didn’t know about that; she’d had enough troubles of her own since she’d returned from Zayrinia, without Flo piling on hers.

That wasn’t the full reason, though. Maggie and Flo were close and usually she would have told her, but the break-up that had happened last Christmas, when Maggie had been away, had hurt Flo deeply.

And Flo was still terribly ashamed.

No, she did not want to go to Dion’s tonight.

In fact, Flo hadn’t really had a night out since last Christmas.

Maggie’s baby was due a week after this one.

She looked at her friend, who had no family and was pregnant and scared, and Flo put on her smile.

She was very good at doing that and keeping her thoughts to herself. ‘I could always come with you to Dion’s after my shift,’ Flo offered.

And so it had been arranged.

* * *

‘I have to go.’ Flo glanced at the time. ‘I’m going to be late.’

She was often late, though not usually for work. It tended to be the other way round—she would stay on at work and arrive late for her life.

Men didn’t seem to like that, Flo had worked out.

At least, not the ones she was used to.

Flo’s shift had been a good one.

She was a midwife on the maternity unit at the Primary Hospital in London. It was a busy, modern hospital but, as much as Flo loved it, sometimes she yearned for more one-on-one time.

She had been rostered to work in Delivery but had instead been moved to the ward. There she had caught up with a mother she had cared for in the delivery unit the previous day. It had been a difficult birth and had ended in an emergency Caesarean.

Tonight, at the end of her shift, Flo had held the outcome in her arms.

Rose.

‘She looks like one.’ Flo had smiled, for Rose was delicate and pink and utterly oblivious to the terrible scare she had given everyone.

‘Thanks for all you did, Flo,’ Claire, the mother, had said.

Flo had smiled as she’d looked down at the tiny baby. Very rapid decisions had needed to be made and the petite, fun-loving Flo had snapped into action and become extremely vocal.

In her private life she did not stand up enough for herself, but at work, when looking out for the mothers and babies, she was very different indeed.

Her job was exhausting.

Quite simply, it was always so busy and it was a constant juggling act to give enough attention to the mothers.

Tonight, though, she had a moment.

Several of them.

At twenty-nine, and with her ovaries loudly ticking, Flo would have loved a baby of her own. Still, she got more than a regular fix of that delicious newborn scent each working day. ‘Your beautiful daughter has reminded me exactly why I love my job,’ Flo said.

She popped the sleeping baby back into her Perspex crib and then reset Claire’s IV.

‘Are you on tomorrow?’ Claire asked.

‘No, but I’m back on Monday. You should be about ready for discharge then but I shall do my best to come in and see you both.’

She looked again at little Rose, so peaceful and safe, and then Flo turned at a knock on the door and saw it was her senior.

‘Flo, it’s time to give your handover.’

It was just after nine, and for the first time in a very long time it seemed that Flo might just get away on time.

She did.

Flo raced back to her flat and had a very quick shower. She was used to getting ready quickly to go out.

Or she had been.

Not all men were bad, Flo knew that.

She saw evidence every day that good guys existed. Her parents had just celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary and her brothers and sisters were all happily married. At work, she regularly saw fathers support their partners and she worked with an amazing team.

Yes, she knew there were good guys, but she had met the other kind too.

Flo grabbed a sheer, grey dress and high-heeled shoes and then quickly set to work on her hair and make-up.

She put her hair up and quickly did her eyes, followed by a slick of neutral colour on her lips. She was about to add earrings when her hands paused over her jewellery tray.

It was a testimony to her disastrous love life. Flo knew she had been too easily appeased by bling.

She had thought the more expensive the gift, the deeper the commitment.

Flo knew now she could not have been more wrong.

And so she left the earrings off and raced for the underground, firing Maggie a quick text on the way.

Ten minutes

It would be more like twenty, Flo knew, but she also knew Maggie would be terribly nervous and looking for an excuse to walk away.

Flo was more than a little concerned at the predicament her friend was in. Maggie had been raised in foster and care homes and had no family to advise her. As a midwife, Flo was well versed on single mothers who were facing difficulties alone. She wasn’t exactly trained, though, in advising women who were pregnant by a future King.

Goodness!

She hurried up the escalator, came out of the underground and arrived out on the street a little breathless.

Even from that distance she could see the queue and wondered if there was even a hope of them getting in. She knew just how exclusive it was.

‘Flo!’

