Kate Hewitt - The Chatsfield - Series 2

She went to the closet and examined the contents. Inside she saw a rainbow of fine fabrics, the lush textures denoting a quality that she could scarcely believe was at her fingertips. A quality that she was, frankly, almost afraid to put her fingertips on.

The kinds of clothes she passed in a store with barely a glance because she knew she couldn’t afford them, and she always had a feeling the store employees knew it, too.

She reached out and laid a hand on a dress that was a vibrant orange and an involuntary breath escaped her lips.

This was the one.

As she took her clothes off and got ready to slip the dress on, she had a sudden fear that it wouldn’t fit. But she pulled it up over her hips and contorted, sliding the zipper up, and found that it conformed perfectly to her curves.

He had indeed guessed accurately. Again, she got all weird and tingly thinking about what the guessing entailed. She shook her head and turned, coming face-to-face with her reflection in the vanity mirror.

And she lost her breath.

Standing here in a castle, in a dress that fit like a dream. Like magic mice and birds had tailored it to suit her, or a fairy godmother had conjured it up using nothing but silk and magic.

She turned away sharply, her heart hammering hard. She was being an idiot. This wasn’t a fairy tale. She wasn’t the maid-turned-princess. She was a journalist. She was a friend. And she did not have time to indulge in fantasy.

She had a job to do.

CHAPTER FOUR

ZAYN WAS UNPREPARED for the sight that greeted him when he entered the dining room that night. Sophie was already there, seated next to the head of the table.

She was a far cry from the woman he had found crouched behind trash cans in the alley. Certainly, it had been apparent she was beautiful even then, but just now she was somewhere beyond beautiful.

Radiant was one word that could be used to describe her. If he was given to such flights of fancy, and he was not.

Her golden hair was piled on top of her head, giving the impression of a halo, which was laughable all things considered.

Her face was made up, but done so in a very subtle way. Her cheeks glowed, an iridescent shimmer around her eyes brightening the green of them. Her lips were slick with some kind of pale pink gloss.

But it was the dress that she wore that made him want to call his sister’s personal shopper and fire her on the spot. Not because it wasn’t perfect, but because it was too perfect.

The burnished orange fabric molded itself to her skin, the structured bodice cupping her breasts, drawing his eyes to them. It was the dress, and not him, and certainly not her. Because he had been celibate for nearly three years now, ever since his engagement had been made official. And in all that time, he had never had any trouble keeping his eyes where they ought to be. He respected women, he did not see them as tools for his personal pleasure, or visual enjoyment. He did not leer at them when he invited them to join him for dinner.

That meant the only answer was that the dress was sincerely inappropriate. Because he was most certainly not. He had been nothing but appropriate for a great many years now. And he was hardly going to start changing his ways now.

“I did not expect you to be here already.” He strode past her, and took his seat at the head of the table.

“I thought I would spend some time taking in the sights. Getting oriented. I made it to the dining room a little quicker than anticipated.”

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I trust a member of staff has already been by to collect your drink order?”

She smiled, her lush lips curving upward. “I have been expertly cared for, thank you.”

“Good,” he said, his eyes fixed on her.

Last night there had been no time to notice just how beautiful she was, because he had been too busy trying to figure out what he was going to do with her.

Now suddenly he had noticed, and his body had a whole different idea as to what one might do with her.

No question, his captive was lovely. It was a shame he didn’t trust her. It was a shame that her loveliness simply couldn’t come into play. He was not in that place in his life. And even if he was, she would be the last person on earth he would ever touch.

She was privy to pieces of information that, were they ever connected, would bring press attention he did not need. Or want.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to serve my drink when we were here in the palace. But I got used to my royal treatment on the plane.” She sounded sincere enough, but he wasn’t fooled. She was angry with him. And he knew she had every right to be. But it did not mean he felt any remorse over his actions.

He’d had to act, there was no question about that. And her staying in the Surhaadi palace for a while would hardly damage her.

There was the slight issue of the fact that he would not be giving her any additional information on the Chatsfields, if for no other reason than he didn’t have any. But she didn’t need to know that. He simply needed to keep her here until the wedding.

By then, Leila would’ve made a decision, by then the media would be distracted with the proceedings. Yes, he needed to keep her here for three weeks, and then things would take care of themselves. She would return to New York with the story that her boss wanted, and his family would be safe.

He could not subject them to the kind of firestorm that had happened when Jasmine, his other sister, had died. That had been his fault, a failure on his part to protect her, and this with Leila was no different. He would handle it better.

Because he was not the same stupid boy he had been. He did not only care for himself and his pleasure; to the contrary, his pleasure took a backseat to everything else. He had a duty to fulfill, both to his country, and his family. He would never fail in that, never again.

He would be damned if he allowed a media firestorm to force Leila’s hand. That meant as far as Sophie was concerned, he had to keep his wits about him. There was no time for him to allow her dress to distract him.

It was everything. It was the essence of who he was.

“I think I will allow the staff to serve us both tonight.”

As if on cue a member of staff appeared not only with her drink, but with his. She had ordered wine, and they had brought one for him, as well. He was not a devout man, his faith left crumbled and scattered somewhere in his debauched past, and he did often drink a glass of wine with dinner. However, given the fact that his control seemed to be closer to the edge than usual, he was wondering if it was a wise decision.

He accepted the glass, a feeling of determination blooming in his chest and spreading outward. He would not allow her to control the situation. Not in regards to what he drank, or ate, or did. He was not a slave to his body, or her dress.

He leaned back in the chair, keeping his eyes on her, on the way her fingertips slid uneasily along the stem of her wineglass. It was a small display of nerves, but he would take it. Would take it as a sign that he was very much in control.

“I do hope you don’t have any particular dietary restrictions.” He regarded her closely.

“Such as?”

“Vegetarian, gluten-free.”

“I don’t. But thank you for asking.”

“Well, don’t thank me prematurely. I was about to tell you that if you do I will not be able to accommodate you tonight, but tomorrow and the evenings thereafter we would have.”

“Thankfully, there is nothing to accommodate. So, I thank you again, for your thoughtfulness.”

“Have you poisoned my wine?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?” Her green eyes were wide, the essence of wounded innocence. He didn’t buy it for a moment.