His Majesty's Mistake. Jane Porter

sleep with him was simple—he seduced them emotionally and then bedded them swiftly. He’d convince a woman that she was special—unique—and that he couldn’t imagine living without her. And women fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.

      And apparently, Hannah had, too.

      He’d known all week that something was wrong with Hannah. His secretary was practical and punctual, organized and calm. She didn’t call in sick. She didn’t show up late. She didn’t make excuses. She was professional. Dedicated. Disciplined. The woman across the seat from him was none of the above.

      For the past four days he’d tried to understand what had happened to his efficient secretary.

      He’d pursued her as she pursued Alejandro Ibanez, and it wasn’t until tonight, when he saw her in the club, that he understood.

      She’d fallen in love with Alejandro and the Argentine had callously, carelessly used her before tossing her away, breaking her heart just as he’d broken that of every other woman who came his way.

      Makin’s chest felt tight and hot, and yet he wasn’t a sensitive man, nor was he emotionally close to his employees. He was their boss. They worked for him. He expected them to do their job. End of story.

      “Your personal life is impacting your professional life, which is impacting mine,” he answered, offering her a small pleasant smile even though he felt far from pleasant on the inside.

      Her lips compressed even as her eyes flashed at him. “I’m not allowed to be sick?”

      “Not if you aren’t truly sick,” he said flatly. “In that case, you’d be taking personal days, not sick leave.”

      Although pale, she sat tall, chin tilted, channeling an elegance, even an arrogance, he’d never seen in her before. “I wasn’t well,” she said imperiously, her back so tall and straight she appeared almost regal. “I’m still not well. But you can think what you want.”

      His eyebrow lifted a fraction at her attitude, even as something in him responded to the challenge. Hannah had never spoken to him like this before and he grew warm, overly warm. His trousers suddenly felt too tight, and his gaze dropped to her legs. They were endless. Slim, long, bare, crossed high at her knee—

      He stopped himself short. He was not going to go there. This was Hannah.

      “I don’t appreciate the attitude,” he ground out. “If you’d like to keep your job, I’d drop it now.”

      She had the grace to blush. “I’m not giving you attitude. I’m merely defending myself.” She paused, considered him from beneath her extravagant black lashes. “Or am I not allowed to do that?”

      “There you go again.”

      “What?”

      “Insolent, brash, defiant—”

      “I’m confused. Am I an employee or a slave?”

      For a moment he was silent, stunned by her audacity. What had happened to his perfect secretary? “Excuse me?” he finally said, his tone so deep and furious that she should have been silenced, but tonight Hannah seemed oblivious to any rebuke.

      “Sheikh Al-Koury, certainly I’m allowed to have a voice.”

      “A voice, yes, provided it’s not impudent.”

      “Impudent?” Her laugh was brittle. “I’m not a disobedient child. I’m twenty-five and—”

      “Completely out of line.” He leaned toward her, but she didn’t shrink back. Instead she lifted her chin, staring boldly into his eyes. He felt another raw rush of emotion, his temper battling with something else…curiosity…desire… none of which, of course, was acceptable.

      But there it was. This was a new Hannah and she was turning everything inside-out, including him.

      And he didn’t like it. Not a bit.

      “You disappoint me,” he said brusquely. “I expected more from you.”

      She tensed, pale jaw tightening, emotion flickering over her face, shadowing her eyes.

      For a moment she looked fierce and proud and rather bruised.

      A fighter without arms.

      A warrior taken captive.

      Joan of Arc at the stake.

      He felt the strangest knotting in his chest. It was an emotion he hadn’t felt before, and it was hot, sharp, uncomfortable. He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to feel it. She worked for him, not the other way around. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it’s over. I’ve chased you from Palm Beach to South Beach but I’m not chasing anymore. Nor am I negotiating. It’s my way, Hannah, or this is where it ends, and you can begin looking for a new job tomorrow.”

      He saw her chest rise and fall as she took a swift breath, but she didn’t speak. Instead she held the air bottled in her lungs as she stared at him, a defiant light burning in her intensely blue eyes.

      How could he have ever thought Hannah so calm and controlled? Because there was nothing calm or controlled about her now. No, nothing calm in those mysterious lavender-blue eyes at all. She was all emotion, hot, brilliant emotion that crackled in her and through her as though she were made of electricity itself.

      Who was this woman? Did he even know her?

      He frowned, his brow furrowing with frustration as his gaze swept over her from head to toe. At work she was always so buttoned-up around him, so perfectly proper, but then, she hadn’t dressed for him tonight, she’d dressed for Alejandro, her lover.

      The thought of her with Ibanez made his chest tighten again, as something in him cracked, shifted free, escaping from his infamous control to spread through him, hot, hard, possessive. For reasons he didn’t fully comprehend, he couldn’t stand the idea of Ibanez with her, touching her.

      She was too good for Ibanez. She deserved so much better.

      His gaze rested on her, and it was impossible to look away. Her satin dress was a perfect foil for her creamy skin and the rich chestnut hair that tumbled down her back. The low square neckline accentuated her long neck and exquisite features. He’d known that Hannah was attractive, but he’d never realized she was beautiful.

      Incandescent.

      Which didn’t make sense. None of this really made sense because Hannah wasn’t the sort of woman to glow. She was solidly stable, grounded, focused on work to the exclusion of all else. She rarely wore makeup and knew nothing about fashion, and yet tonight she appeared so delicate and luminous that he was tempted to brush his fingertips across her cheek to see what she wore to make her appear radiant.

      The tip of her tongue appeared to wet her soft, full lower lip. His groin hardened as her pink tongue slid across and then touched the bow-shaped upper lip. For a moment he envied the lip and then he suppressed that carnal thought, too, but his body had a mind of its own and blood rushed to his shaft, heating and hardening him, making him throb.

      “You’re threatening to fire me, Sheikh Al-Koury?” Her incredulous tone provoked him almost as much as that provocative tongue slipping across her lips.

      “You should know by now I never threaten, nor do I engage my employees in meaningless conversation. If I’m speaking to you it’s because I’m conveying something important, something you need to know.” He was hanging on to his temper by a thread. “And you should know that I’ve reached the end of my patience with you—”

      “Not to be rude, Sheikh Al-Koury,” she interrupted, before making a soft groaning sound. “But how far away is the airport? I think I’m going to be sick.”

      For Emmeline, the rest of the short drive to the executive airport passed in a blur of motion and misery. She remembered little but the limo pulling between large gates and then onto empty tarmac next to an impressively long white jet.

      She