Marcus, the doorman, called her name and Flo flashed her winning smile as she walked over, thrilled to be remembered. ‘I’m just waiting for my friend to arrive.’

‘Well, you could both be waiting for a very long time if you don’t come in now,’ Marcus told her. ‘I’m being moved to security inside in a moment so there will be someone else on the door.’

Flo wavered and looked down the street, but there was no sign of Maggie.

‘You can leave your friend’s name at the front desk,’ he suggested.

To the moans of the queue, the velvet rope was lifted and Flo was allowed in.

‘You have to hand in your phone,’ Marcus warned. ‘So maybe text her now.’

‘Why do I have to hand in my phone?’

‘Orders from the top.’

Ah, so Hazin must be here.

His bad-boy ways had been captured on camera one too many times, Flo guessed, and the management would not want to upset him. She fired Maggie a quick text to meet inside, left her name at the desk and then made her way in.

Dion’s was very beautiful. There were intimate velvet booths for diners, a gleaming walnut bar, and occasional tables where patrons could sip their cocktails and beverages of choice.

The place was packed with endless, rich beauty, and though it had once excited her, now it left Flo rather cold.

She had been caught up a little in this world once and, having been a lot more innocent back then, she’d believed that men had actually wanted to get to know her!

Instead, they had wanted her to hang quietly on their arm and not ask too many questions.

Yes, she’d been hurt.

Badly so.

But she pushed it to the back of her mind and squeezed her way over to the bar.

A couple looked as if they were about to vacate a table and Flo debated whether to grab it or to go and order first.

But then she saw him.

Sheikh Prince Hazin al-Razim.

He wore a suit that was as black and superbly cut as his hair. His tie was loosened and he was so stunning that he actually stopped Flo in her tracks.

How the hell did a person even begin to approach that? she pondered, thinking of her suggestion to Maggie to approach casually. And then she thought of Maggie alone in a cabin with him for two hours!

Had she been the one alone with him on a yacht, they would not have been talking!

Hazin was as utterly gorgeous as that.

He wasn’t banned from bringing in his phone, of course.

In fact, he was checking it and Flo could tell he was getting ready to leave.

* * *

Indeed, Hazin was about to go.

He was supposed to have met his older brother an hour ago and hadn’t been looking forward to it in the least. He did not need another lecture on taming his ways, but Ilyas had been insistent that they meet.

And then hadn’t bothered to show.

They were not close. In fact, thanks to their upbringings, Hazin and Ilyas were practically strangers. They had been segregated as children and when Hazin had proven rather a handful he had been sent to be schooled in London.

Ilyas wore the robe in the relationship and Hazin the suit.

Ilyas would be King.

Hazin simply did not care for any of that and did all he could not to return home, for there was no welcome waiting, just lectures on his behaviour that had been on repeat from as far back as Hazin could remember. As well as that, he loathed how his father ran the country, for it was in the same way in which King Ahmed parented—no empathy and with disdain for those he was charged to care for.

To Hazin’s eyes, Ilyas was as staid and cold as his father.

There was no message on his phone to explain his brother’s lateness, and looking up Hazin glanced around the place.

He was sick of Dion’s and the empty, painted people.

But then he saw her.

Or rather he heard the barman laugh at something and looked to its source.

She was ordering a glass of wine and a sparkling water and as she waited for her drinks she turned to look around. Her china-blue eyes met his.

‘Hi,’ she said.

He gave a very slight nod, but he didn’t find her forwardness particularly fetching. She was gorgeous, that was a given, but Hazin was more than used to women making a move on him and the gloss had long since worn off.

Flo could sense his disinterest and that he was about to leave; she wondered what she should say and how best to introduce herself. She glanced towards the main door and wished Maggie would arrive, but there was no sign of her. ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’

Hazin said nothing, for it had nothing to do with him.

‘She’s late,’ Flo pushed.

Hazin accompanied his tight smile with a put-down. ‘And I’m leaving.’

He had no interest in offering to keep her company. He was tired of being chatted up just for his Royal title and the empty sex that followed.

These days, he practically had to pat them down first to check for cameras anyway.

Then he watched as she stifled a yawn.

It was not the response Hazin was used to. Usually they hung on his every word.

Yes, he was jaded.

‘Excuse me,’ Flo said. ‘I just came from work...’

She was tired and yet also energised in the magnetic presence of Hazin, and unsure whether to tell him who her friend was and that Maggie would soon be arriving, but then he asked a question.

