Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid: The Complete Series Read online

  He had that way of speaking, in pretty curlicues, and she let the words fall softly across her skin. “What knots, Kyril?” It seemed to Hannah that marriage would only create more of them, but he’d come all this way to find her. She’d let him have his chance to speak.

  “You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to marry. I don’t think you understand—” He shook his head, his eyes shining. “I couldn’t forget you. Not for a single moment. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to make my wife.” He laughed, the low rumble of his voice sending a wave of pleasure through her belly. “Even I couldn’t have planned it so well. The ancient laws of Al-Dashalid—do you know of them?”

  A thought from a guidebook she’d read long ago teased at the edge of her mind. “I’ve heard something, but please, enlighten me.”

  “By law, in order to retain my place at the head of the government, I must marry by the time I turn thirty.”

  All the separate threads—the baby, the marriage he insisted on so confidently—twisted together at the center of Hannah’s chest. She struggled for a breath. No. This wasn’t the way. She wasn’t in love with Kyril. She’d enjoyed the week they spent together. She would never forget the lines of his body against hers. But marriage? No. They could co-parent without marrying. People did it all the time.

  “Kyril—”

  He raised a hand, cutting her off. “You don’t have to agree with me now. But it’s a sign, Hannah. We have to get married.” He leaned back against the sofa.

  “We—” Her heart beat wildly as she cast about for something to say. Anything to say. ”You’re not thirty yet, are you? If you’re not—” Hannah tried again. “We don’t have to rush into this.”

  “What’s the point in waiting? By the time the baby is born, we could be well settled in Al-Dashalid and—”

  It was too much. She grabbed her bag and stood. Where was the exit? The room was full of doors, but where was the one that led her out, where she could breathe? “I have to go.”

  Kyril was on his feet in an instant. “Go where? Hannah—”

  “My hotel.” She fought for composure. “I haven’t checked in yet, and if I’m not there soon, I’ll lose my deposit. We’ll talk soon, Kyril.” She moved toward a hallway, hoping it was the one that led to the elevator.

  “Hannah, stop.” Kyril stepped to her side, his hand hovering in the air next to her arm. “I’ve—” She breathed him in, the spicy, clean scent of him, and bit her lip. “Perhaps I’ve come on too strong. We can set this aside for the moment, yes?” His accent was entrancing. As much as she wanted to leave, she wanted to hear his voice even more.

  “Yes. Let’s set this aside. We can come back to this in the morning, if—”

  “We can come back to it in a month, if that’s what you want. But in return, you must do one thing for me.” Kyril’s expression turned serious, his eyes betraying a care that struck her deeply.

  “What’s that?”

  “Stay with me.” He gestured back toward the open expanse of the suite. “There are two bedrooms. You can have your own.” She opened her mouth to decline, but then his glance fell back to her belly. “It’s far safer here, with my security team across the hall. For everyone.”

  4

  The bed in the second bedroom of Kyril’s suite was like a cloud, and Hannah fell asleep in spite of herself. She was in Venice. She lay awake, staring at the elaborate pattern on the ceiling, and before she could stop herself, she’d slipped into a dream, soothing and comfortable. She reclined on a beach chair next to a sparkling pool. It was warm, not hot, and the sun kissed her skin. A sweating drink stood next to her chair and she was content, utterly content, not a single worry crossing her mind. “Hannah,” said Kyril, from somewhere in her dream, but when she turned her head, her cheek touched the cool pillow, and she stirred, stretching briefly in the empty bed before falling back to sleep.

  She woke in the morning with a deep, excited breath and leapt from the bed. The private bathroom was a revelation, all dark tiles and gleaming fixtures. The soap was a fine blend of citrus and lavender that made her feel like a princess.

  When she stepped out of her room, hair swept back into an elegant bun, a teal sundress flowing around her knees, Kyril was waiting at the breakfast table, buttering a pastry. His face brightened at the sight of her.

  “Good morning, Hannah.”

