The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters

anticipated kiss did not arrive on her waiting lips. With a disgruntled little frown between her feathery brows, she opened her eyes and saw him digging into the pocket of his jacket.

      ‘I almost forgot. This is yours, I believe.’

      Her frown deepened as she shook her head and looked at the small fat brown envelope he held. ‘It’s not mine.’

      He turned it over. ‘Well, it’s got your name on the front.’

      Sliding her finger under the sealed flap, she split it open and angled a questioning look up at him, suspecting this was Kamel’s way of delivering a surprise. ‘There’s no celebrity chef hiding inside, is there?’

      Kamel responded to the teasing with a lopsided grin. ‘The man’s ego wouldn’t fit into this room, let alone an envelope.’

      Hannah turned the parcel around, feeling an odd reluctance suddenly to open it. ‘Where did it come from?’

      ‘Someone saw you drop it, handed it to someone who passed it on to me. I assumed it fell out of your bag.’

      Her lips quirked into an amused smile. ‘My bag will just about hold a lipstick.’

      Her explanation drew a puzzled look. ‘Then why carry it?’

      ‘Only a man would ask that question.’

      ‘What is it?’ he asked as she tipped the contents of the envelope onto the dressing table.

      ‘I’ve no idea,’ she admitted, staring as several photos clipped together fell out, then, after another shake, a card. ‘It says here that...’ She read the logo on top of the card and her brows lifted. ‘Private investigator!’

      Kamel picked up the photos. He did not look beyond the one on the top. A muscle in his lean cheek clenched.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, struggling to read his shuttered expression.

      ‘See for yourself.’ He slid the clip off the bundle and fanned them out, playing-card style, on the surface in front of her.

      Hannah accepted the invitation, and the nausea she had been feeling intermittently all evening resurfaced with a vengeance. There were two people in each grainy print and, even though they had clearly been taken using a telephoto lens and there was some graininess, there was no mistaking one at least of the faces...or the body.

      Kamel’s mouth twisted in distaste.

      ‘I thought we had all of these.’

      Of course, once images made their way onto the Internet they were there for ever, but the person who had taken these had been refreshingly pragmatic. The only thing he’d been interested in was money, not causing embarrassment.

      ‘You knew about these?’ She held a clenched fist to her pale lips.

      ‘These were taken long before we were married. You do know that, don’t you?’ He could have pointed out that the dress she was wearing—when she was wearing one—was the gold number that had been the trigger for their poolside tussle. But he shouldn’t have to.

      He had not needed to ask Hannah if she had employed a private investigator; he knew she hadn’t. He recognised this for what it was—a rather obvious and malicious attempt at mischief-making, one that could only work in a marriage where there was a lack of trust that could be exploited.

      ‘Do you believe me, Hannah? Do you trust me?’

      Saying she did amounted to an admission that she loved him. Was she ready to make it?

      The realisation that she was came hand in hand with the even stronger realisation that if she didn’t move fast she was going to throw up all over his shiny shoes.

      She threw him an agonised look, then dashed to the bathroom with her hand pressed to her lips, and slammed the door in his face.

      When she finished being violently sick, Hannah got weakly to her feet and washed her face. A look in the mirror told her she looked like death warmed up. She went back into the bedroom.

      She squared her shoulders and opened the door. It was time she manned up and came clean. She would tell him that, not only did she trust his word, she trusted him with her life and that of their unborn baby.

      She curved a protective hand over her flat belly and whispered, ‘Here goes.’

      It was empty.

      The anticlimax was intense, but it only lasted a moment. She looked back on their conversation before she had made her dash for the bathroom, and she saw the situation from his perspective. He had asked her if she trusted him and she had bolted.

      She put herself in his shoes—what was he thinking?

      The answer was not long coming. He thought she didn’t trust him. The knowledge buzzed in her head and she knew it wouldn’t go away until she told him how she felt.

      He had to know she wasn’t that person. Fuelled by an urgency that infected every cell of her body, that defied logic, she ignored the heels she had kicked off and shoved her feet into a pair of trainers.

      The bodyguard standing outside the door moved to one side as she exploded through the door.

      ‘Where is he?’

      The steely face betrayed a concern as he looked down at her.

      ‘Shall I get someone for you—?’

      ‘No, just tell me where he went!’ she screeched, fighting the impulse to beat her hands on his chest.

      After a pause that seemed to Hannah to go on for ever, he nodded to the door that led to the stone spiral steps that in turn led to the side entrance to their apartment.

      Hannah’s grateful smile shone, causing the big man to blush but she didn’t notice. Slinging a ‘Thank you!’ over her shoulder, she flew down the stairs at record-breaking speed, slowing only when she remembered the baby.

      Outside her burst of optimism vanished as she scanned the surrounding area lit by spotlights. Her anxious gaze failed to pick up any sign of movement amongst the rows of fragrant lemon trees that grew in the manicured expanse of green, a green maintained by high-tech underground irrigation.

      She was about to concede defeat when she saw a figure who had been previously concealed by a hollow in the undulating ground outlined on the horizon.

      ‘Kamel!’

      Maybe he didn’t hear her, or maybe he chose to ignore her. Her jaw firmed; she’d make him listen, she told herself grimly, or die in the attempt!

      In her head she could hear him calling her a drama queen. Tears welled in her eyes and she tried to call his name but nothing came out of her mouth. Swallowing tears and the frustration that lay like a weight in her chest, she willed herself on.

      He had vanished from view before she had made it halfway across the grass, but when she reached the top of the rise she had a lucky break: she saw his tall figure enter the massive garage block.

      With cruel timing as she came around the building a sports car emerged through the open doors, kicking up a cloud of dust that made her cough as it vanished.

      Well, that was it.

      Feeling utterly deflated, she stopped to catch her breath, pressing her hand to a stitch in her side. She experienced a moment’s panic before telling herself not to be stupid. Pregnant women played sport, rode horses, did things a lot more physically demanding than jog a few hundred yards. Her only problem was she was unfit.

      Actually it wasn’t her only problem. Why had she hesitated? If she had told him how she felt he wouldn’t have needed to be told she trusted him. He’d have known. But, no, she’d been busy covering her back, protecting herself from the man who, whether he had intended to or not, had shown her what love was about.

      It had been weeks since she’d admitted it to herself and she’d been too scared to let him see she loved him.