‘What do you do for work?’

‘I’m a midwife.’

He pulled such a horrified face that it made her laugh.

And then Hazin became curious.

‘I haven’t seen you here before...’ Hazin said, because he would have remembered if he had.

She wasn’t just pretty, she was animated and a shade different from the rest, he thought.

‘No, I used to come here quite a lot but I’ve banned myself,’ Flo said, and took a sip of her wine.

‘Why?’

‘I’m not telling you.’ She smiled.

Oh, hurry up, Maggie, she thought, because he was utterly, recklessly stunning and now that he was talking to her she could peek shamelessly without looking odd.

He had smoky grey eyes and his skin was a burnt caramel. As for his mouth, she couldn’t not watch it when he spoke, and those plump lips needed to be kissed.

She should have gone out more, Flo thought, for she felt like a convent schoolgirl set free.

‘Do you want to get a table?’ Hazin offered, because all of a sudden he wasn’t that jaded and was very much up for being used.

Well, a table would be perfect actually, Flo thought. It meant he wouldn’t be leaving and Maggie would get here to find them both sitting and talking, like sensible adults.

Only right now Flo didn’t want to be sensible, and she was suddenly nervous about going and sitting down.

There was a crackle of awareness between them, stronger than she had ever known.

‘I doubt we’d get a table...’ she said, terrified of her own lack of resistance to him, and then pulled a little face behind his back as he had a word with the bar.

‘Done.’

But they didn’t get a table.

Hazin and his glass of water were worthy of a booth.

He was so broad shouldered that the people parted like the Red Sea for him and she should have walked a smooth path behind, except her thighs felt like they were made of rubber.

‘After you,’ he said, and she slid into a velvet-lined seat and let out a tense breath of relief when he took the seat opposite, instead of sliding in beside her.

‘I’m Hazin.’

She noticed he did not offer his title.

This man did not need a title to have her feeling weak from the waist down.

He thought that perhaps, if she hadn’t been coming to Dion’s for a while, she might not know who he was. It was a refreshing thought—to lose the burden of it for a night.

‘You?’ he asked.

‘Flo,’ she said. ‘Florence.’

‘Like that old nurse?’

‘Florence Nightingale?’ she checked, and he nodded. ‘Well, she wasn’t old in her day,’ Flo corrected him. ‘Do you perhaps mean that nurse from olden times?’

‘I do.’

She smiled.

Hazin was well schooled but English was his second language and occasionally he slipped. Anyway, language and its intricacies could hardly be expected to be at the forefront of his mind when in the presence of such loveliness.

He liked her matter-of-fact correction that had come with a smile. Hazin had been raised to know any deviation from perfection would not be tolerated.

Yes he was wild, but whether it was a misspelt birthday card to his father, a torrid fling, or being born second in line, the verdict was always the same.

Not good enough.

So he no longer tried and instead happily disappointed everyone.

His sins would never be forgiven so Hazin had long since stopped apologising for them.

It made no difference when he did.

‘So,’ he asked, wanting to know more of her, ‘why have you banned yourself?’

‘Because the people here are terribly shallow.’

‘Yes.’

‘And my ex comes here...’ Flo explained just a little.

‘Were you hoping to see him?’

‘God, no.’ Flo grimaced at the very thought. ‘I’m not just avoiding Dion’s, I’ve been staying home a lot of late.’

‘For how long?’

‘All this year.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m off men.’

He looked at Flo and he wondered, in a way that was unusual for him, what on earth had happened that she would hide her light away.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Flo hadn’t told anyone.

Not a single soul.

Yet his eyes looked right into hers and his smile was non-judgmental and kind.

But, no, she would not be telling him.

‘So are you off all men?’

She swallowed because just a short while ago her response would have been an unequivocal yes.

Except he was ravishing.

And funny.

But mainly he was ravishing.

His eyes weren’t a uniform grey—this close she could see there were little flecks of green and amber.

‘I think so.’

‘Isn’t it a bit extreme?’ he asked. ‘To hide yourself away...?’

‘Perhaps,’ Flo said. ‘Yes.’

‘Would you like another drink?’ he offered.

‘No, thank you.’ She glanced at his empty glass. ‘Can I get you one?’

She was frantic to get some control here—to go and stand at the bar again so she could remind herself how to breathe, but Hazin would not let her get away that easily.

‘I don’t drink,’ he said. ‘I can have your friend’s soda water. It doesn’t look as if she’s going to show.’

