Authors: Kylie Knight
“I’m talking to a prince,” she said aloud, shaking her head a little in disbelief. “I wouldn’t have believed it if you’d told me two years ago.”
“No? Do you not often dine with royalty?” he asked and she could hear a slight teasing in his voice.
She laughed again. “No, not really. I’ll admit it, I don’t really belong with all this… money. I’m just a small town girl who got swept up in dreams too big for her own good.” She shook her head a little, her smile dropping as she thought of home and her husband and how she had had such big plans once upon a time. Plans to change the world, to really do something with her life. And now that she had money—granted, her husband’s money—what was she doing with it? Going to the gym and talking with a charity committee?
What a waste.
“They must have been very beautiful dreams,” Farhid told her, his tone soft and sweet. “Would you share them with me?”
Clarice looked at him in surprise. He wanted to know about them? She tried to remember the last time anyone had asked her about her dreams, her hopes. Had Donald ever asked about them?
She didn’t think so. She was pretty sure that he could care less about her hopes or feelings or anything at all to do with her.
“Why would you want to know a silly woman’s silly dreams?” she asked, her voice coming out in barely a whisper.
“Because they are yours, Clarice, and I want to know everything about you.”
He was leaning closer to her, had been doing so for long moments now, and Clarice didn’t really think about what he was doing until he was inches from her. His lips were full and slightly parted, so close to her own that if she took too large of a breath they would press together, sealed in a heated, passion filled kiss.
And she wanted it. More than just about anything, she craved to have his lips on hers.
But she can’t. Her hand reached out to lay palm flat against his chest, discovering that beneath his loose, white shirt he had a muscular physique. It made her cheeks burn as she wondered what the rest of him beneath those clothes might look like.
“We can’t,” she said breathlessly.
His brow furrowed, his dark eyes filled with heat even as the corners of his mouth tugged down in a frown. “Why not?” he asked, and his voice was rich like dark chocolate.
For a moment, her mind blanked. She couldn’t think of the reasons for why she shouldn’t be doing this, because her senses were too full of Farhid. His dark eyes, his full lips, his soft skin and his hard body, his rich, deep voice… It was overwhelming. It was intoxicating.
She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “Because I am married,” she managed to get out, her voice unsteady, but growing firmer. Yes, that was the reason. The little gold band around her ring finger was the reason that this was wrong. “Because you’re married, too. So we can’t.”
Clarice stood from the bench, dusting herself off and smoothing her slacks, though there was nothing to fix. Her clothes were fine, but she was flustered and flushed still. Farhid stood as well, placing himself so close to her that she could still feel his heat.
“Please, Clarice,” he pleaded. He must have realized that she was going to leave, that she had to leave, before something happened.
She couldn’t let something happen.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry Prince Kanaan, but I have to—”
Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders, jerking her tightly against him and she could feel just how hard his body was. And how warm he was. Her breath left her all in a rush, her heart beating so fast that surely he could feel it, maybe even hear it.
“It doesn’t matter,” he told her fiercely, his dark eyes flashing with fire. “I do not love her, Clarice. And I think maybe you do not love your husband either.”
Before Clarice could respond, before she could say yes or no, lie or be honest, his mouth was on hers, hot and forceful. His lips were soft, pliant, but insistent. She couldn’t stop her eyes from fluttering closed or her shoulders from slumping as she melted against him. Everything inside of her screamed to continue the kiss, to let him do whatever he wanted in that moment, without protest, without complaint. In fact, she wanted to urge him to do more.
But she couldn’t.
With every last ounce of will she had left, she planted her palms flat against her chest and shoved, hard. If he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have had to, but he released her. She stumbled back away from him, shaking her head.
“I can’t, I’m sorry.”
With that, she turned and ran, as fast and as far as she could. From somewhere behind her, she could hear him call her name, but she wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t.
Chapter Six
Their first meeting had not gone as well Farhid had planned. But he had gotten a kiss. It had been wonderful, filled with passion and heat that he had not yet experienced in his life. In that single kiss he had felt more desire for Clarice than he had during any of the so called lovemaking with his wife Djamila.
She had pushed him away, but it was too late. The fire was lit. He could not let her go, not now. He had to have her.