  “Great morning.” She sat at the table without a moment’s hesitation and dug in to the delicate bowls of bright strawberries and warm rolls. “I can’t wait to see the city. It’s been years since—” Hannah thought of all the nights she’d spent as a teenager, reading about the great cities of the world on the Internet and wishing she could visit herself. “I’ve wanted to be here for a long time.”

  This tour had been a daydream of hers through many long days at work and many long nights of sitting with Helen, cajoling her into doing her homework until Hannah’s own eyes had burned with exhaustion. It had been a long road, getting her sister off to college, and though she didn’t begrudge her any of it, there was a certain weight lifted from her shoulders now that Helen was off on her own.

  Kyril glanced down to a newspaper taking up one end of the table. “There’s a special exhibit at the Guggenheim. Perhaps we should start there.” He scanned the column, his eyebrows raised in interest. “Matisse—could be very interesting. I could send a guard right now for tickets.”

  “No.” Hannah shook her head. That was a little forceful. “I mean—I already have a full itinerary planned.” She rose from her seat, the soles of her feet sinking into the plush carpeting, and padded back to her room. The printed itinerary was in her purse. Back at the table, she presented it to Kyril, her pulse quickening. She’d filled every moment of the day with sights across the city. Not one hour would be wasted.

  He looked at it, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown. “This one—” The pad of his finger lingered over the description of a lace-making tour. “It’s a tourist trap. We’ll skip that.” Hannah was irritated. “But we could still make the glass blowing exhibition later.” He tilted his head, considering. “Though it could be dangerous, being so close to that heat. It might be best to steer clear. There are famous chocolatiers in the city,” he decided. “I’ll send one of my men to scout us a tour.”

  “Send him all you want.” She took a bite of roll, the bread melting on her tongue. “I’m not going.”

  He stopped, his eyebrows halfway to the ceiling. She could see it clearly on his face—people didn’t flatly deny him anything. Not Sheikh Kyril. Her skin hummed with the risk of it all, of provoking anger in those black eyes. But here, at the sunny breakfast table, she felt bold.

  “What?” He sounded as disbelieving as he looked.

  “I’m not going,” she repeated. “I’m in Venice, and I want to see everything on that list.” She raised her chin and faced him, letting his eyes heat her all the way down her spine. If she wasn’t careful, those eyes could trap her here all day. All year, even. They could draw her right down the aisle, and she’d be married before she could say boo. “I don’t want a tourist trap, so maybe we can replace that with your museum, but I’m going to see glass getting blown. My decision’s final.”

  Kyril watched her for a long moment. She thought of apologizing. What would she apologize for? She was well within her rights—

  But then he grinned at her, eyes sparkling, full lips moving into a smile that shone with amusement. Hannah felt her shoulders relax, her grip on the piece of bread loosen. “All right, Ms. George. Your wish is my command.”

  The day passed in a playful tug of war that left Hannah feeling invigorated and exasperated. He’d been honest—he made her wishes his top priority. Kyril made sure she saw a glass-blowing demonstration, sandwiched between a heavenly gelato shop and a cool, solemn tour of the oldest church in Venice. She had to admit that he knew of some hidden spaces that she hadn’t been able to find with her Internet searches. Gardens tucked into gated areas in n
arrow alleyways that turned out to be bursting with flowers. Alcoves in churches that had touches straight out of history. Kyril, with his hand on her elbow, had guided her through each one with a smile and a quiet confidence that she found unbearably sexy.

  The overprotective attitude, not so much.

  At the glass studio, he made her sit in the farthest row—to protect her from the fire—and when they went on the boat to Burano he put her life jacket over her head himself. She’d been the only one on the boat in a bright red vest. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere with scaffolding.

  “The buildings have stood for this long,” she’d grumbled under her breath, but for every place they walked past, he found one that was equally as charming.

  Little by little, her purse grew heavier. She bought an ornament from the glass blowing demonstration, a postcard from the gift shop at the Guggenheim, a little figurine of a Venetian gondola.

  It was the jewelry shop that caught her in its web, at the very end of the day.