‘No.’

She looked around the bar and wondered what to do. Perhaps Maggie had changed her mind about letting Ilyas know about the baby.

Flo felt a little lost without her phone.

And then she saw him.

Her ex.

The reason why she had been hiding for so long.

Bastard.

She flicked her eyes away from her past and back at Hazin.

At least this man didn’t pretend he wasn’t one.

‘Are you okay?’ Hazin asked, because he didn’t usually lose his audience.

‘My ex is here,’ Flo said, and she held her breath as out of the corner of her eye she saw him make his way over.

Hazin watched her very pretty face pale rather than flush and he knew she’d been badly hurt.

And then he knew why.

Hazin was a regular here and had watched this creep pick up someone on one night and bring his wife for a meal the next.

Hazin might be wild now, but he had been married once and he’d taken his vows seriously, so, when it was clear from her panicked silence that she could not deal with her ex, Hazin was more than happy to.

‘Flo’s busy,’ Hazin said in a surly tone. ‘Please leave.’

‘Now look here—’ the man started, but then Hazin stood up.

‘I did ask politely,’ Hazin said and Flo could not believe there was about to be a fight.

What the hell?

He was more than up for a fight, but instead he gestured with his head for Marcus.

‘I just want to speak to Flo,’ the man insisted.

‘Well, you can’t,’ Hazin said, ‘because, as of now, you are barred from this establishment.’

It was Marcus’s problem now because, as Flo’s ex loudly protested as he was steered away, Hazin took his seat again. ‘He shan’t trouble you again,’ Hazin said. ‘At least, not when you’re here.’

The shadow in the room was gone and she experienced the giddy feeling of some measure of retribution at last.

Now Flo examined him and no longer did she hide that fact.

And Hazin did the same.

She was used to the roaming of male eyes over her body but his eyes did not leave her face.

And yet his gaze was indecent.

He traced the curves of her lips with his eyes so thoroughly that Flo fought not to run her tongue over them.

It felt as if he studied each eyelash in turn until she silently pleaded for him to fully meet her gaze.

Then when he did it was fire versus fire.

Beneath the table, she could envision his spread knees for they seemed to encircle hers, which were pressed tightly together. She could feel their surrounding warmth and almost craved the tight pressure of his grip.

‘I think I should go,’ Flo said, because it was clear Maggie wasn’t going to show.

‘I can’t hear you.’

Liar, liar, Flo thought as she gazed deep into his eyes, for here in the booth they were sequestered from the thrumming noise of the bar.

She could say it a little louder, reach for her purse and leave, or she could lean in a little closer to that delicious mouth and repeat what she had just said.

Or she could simply make the complicated so terribly easy.

Flo chose the latter—‘Come and sit by me, then.’

No, she didn’t want another drink, or conversation; she wanted this...

His kiss.

CHAPTER TWO

IT FELT AS if the oxygen masks had tumbled out on the plane, for even before he was seated she reached up for his tie and pulled him in.

The attraction had been instant, the effect close up magnetic, for they were so strongly drawn to each other that first contact offered Flo a heady feeling of relief. Hazin lowered his head and their mouths met before he was even fully seated. His lips were warm and Flo’s pouted to his.

Soft and sensual, his mouth claimed hers as he slid into the booth beside her.

She had never known a kiss like it, for it sent a river of shivers through her and the brief bliss of relief faded for she had to taste his tongue, yet Hazin made her wait. His hands came to her upper arms and he held her steady when she ached to lean into him.

Still no tongue, just the bruising of his mouth and a breathless rush of desire in an outwardly chaste kiss. Then his mouth left hers and she felt its warm drag against her cheek and the scratch of his jaw as his lips found her ear. His breath was warm and he told her his truth. ‘I want you so badly.’

His voice was so loaded with lust that it sounded as if he were already inside her.

Her sex clenched to his words.

She had no resolve.

None.

For a second she sat, his cheek pressed to hers, his ragged sexy breathing in her ear and his hands firm on her arms, and Flo closed her eyes in a vague prayer for common sense to prevail.

It didn’t.

Fired on by one kiss, her body crackled like a chip in hot oil and she offered her response to his indecent request. ‘Take me to bed.’

As soon as the night air hit her, sense would appear, Flo reassured herself as they stood. He took her by the hand and she was rather glad for the support as he led her through the bar.

But not to the street.

