Jane Porter - His Majesty's Mistake

He didn’t smile back. “You’re still sick.”

“Low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten yet today.”

Nor had anything to drink, he realized, remembering now that she’d no coffee, tea or juice on the flight, either.

Makin spoke to his driver in Arabic, and the chauffeur immediately went to the back of the gleaming car, opened the trunk, and withdrew two bottles of water. He gave both to the sheikh and Makin unscrewed the cap of one, and handed the open bottle to Hannah.

“It’s cold,” she said surprised, even as she took a long drink from the plastic bottle.

“I have a small refrigerator built into the trunk. Keeps things cool on long trips.”

“That’s smart. It’s really hot here.” She lifted the bottle to her lips, drank again, her hand trembling slightly.

Makin didn’t miss the tremble of her hand. Or the purple shadows beneath her eyes. She was exhausted. She needed to eat. Rest. Recover.

She didn’t need more bad news.

She didn’t need another stress.

He couldn’t keep the news from her, nor would he, but he didn’t have to tell her now. There was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do.

He’d wait until they reached the palace to tell her about the call. Wait until she’d had a chance to shower and change and get something into her stomach because right now she looked on the verge of collapse.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the car.

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