  They’d taken a final tour—an exhibit of Venetian jewelry from the 15th century—and the museum had let out into a small room of cases, the jewelry glittering inside. Helen would love it.

  She lingered over one of the cases. Pretty necklaces shone inside, imitations of the ones from the exhibit, and after a moment Kyril stood by her side, looking down into the case with her.

  “Which one of these do you think is nicer?” She could picture both of them on Helen’s neck, picture her face lighting up with surprise.

  “Neither,” he said simply.

  “What?”

  He leaned in, his breath caressing the curve of her ear. “These aren’t quality pieces. It’s the same as what you’ll find in a stall on the street for anyone to buy.” His fingers brushed down her back, a feather-light touch. “You deserve something special.”

  She snorted. She couldn’t help it. “My budget isn’t special. Besides, I’m just looking for something to remember Venice by. Something to bring to my sister back home.”

  Kyril turned back, eyebrows raised. “I’ll give you something to remember Venice by.”

  The words lit a fire at the base of her belly, but she laughed, moving close and leaning into him. Helen wouldn’t care if the jewelry wasn’t priceless. She’d want it to have a story. She’d want to hear about the exhibit, wandering through the cool hush of the museum, accompanied by the most handsome and powerful man Hannah had ever met. Oh, and his bodyguards, ever discreet, ever present. Hannah’s sister would drink in every word.

  “I’m sure you will,” Hannah said smoothly. She looked back down into the case. The chain on the left, delicate and silver, ended in a tiny pendant of glass, molded into the shape of a heart. Her own heart squeezed at the sight of it—for the baby in her belly, for her sister across the ocean, and for Kyril, so solid and powerful at her side. Not an ounce of him betrayed any impatience. He seemed ready to wait for her all evening, if that was what she wanted. She pointed to the heart pendant just as the store attendant appeared behind the case with a solicitous smile.

  “I’ll take that one.”

  5

  Kyril tied the knot in his tie, then surveyed it in the mirror.

  Crooked.

  His hands weren’t steady, and he paced away from the bathroom, listening for any sign that Hannah had woken. She’d entered the suite with an incredible yawn when they returned, the sun tilting into late afternoon, and hadn’t argued when he suggested a little rest.

  He hadn’t expected to be nervous.

  It had been his idea, this evening's outing. He’d told her to be ready to go at eight o’clock sharp and dressed to impress. He shouldn’t be the one struggling with his tie.

  Kyril stalked back to the bathroom and tugged the tie from his neck, starting over. This time, he twisted it with precise motions, no room for error, and it was neatly around his neck when he was finished.

  Everything was in place.

  He’d made the calls as soon as he was sure Hannah was asleep. The meal. The surprise visit. It was all perfection and would be a memory she could treasure for the rest of her life. It wouldn’t be one of those awful affairs he’d seen in American movies, with the father of the bride glowering from the front row. He made a small noise of disgust. No. Not for Hannah. It would need to be something special—a gorgeous surprise she would never forget.

  “Kyril?”

  Her voice was clear and soft from the main room, and he flicked off the bathroom light and went to her.

  Hannah stood in the center of the suite, the last of the night’s sunset glowing in her hair. She looked so radiant his breath hitched and stopped. She smiled at him, one eyebrow arched. “Will I do?”

  He moved closer. Her dress was a flowing navy, draping gracefully over the little rise of her belly, and he had to resist the urge to rest his palm there. She’d twisted her hair away from her face in a sleek chignon, and elegant studs winked from her earlobes. She was perfection. He wanted to put his hands on the curve of her waist and back her right into his bedroom, but he ignored the ache of his cock, standing at attention but contained by the fabric of his pants.

  “Will you do?” He chuckled, watching a pretty blush come to her cheeks. “All of Venice will want a glimpse of you. You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. I put in my best effort.” She grinned, an endearing wrinkle in her nose. Kyril pushed down the urge to run a thumb over the line of her jaw and offered her his arm instead.

  “Shall we?”

  “I’m starving,” said Hannah, and tugged him toward the door. “So, yes, we shall.”