No cool air to hit her.

No car or taxi to calm her mind.

They were in an elevator. He hit the button and even that jab of his finger had her almost fold. And then that same finger stroked her nipple and she simply watched, entranced.

Was it her self-imposed ban on men that had her so frantic? Flo wondered. But, no, that wasn’t right, for she had never felt like this in her life.

She was turned on to her very core. When he removed his hand she took it and pressed his palm to her face then deep-kissed his hand.

He moaned and said something in Arabic and then, when the elevator doors opened, Flo dropped his hand and they stood for a second facing each other.

She had to have his mouth.

Yet he just gave a slow smile and with an utter lack of haste he turned and walked down the long corridor.

For a hotel, there was a distinct lack of doors, Flo thought vaguely, for her mind was muddled by him.

They came to one, though, and he opened it. They stepped in and she realised the lack of doors was because his suite took up the entire floor.

A rainy London night glittered before them. Flo could see the Houses of Parliament, and Big Ben told her it was after midnight, yet the landmarks, so loved and familiar to her, were now altered in her mind. How could she ever gaze upon the time again and not remember the feel of him coming up behind her?

His hands dealt with her zipper and she just stood there as her dress fell to the floor.

She turned her head, needing his touch, for little slivers of doubt were raining in.

‘Kiss me...’ she said.

‘Of course.’

But still he denied her the taste of his mouth for his lips went to her shoulder and he tasted her there as he slowly removed her bra.

‘Hazin...’

‘Do you mean, kiss you here?’ he asked, and turned her around so he could kiss her breast.

Softly, slowly and indecently.

The doubt he’d sparked was intentional, Flo realised, and it now felt delicious. The hovering of uncertainty was dizzying as he kissed down her stomach.

Hazin removed her knickers and then he kissed her calves as he carefully slipped off her shoes.

‘Sit down,’ he told her.

‘Where?’

‘You choose.’

She couldn’t.

Flo looked around at the stunning surroundings and blinked in confusion. She was naked while he was fully dressed and she was actually trembling with desire.

‘How about here?’ Hazin suggested as he indicated one of the high-backed wooden chairs from a large polished dining table.

‘It doesn’t look very comfortable.’

‘Poor Flo,’ he said as he brought the chair over.

The wood was cold and hard on her bottom and she wasn’t certain she liked this game, yet she complied willingly.

He was still completely dressed—he hadn’t even removed his jacket—and the only concession to her nakedness was that he further loosened his tie.

‘Are you going to spank me?’ Flo asked, curious because she had never been spanked before. In fact, she would absolutely refuse it.

Not with him...

‘Why would I spank you?’ he asked. ‘When you’ve been so good?’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m going to reward you.’

He knelt down and his hands parted her thighs. ‘Hazin...’ Flo objected. It was all too clinical. She didn’t want flowers but, hell, a kiss would be nice.

And then he did kiss her.

But...there.

He just scooted her bottom out before lowering his head and thoroughly kissing her. He could be as clinical as he liked if it meant this! He moved her calves to rest on his broad shoulders as she hung onto the edge of the chair.

His tongue was insistent and he moaned with intent. It was so focused and thorough and Flo found that tears threatened. Her thighs were trembling but his arms clamped them down. She let go of the chair and buried her hands into his hair. His tongue grew more rapid in its intimate perusal and her bottom tried to lift as she began to climax, but he pinned her down and she tugged at his thick black hair as she met utter bliss.

Then he stood and simply picked her up and did as she had asked.

He took her to bed.

It was already turned down, but he pushed the sheets further back and deposited her there.

And she lay on her side, trying to recover and somewhat bemused as she watched him undress, for she had wanted to do that part.

Hazin was like no other lover.

He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks.

She wanted to feel the muscled arms beneath the white shirt.

Yet he denied her that pleasure.

She wanted to tug at his belt and to feel him, yet she breathlessly watched instead.

God, he was exquisite.

Lean and strong and completely unabashed. He smiled over to her, an arrogant smile, and she returned it, for they were feasting on each other with their eyes.

He went into the bedside drawer and took out a condom. She reached out to touch him but he slapped her hand back. Again she had to settle for watching and she bit on her lip as he stood and gave his long thick length a couple of deft strokes before sliding on the condom.

It shouldn’t have been sexy, yet it absolutely was. She was burning from her roots to her toes, on fire as he climbed into bed beside her.

And then finally, finally he kissed her.