At the charity committee meeting Farhid had been smart enough to acquire Clarice’s number. All members of the committee had it and it was easy enough for Farhid to come by it as well. All he had to tell them was that he wanted to make himself useful and be farther involved, something he thought would be made easier by Clarice since she was the first person he’d met at the charity.
Farhid had given Clarice twenty-four hours to calm down and to consider him—he knew she had to be, just as he was rolling thoughts of her around in his own head—then determined that he would call her. He had to call her.
Using the phone in the apartment, he dialed out and waited as the phone rang. It rang just three times before she picked up. He could hear her sweet, warm voice on the other end and immediately his heart pounded.
He wanted her, so much more than anything else he’d ever wanted in his entire existence.
“I must see you,” he said to her, his voice coming out lower and deeper than he had intended, but he simply could not help it. Desire burned slow and deep within him now and there was no stopping it, no hiding it.
There was a pause, then, “Who is this?” she demanded.
“It is me, my love.” The endearment slipped between his lips before he could think better of it, but even as it hung in the silent air between them, he could not make himself wish to take it back. It belonged to her.
“Farhid?”
She recognized him. “Yes. Clarice, you must meet with me.”
“No, Prince Kanaan, I can’t, you know I can’t.” Her words told him no, but he could hear the breathlessness in them. She was pleased he had called her, no matter what she said.
“I need to see you.” The force and intensity of his voice was probably unnerving, but he didn’t care. His words were just a step above begging, something he could not quite bring himself to do. He was the son of the Sheikh. One day, he would become the ruler of Qatar and he refused to stoop so low as to beg, not for anything.
But Clarice brought him close.
“We can’t do this,” she breathed, but he thought perhaps he was weakening her resolve. Did he sense a break in her walls? Did she remember the kiss as fondly—as heatedly—as he did? Would one more push bring her tumbling into her arms?
He thought so. “Coffee. Just coffee, Clarice.”
“Please, don’t call me again.”
Before Farhid could say anything more, plead his case further to her, the line went dead. She’d hung up. Most would have taken this rejection harshly, but Farhid saw the silver lining in it. Clarice had hung up on him, it was true, but it was the reason she had done so that convinced him he still had a chance.
She hung up because she was afraid he might convince her. There was still a chance.
He made a call to the front desk next. “I need to find someone. I’m afraid I have her name and her number, but not her address. You need not give it to me, but I need it for the purposes of sending her something. Flowers.”
The man at the desk seemed uncertain, but when Farhid assured him that he didn’t need the actual address of the person for his personal knowledge, the attendant relented. Farhid was fairly certain that the attendants at the hotel had all been given very specific instructions to do their utmost to keep the prince happy. Normally, this would be unnecessary, but these were extenuating circumstances and Farhid would take full advantage of the situation.
“Send her a hundred roses. I want them to arrive today.”
When the attendant assured him that it would be done, Farhid thanked him and hung up the phone. Then he waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. It was only several hours later when the roses arrived. He knew that because just after that, he received a phone call. It was from Clarice. She said only one phrase and then hung up, but it told the Prince that he had most definitely won.
“Meet me at Rosie’s Coffee Pot in twenty minutes.”
Chapter Seven
Rosie’s Coffee Pot was a new little shop that was down the road from the massive apartment building where Clarice lived. It was lively and quirky with mismatched furniture, beat up old tables, and a variety of available coffees and drinks that suited anyone who might venture in. The lighting was soft and dimmed, giving the place a warm, quiet feel to it. The overall impression was extremely calm. Clarice had chosen the location in the hopes that it would keep her calm, but it didn’t.
Her leg bounced beneath the square table as she waited. Her body was flooded with nervousness and she had spent the last twenty minutes trying to convince herself that it was merely because she was concerned about the roses.
It wasn’t, though. She was giddy, thrilled to be meeting with Farhid, though she knew this was something that couldn’t be happening.
They were both married and regardless of whether or not Farhid loved his wife or whether Clarice still loved her husband, things between them couldn’t happen. Just because she was in a loveless marriage didn’t mean that she had free reign to do as she pleased.
No, she had to stop this and fast.