  Her hand felt small in his. Delicate. Kyril relished every moment of Hannah’s joy while they lingered over dinner at a tiny but exquisite restaurant on the Grand Canal, watching the gondolas float by on the surface of the water and sipping Perrier, and he wished he didn't ever have to let go of her hand, even for an instant.

  “Why would anyone ever leave this place?” Hannah murmured, the warm evening wind playing at her hair. “Except to see the rest of the world, of course. Still…” She sighed, a satisfied smile curving her lips upward. “I’d come back here again. A hundred times.”

  Her voice made Kyril’s spine shiver with desire, but he only folded his napkin and set it down on the pristine tablecloth. “Wait until you see what I have planned next.”

  “A surprise?” Hannah’s eyes shone. “I suppose you’ve proven yourself more than once today. Lead the way!”

  The shop was close enough to walk to in the sultry evening heat, and Kyril could feel Hannah’s pulse quickening even through her palm as they made their way through the alleys bathed in the glimmer of the street lights. He pulled her to a gentle halt in front of a narrow storefront, its window spilling light out onto the street.

  “What is this place?” Hannah breathed. “I was expecting gelato.”

  Kyril stepped forward and pulled the door open, ignoring the posted sign—CLOSED in big block letters. “I have something more decadent in mind.”

  Hannah followed him inside, into the hush of Venice’s most exclusive—and expensive—jewelry store. Kyril heard the hitch in her breath as they crossed the threshold and the door closed soundlessly behind them. The jewels winking in the cases put the display they’d seen at the museum to shame, and Hannah drank it all in, her grip tight on his elbow.

  “This is too much,” she said softly.

  “Just look.”

  He led her slowly past the cases with a firm hand. Hannah let her eyes linger on each piece, as if the shop were a museum unto itself. The man and woman behind the counter stayed back with small smiles, letting her enjoy herself.

  Hannah stopped at the very back of the store, in front of a wide case filled with engagement rings.

  “Would you like to try one on?” The saleswoman smiled gently at Hannah.

  Hannah’s face was pink with amusement, and her little grin warmed him to the core. “How could I refuse? All of it’s so beautiful.” She pressed her lips tog
ether and peered into the case. The saleswoman stepped forward instantly, her black suit perfectly pressed, and waited at attention. “Oooh. That one.” Hannah pointed into the case at a delicate creation—a sparkling diamond surrounded by sapphires. Fit for a queen. She giggled as the woman drew it from the case. “But only for a quick moment.”

  The saleswoman slipped it onto her finger, and Hannah beamed down at it, then turned to show Kyril. “Oh, it’s gorgeous, but I could never—”

  He sank to one knee in front of her, his heart pounding.

  “It’s yours,” he began, and found that he had to steady himself to keep speaking. It had been a whirlwind day, a concentrated version of the week they’d spent together months ago, and all he wanted in the world was to line up a thousand days after this with Hannah. “I can give you this ring, Hannah. I can give you whatever you need in this life, anything your heart could possibly desire. It can all be yours.” She stared down at him, her mouth round with shock. “We can build our relationship. We can spend years on it, if you’d like. But I don’t want to spend another day without you as my wife. Marry me now, Hannah, and set off on our life together.”

  Hannah’s mouth closed, her cheeks darkening. “I—” For a heady instant he thought she might say yes. “Kyril, I—” She looked down at the ring on her finger, and her mouth twisted. His heart sank into his shoes. “This isn’t the way.” She swallowed hard and yanked the ring from her finger, thrusting it toward the saleswoman. “You’re not asking me to marry you, you’re telling me. And I’m not that person. If you thought all this—” She waved her hand at the store. “If you thought all this was going to convince me, you’re wrong. When I get married—if I get married—I’ll choose my husband, and nothing is going to change that for me.” Her eyes flashed, and Kyril stood, reaching for her. She stepped back. “Nothing. Not fate, not a baby, and not an expensive ring.” Hannah snapped her mouth shut, spun on her heel, and strode toward the door.