He rolled her onto her back and he gave her all that had been denied until now. His tongue was probing and his mouth was urgent and rough. Finally, she felt those muscled arms and the satin of his skin. He drove into her and she cried out because he was not a gentle lover, but his controlled power was the just the right kind roughness, for he stroked her deep inside and seemed to read her wants instinctively.

Hazin spoke in Arabic, yet she somehow understood every word, for they were so hot together and so damned good.

Worries fell like dominos.

That row at work? Gone.

The bastard earlier? Forgotten.

Obsolete.

Hazin felt the same.

For the first time utterly attuned to another person.

He had tasted her first peak of pleasure, but the second gripped him and the shudder and pulsing grip of her just about finished him.

‘Hazin,’ Flo begged, because she was utterly spent, and then, when it should have been over, he kissed her back.

A kiss so soft and slow it tasted of the romance both had denied.

It was like finding herself in the wrong dream.

Scary almost to know him tender as well as urgent and passionate.

And even scarier for Flo to reveal her other side.

Flo opened her eyes and met his and there was a moment of utter connection. Her legs loosened their grip on him and he thrust slowly. So intimate and slow were they that she deep-kissed his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, as they locked into each other; tasting each other, and raining kisses as he took her to a place she had never been.

It felt like the edge of something, like she had finally stumbled into the right dream as he called her name and reached his own moment of release. And when there was nothing left to give, her body found an untapped resource, for she beat to his tune, this utter giddying orgasm, that only he could evoke.

His weight on her felt necessary and, oh, so right.

She could lie there and not think for a moment, just enjoy the bliss of them both sated.

He really was bliss, for there was no dark silence afterwards, just a light kiss and the warmth of his embrace.

‘I’m glad you were there tonight,’ Hazin said.

So was she.

* * *

Flo awoke, of course, with regret.

Please, she bargained with the powers that be, reverse this mistake and I will give up men for life.

Then she felt the wetof his tongue and the warmth of his breath on her neck and the light dusting of his fingers on her stomach.

And then the tearing of the condom foil lit her like a match as he pulled her against him.

Tomorrow, she vowed as he slipped inside her.

She would start being good tomorrow.

CHAPTER THREE

HAZIN SHOWERED AND thought of the woman who now lay in his bed.

He liked her being there.

Flo made him laugh and that in itself was unusual for there had been little laughter of late.

As a rule, Hazin offered no breakfast with bed that might encourage an overnight guest to stay longer, but he came out and dried himself with a towel and found he had not changed his mind—he wanted her here.

‘Do you want breakfast?’

‘That would be lovely,’ Flo said, and sat up as he picked up the bedside phone and ordered breakfast for two.

She did not know how to tell Hazin that she knew who he was and wished that she had got it out of the way last night.

Now she stood watching him dry off. There was a bruise on his chest that her mouth had made and another on his neck. He was muscled and toned and his length was rising from his thigh. He watched her watching it.

‘Did I miss a bit?’ he said, holding the towel out to her. She wanted to take it, to dry his glistening skin and then wet him again with her mouth. Their want and desire was so matched, and her body so willing, but she had to clear things up first.

‘Hazin,’ Flo said, declining the towel, and she swallowed nervously as he resumed his leisurely drying off. ‘Last night, I came—’

‘I know.’

‘I mean I came to Dion’s in the hope...’ Her words were coming out wrong, Flo knew that, but she just didn’t know how best to tell him. So she simply did. ‘I knew that you’d be here.’

The towel stopped in mid-stroke of his thigh.

‘Meaning?’ he said, and then gave a derisive laugh. ‘You know who I am.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Did you get your photo of me?’

‘Hazin!’

‘Or are you off to sell your story now?’

‘Please listen—’

‘No, you listen.’ He pulled on his clothes with some difficulty for the angry words had fired him, and as he attempted to tuck himself in, words hissed out through his teeth. ‘Do what you want. I don’t care...’

‘I’m a friend of Maggie’s.’

‘Who?’

‘The woman you met on the yacht...’

‘You mean the one who bribed me?’

‘No.’ Flo knelt up on the bed, shaking her head, and then she pulled the sheet up to cover her for everything had vanished in a heartbeat—the intimacy, the carefree nakedness, the laughter, all that they had so recently found swept away by her careless words.

‘Hazin...’ She took a breath, and though her mouth was open she did not know what to say.