Earlier that afternoon, about twenty minutes ago as a matter of fact, Farhid Kanaan, Prince of Qatar had sent her a hundred red roses. They were beautiful and must have cost him a fortune, but he didn’t seem to have minded. They filled the foyer of her apartment with gorgeous, perfectly silky petals and trimmed stems, until she wasn’t even sure what to do with them. They were beautiful and she wanted to keep them, but how would she explain them to her husband?
And that was where the real problem was. It wasn’t that the roses had displeased her or that she didn’t want to keep them. It was that she was worried about Donald discovering them and becoming suspicious.
That was the reason she was sitting here at the coffee shop waiting for Farhid, the Prince who seemed determined to have her.
She shivered at the thought. He couldn’t have her, she reminded herself, but it didn’t quell the sudden desire that settled deep in her stomach, warming her all of the way through.
Clarice glanced down at her wristwatch—it was half past four in the afternoon, twenty minutes from the time she had called Farhid insisting that he meet her—and she frowned. She was suddenly worried that she hadn’t given him enough time to get here. After all, he could be half way across the city. It occurred to her that she had no idea where he was staying and perhaps should have asked. But she didn’t want to end up on the phone with him for an extended period of time, worried that his deep, silky voice might get the best of her.
So she continued to wait, and just five minutes later, she spotted him walking in.
Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest as she remembered the heat that had overtaken her when he’d pressed his full lips tight against hers. Shakily, she stood up from the table and raised her hand in a wave to get his attention. He looked around for a moment longer before spotting her across the room. As soon as his eyes caught sight of her, his mouth pulled into a wide grin, more of a smirk really, that said he knew she would be there and that he knew she was thinking of the kiss.
He approached her and she straightened herself out, fidgeting as she watched him walk slowly towards her.
“Clarice,” he greeted, his voice like silk slipping over her bare skin, covering her in a way that made her shiver with an unusual type of pleasure. He reached for her, perhaps just to take her hand so he might kiss the back of it like the first time they had met or perhaps to pull her in for another intense, ravenous kiss.
Because she couldn’t be sure of which it might be, she jerked back away from him, nearly knocking over her chair in the process.
Embarrassed, she cleared her throat and sat down. “Would you like to order something?” she asked, gesturing to the seat across from her. She had thought her immediate reaction of pulling away from him might cause him to be upset, but his smile was still in place. If anything, it might have even grown a little.
“Yes, I would,” he said, taking his seat until they were eyelevel from across the table.
Clarice waved over the waitress and when she stopped at their table, Clarice ordered a latte and Farhid got something with chocolate in it. When she left with their orders, the two of them sat quietly for a long moment. Clarice’s body was alight with energy, giddy, nervous energy that begged her to both be away from and closer to Farhid.
“You can’t do things like that,” she blurted suddenly.
Farhid’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but the smile that was quickly becoming infuriating stayed in place. He didn’t say anything though and Clarice quickly clammed up again when the waitress returned with their orders.
When the woman had left again, Clarice tried once more. “You can’t just send me a hundred roses,” she told him as sternly as she could. It was difficult because there was a part of her that wished he would keep sending the roses. Roses and chocolates and kisses and whatever else he thought might woo her, because she missed the affection. The attention. It had been so long since she had gotten either of those things.
“Shall I make it a thousand next time?” His tone was light and teasing, his eyes shining with mirth, but she had no doubt that if she answered “yes” he would do it.
Shaking her head, she said, “No. I want you to stop. My husband…” She swallowed back a bitter taste. She didn’t really feel like talking about Donald, or thinking of him for that matter. But it had to be done. Farhid had to understand. “What if he’d been home?”
“Is he usually home in the day?” Farhid asked innocently before taking a sip of his coffee drink.
Clarice pursed her lips together for a moment. The answer to that question was a resounding no, but that wouldn’t help her case. If anything, it might encourage Farhid further. Deciding to ignore the question, she pushed forward, “He would have been furious and then what would I have done?”
Farhid stared into her eyes and said bluntly, “Leave him.”
Shock made Clarice freeze. Had he really just said that? “I… I can’t just leave him!” she said, sputtering slightly as she tried to take in what he was telling her. “For what? For a kiss? One single kiss and I’m supposed to leave my husband.”