Clearly Maggie had stayed away last night for a reason. Perhaps she had changed her mind about telling Ilyas that she was carrying his child?

And now certainly wasn’t the time or place to tell Hazin!

‘Get out,’ he said, and his voice whipped the tense air.

‘Hazin, what happened last night had nothing to do with Maggie. I didn’t come to the bar intending to sleep with you.’

He was too used to this, Hazin thought as he marched through to the lounge and retrieved her underwear and dress that they had so happily disposed of last night. He walked back to the bedroom and tossed them to her on the bed.

‘Get out!’ he said again.

But then he changed his mind, for he could not wait however long it would take her to dress for Flo to be gone. ‘Actually, I’m going to go,’ he told her. ‘I want you out of here by the time I get back. If you’re not, I’ll ask Security to have you removed.’

She knew how effective his security was.

He grabbed his wallet and phone and pocketed his keys.

‘Stay for breakfast at least,’ he sneered. ‘You certainly earned it.’

* * *

Hazin kicked at the kerb as he walked down the street.

It was grey, raining and cold.

His phone kept ringing and he was in no mood to talk to anyone. It couldn’t be Flo because they hadn’t exchanged numbers yet pulled it out to check.

It was Ilyas.

Ilyas was persistent and Hazin was in just the mood for a row.

‘What the hell happened to you last night?’ Hazin shouted by way of greeting when he took the call.

‘We need to speak.’

‘Well, had you turned up as arranged we would have.’

‘Hazin, this is important.’

* * *

They met at a café and drank strong coffee.

Hazin could feel his brother’s eyes sweep over his neck and the bite mark Flo had left. ‘I don’t need another lecture.’

‘I’m not here to lecture you,’ Ilyas said.

‘And I don’t need to be reminded that the yachts and jets will be pulled. I can afford to pay for my own.’

Hazin was not idle.

After Petra’s death he had returned to England with the intention to further his education and attend university, as had always been his aim. He hadn’t been able to focus, though, so had started to dabble in property.

Whatever Hazin dabbled in did well.

He did not need Royal privilege to survive; in fact, without it Hazin thrived. Yes, he had been given an amazing start but he had a good eye and even if he had been born to a beggar he still would have done well.

His parents knew it and loathed that fact.

‘Hazin,’ Ilyas said, ‘I have already told you that I am not here to lecture you. I have something important to tell you—yesterday I spoke with our father in front of the Palace elders and I told him that things are changing—’

‘They will never change.’ Hazin dismissed the notion. ‘Not while he is King.’

‘I have told him that there are to be no decisions made without my approval and that there is to be a transition of power to me.’

Now Hazin looked up. ‘He would never agree to that.’

‘I gave him no choice but to agree. I made it clear that if he refused then I am prepared to take it to the people,’ Ilyas said. ‘Would I have your support?’

‘You don’t need it.’

‘I want it, though.’

Hazin looked at his brother.

A stranger.

He wanted to believe change could happen, yet could not really see it taking place. Yet there was a stir of relief within Hazin that his brother would be stepping up, an intrinsic trust that Ilyas would get things right, yet he did not know where that feeling came from for they had been raised apart. ‘You have my support.’

‘I want you beside me.’

‘Oh, no.’ Hazin shook his head. He would support his brother in his ventures but he would not be returning home.

‘Hazin, there has been a lot of damage done by him. If things are to be put right it’s going to take a lot of work to win back people’s trust. You returning to Zayrinia would speak volumes.’

‘You expect me to upend my life on the premise that things may change?’

‘They shall change. And there is something else I am here to tell you,’ Ilyas said. ‘I am going to marry in two weeks’ time.’

‘So much for change.’ Hazin shrugged and took a drink of his coffee. Ilyas had always refused to marry, insisting the harem more than sufficed. ‘You simply gave in to him.’

It had infuriated their father that Ilyas had refused to marry. He had long wanted to select a bride for his son and for there to be a Royal wedding.

At the age of eighteen Hazin had received his exam results. He had worked incredibly hard and the results had been outstanding.

His father hadn’t even commented.

Instead of attending university in England, as had been Hazin’s dream, finally he’d found something he could do that might please his father the King.

There was going to be a Royal wedding—Hazin’s.

Petra had been chosen as his bride and they had first met at the wedding itself.

Both had been eighteen and Hazin could well remember looking out from the balcony at the cheering crowds and wondering what the hell he had done, while trying to hide it from his bride.

Ilyas dragged him from his introspection. ‘You remember Maggie?’

Hazin frowned at the sound of that name again.

He hadn’t seen her in six months. Even then, all they had shared was a conversation and that alone had caused so much trouble.

Yet in the space of an hour he had heard her name twice.

Once from Flo, now from his brother.

‘What about her?’

‘Last night I asked Maggie to marry me.’

Hazin suddenly felt caught.

Nothing at all had happened between Maggie and himself. It had been a set-up and the cameras watching had hoped something would.

It hadn’t.

But Hazin had asked the Palace to pay the ransom demand because of the conversation that had taken place between them. Thankfully, though, their voices had not been recorded and so no one other than Maggie knew what had been said.

He had spoken openly, perhaps far too openly, but he had felt safe in the knowledge he would never see Maggie again.

Yet now he was being told she was to marry his brother!

Had she told Ilyas what he had said?

‘Maggie is pregnant,’ Ilyas told him. ‘The baby is due in three months.’

‘So while you were nailing me to the wall for something Maggie and I didn’t do, all the time you were—’

‘Hazin,’ Ilyas interrupted, ‘I had Maggie brought to the desert to find out what was going on, because I assumed she was blackmailing you. She wasn’t. We fell in love.’

And that silenced Hazin, for it was something he’d never thought he would hear from Ilyas’s mouth.

His brother had always seemed cold and aloof and yet he was sitting in a café, telling him there would be changes in the Palace and that he had fallen in love.

And, yes, Maggie had spoken.

The content of the conversation had been private. Words had been said to a stranger with confidence they would never meet again.

Instead, Ilyas relayed what he had said that day.

‘Maggie told me you said on the yacht that you hoped to be disinherited.’

‘Well, she shouldn’t have repeated what was clearly a private conversation,’

‘It remains just between us. I shall not be taking what was said to the elders.’

Oh, Ilyas was so controlled and formal, Hazin thought, and shot him a look as he spoke on.

‘I understand too that you don’t want to speak at Petra’s anniversary...’

‘Maggie’s been busy!’ Hazin sneered.

‘I had to drag the conversation from her.’

Hazin felt as if his most private thoughts were being raked over by a stranger.

‘I know this must be difficult for you,’ Ilyas attempted. ‘You must miss Petra—’

He knew nothing.

Ilyas, who had always been so distant, suddenly reaching out did not sit right with Hazin.

‘We don’t talk, Ilyas. We never have, unless it was you telling me to raise my game. You know nothing of my life yet ten years after Petra’s death you sit here and tell me you know how I feel?’ Hazin shook his head. ‘Too late.’

‘No.’ Ilyas said. ‘I want—’

‘You can keep wanting, then,’ Hazin said. ‘But I have no desire to come back home, and certainly not for a wedding.’

The last one he had been to had been his own.

They had all assumed he had been blinded with grief since Petra’s death and that was why he had gone off the rails.

They didn’t know him at all and it was too late now to try.

‘Why didn’t you show up last night?’ Hazin asked.

He saw Ilyas’s slight eyebrow rise at the odd question, given the rather vital news, but Hazin was starting to realise what might have occurred.

‘I went to see Maggie,’ he said. ‘She was actually on her way to try and meet you, so you could have me contact her.’

Hazin pressed his fingers into his forehead and closed his eyes. He could see now what had happened. Worse, he could see himself tossing Flo her clothes and shouting at her to get out.

He had to get back and try to explain somehow, and now had no desire to play catch-up with his brother.

‘Good luck with the wedding,’ Hazin said, and stood.

Ilyas did not try to dissuade him from leaving. They may not have been close, but he knew his younger brother would take time later to think it through.

And Hazin would.

Right now there was somewhere else he needed to be.

He walked briskly back to the hotel and took the elevator up to his floor. He pulled out his card and swiped the door open.

Too late.

Flo was gone.

He had known that she would be.

Hazin really hadn’t imagined he’d find her sitting there, tucking into breakfast. Instead it had been set up on the table and remained untouched.

He walked through to the bedroom and the unmade bed.

There was the towel he had dropped on the floor and there was another so he guessed she must have showered and left.

Hazin walked back to the untouched breakfast and felt a curl of guilt when he saw a box of tissues by the window and a little pile of knotted ones.

She’d been crying.

Hazin was very used to being a deliberate bastard.

This morning he’d been an inadvertent one.