Farhid’s smile had dropped and his expression was all seriousness now. He stared at her just as fiercely as before, though, and it was clear that despite her incredulity, he wasn’t not going to give up without a fight. “No, not for a kiss. That is too innocent a thing for such a life altering decision,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving hers. “But for more than a kiss, maybe. Let me ask you this, Clarice, is your husband home right now?”
She hesitated. He’d asked her before, but she’d chosen to ignore the question. Now, she wanted to know where he would take it. “No,” she said hesitantly.
“And if he were, would he notice the roses?”
Would he notice a hundred roses in their apartment? Yes, probably. But would he notice that they were for her, sent by a man who wished to be her lover? Shoulders slumping, Clarice answered again, “No.”
Leaning forward across the table, Farhid’s voice dropped as he asked, “Do you want someone to notice you, Clarice?”
Clarice looked into Farhid’s eyes and was too scared to say yes, but it was what she thought. She’d been desperate for someone to notice her, to want her, she had just hoped it would be from her husband. But that was a useless, futile wish. He would never see her like that, but Farhid?
“I notice you, Clarice.”
His hand slid across the table towards her, but stopped only half way, palm up, waiting. He stared into her eyes and willed her to want him as he wanted her. She could feel the pull of his desire and she knew that somewhere inside her, she had the desire to match. Hesitantly, knowing how foolish this was, how dangerous this was, Clarice slid her hand into his warm one.
***
They spent the rest of the day talking and most of the evening. Farhid told her of Djamila who he thought was a lovely woman, but not the kind he wanted to spend his life with. How it had been an arranged marriage wrapped up more in politics than anything else, and how he had dreamed and wished for something like passion to overtake his life.
He never would have imagined that it would come in the form of a beautiful American woman.
Clarice told him of her efforts in the charity. She wanted to make a difference in other people’s lives, wished that she had always been able to do so, but sometimes she felt like she was incredibly ineffective. She told him of her background as a poor waitress in a little town in the middle of nowhere. How she had dreamed for years of getting away. And then Donald had given her that.
By the time Rosie’s Coffee Pot had closed, Clarice felt more comfortable with Farhid than she had felt with anyone in a long time. It was such a nice change to talk with someone who was interested in her and her thoughts. Donald hadn’t given her that in years, if ever truly.
“Must this be when we part?” Farhid asked her, his eyes still shining with that intensity that she’d seen the moment they had met. It still shocked her even after as long as they’d spent just talking.
She bit her lip. The answer should be yes, it is, but she couldn’t make herself say it. She didn’t want the night to end, not yet, and she didn’t know how much more time she would get with Farhid. When would he return home? And when he did, would she ever see him again?
“No,” she told him in a small, whispered voice. “It doesn’t have to be.”
The smile that lit his face was brighter than any she’d seen before. He slipped his hand in hers and said, “Where do you want to go? I will take you anywhere?”
They end up walking around, site-seeing some of the less well known pieces of New York City. The places that weren’t for tourists so much as for the locals. Some were clubs that they didn’t bother spending time in while some were restaurants like Rosie’s, but open much later. Some were parks that overlooked the water or just old houses that had been there for what seemed like forever.
All the while, they talked. Talked about Qatar and what it was like to be a prince. About Iowa and how nothing ever seemed to happen there.
But they didn’t talk about Donald or Djamila anymore. They focused on each other, willing that to be the only thing that mattered, even if it was something that could only last for the night. And it did. All night.
By the time they’d stopped exploring, they had found a park bench overlooking the water. They sat there and watched the sun rise as the first joggers of the morning began their run.
It was beautiful and Clarice didn’t feel upset or scared to be resting her head against Farhid’s shoulders, nor did she think it was wrong for him to hold her tightly in his arm, letting some of his warmth soak into her.
If anything, it was one of the most perfect moments Clarice had ever had and she never wanted it to end.
It did, of course, and they both made their way home. Farhid escorted Clarice and he made her promise to see him again. And this time when his lips pressed fiercely against his, she didn’t resist. She let herself melt against his body as heat flooded hers, her eyes fluttering closed at the sensations that overtook her. This was how a kiss was supposed to feel.
When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, he said, “Remember, my love, I notice you.”