From anyone else, belligerence would have been... unwelcome. He would have felt the need to punish it. But from Stacia, at least it meant she was in the same room as he was. It was refreshing to meet someone head on instead of having them simper and purr to his face, trying to maneuver their way into his good graces.
“Giving up is an unusual experience for me. I find I lack the words,” he explained. “Also, I’m unused to failure.”
He closed the lid of his laptop, and sat back in his chair to enjoy the view of her more fully.
She was as lovely as he remembered. The first time they met, those few seconds at the doorway, he had failed to see it. Then again, he realized now that she played down her looks on purpose, perhaps to keep people at a distance, or perhaps to be taken more seriously. It was only when she let down her guard that she was at her most beautiful.
Today, she was not wearing the glasses that softened her sharp features the way he liked, he was content to see. He had no desire for her to become more attractive to other men, only to him.
The sight of Stacia removing her stylish beige winter coat and draping it over his guest chair made his heart beat faster for an instant. Stacia taking off her clothes was always an excellent sight, but in this case, it indicated she intended to stay for a while.
She wore a color-blocked navy blue and dusty grey dress, cut low to display her curvy breasts, and hemmed well above the knee, showing a length of slim thigh. Her expensive new clothes led him to believe he had been right about her monetary troubles. She had never been in danger of any long period of unemployment, of course.
Her blonde hair fell in waves down her back, as he had suggested she might do. Far more natural than her previous knife-straight hairstyle. He wanted nothing more than to see it displayed on the pillow of his bed. Or perhaps cascading over the arm of his dark leather couch, which was mere meters away.
“Failure to manipulate me, I suppose.” She sat in the chair opposite his desk and crossed one knee over the other in a way that displayed her legs to her advantage. “That really burns my butt.”
“Believe me, I would not wish for fire anywhere near your excellent butt. I’m fond of it, actually. No, I was speaking of a different failure. Ironic, don’t you think, that the problem I finally failed to solve was my own, and it will affect me always.”
“Always?” She cocked her head and flattened her lips. Her very pink lips—that was a fresh coat of lipstick, applied in the washroom before she entered his office, if he had to guess. “I don’t understand.”
Her so-called confusion was a ruse. He chose not to ignore it. Even when he had been playing the role of gigolo, they had always spoken honestly of their emotions. He had no desire to change that. “Yes, you do. The sensitive heart that you hide from others, the loyalty you have shown to your friends, and your calm in the face of crisis are excellent traits that would be useful to a woman in a position of power in a country such as Ittar, besides being attractive to me personally. You are a difficult woman, but the man who wins you will never have to doubt you or suspect you. You would help him in every way you could. You are what I want for myself for the rest of my life.”
The surprised that lifted her eyebrows seemed genuine this time.
“You think I am insane for saying such a thing after knowing you for only a few days. Yet I have never felt this way about anyone. If that shocks you, consider it unsaid. It hardly matters, now that I’ve lost you.”
Stacia had gone stock still. She appeared to have even given up breathing. Time to change the subject. “But let us discuss something else. I want to know what has happened with you. Since you came here to deliver this yourself, and in new clothing, I assume you took control of your career situation.”
“Yes.” Her mouth turned down, but at least she had resumed respiration. “You were right, if that’s what you want to hear.”
“Of course I was right about you.” No doubt his words would annoy her. But this was less about his character than hers. She should have more confidence in herself than she did. “You will always make things work out for yourself. That is who you are. You decided you wished to make a change and you acquired a new job for yourself.”
“Nope. I decided I wanted to stay where I was,” she said, with more self-assurance. “So I got Super Bitch fired.”
He couldn’t help smiling. It was well played on her part. Even he hadn’t thought of that one. “Even better. A neat solution.”
“The right solution,” she agreed. “A little digging turned up enough evidence of her incompetence that she was escorted from the building.”
“You were promoted, then? But you did not want a managerial position. You would rather help people with your own hands.”
“True. But I’ve started volunteering at a local home for unwed mothers. It’s kind of amazing.” She smoothed a wrinkle out of her dress, in an effort to appear casual, but he could tell she focused as intently on their conversation as he did. “And you? How’s the perfume business? How have you been?”
“Distracted. Emotional. Myself, I mean, not the business. That has been running fairly well. Mostly at the hands of others because I cannot get a certain blonde off my mind.” Color raised in her cheeks. He’d forgotten how well she blushed. “And your problem. In the bedroom. Has it continued?”
Her face went scarlet. “That’s very personal.”
“We have been personal, you and I.”
She glanced toward the floor for an instant. “I’m fine now. No more problems. I have you to thank for that.”
“Who is he?” He barely squeezed out the words through his clenched teeth.
Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Who is who— Oh.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
“Then how—”
She interrupted him. Something he would endure from no one else. “Somebody taught me to fish, if you remember.”
A full-blown erotic picture burst into his mind. Stacia, alone in her bed, her hand on herself. White sheets tangled around her as she writhed. The strangled sounds of her pleasure filling the room. The only problem with this scene was that he was not there to enjoy it.
To keep from closing the space between them and bending her to his pleasure, he had to place his elbows on his desk and press his fingers against each other.
“This is the first time I have been jealous of any woman’s independence,” he said.
“It’s not the same, if it makes you feel better.”
“I do not understand,” he lied, enjoying his mental picture again. “In what way is it not the same?”
Her gaze never wavered, as if she knew precisely what film was playing in his head. Her exaggerated frown told him she wasn't as bothered by this conversation as she pretended to be. “In exactly the way you’re imagining right now, and that’s all I have to say about it.”
He held back his amusement. No woman had ever been able to read his mind the way she could. It made him want to shock her.
“I considered kidnapping you, you know,” he said, in a conversational tone.
She snorted. “You’re a better problem solver than that.”
“That is true,” he said. “I am.”
“Your creative thinking is one of the things I like about you.”
“I was under the impression that there was nothing you liked about me.”
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments, but I’ll bite.” She sighed. “Okay, that was a horrible mixed metaphor.”
He nodded. “I would be happy to discuss fishing at length, if you wish.”
She chose to ignore that.
“Things I like about you,” she said, appearing to consider the options. “Hmm. Well, there’s the obvious. You’re insanely handsome and a snappy dresser. But anyone with your money would be.”
He barely kept the sarcasm out of his voice. “Why, thank you.”
“You’re also taller than me, which I don’t run into very often. You actually listen to other people and take their advice. I didn’t expect that. You’re generous. And you don’t do things just so you can take credit for them. You’re happy with getting results—you don’t need others to notice you and praise you for what you do. You’re way more sensitive to other people’s emotions than any man I’ve ever met. I suppose that’s because you grew up as a guest in someone else’s house. I bet you’re an amazing boss. And,” she finished. “I think Ittar is lucky to have you.”
Her list was far more than he expected. She had forgiven him for at least some of his actions. But one thing stuck with him more than the others.
You grew up as a guest in someone else’s house.
She couldn’t have discovered that without some research. It was not a common fact put out in official biographies. “You read about my childhood. Why would you do that if you had decided against me?”
“Yes, I did,” she said, but without specifying if she was referring to researching him or making her decision about rejecting him. “Now, the one thing I think you could work on is that you’re sometimes a bit obtuse. But I suppose not even the smartest person can always see what’s in front of his nose.”
It proved her point that he couldn’t make any sense of her words right now. “I beg your pardon?”
“And I forgive you,” she said, graciously. “Sometimes you make assumptions that just aren’t true because you think you know what other people are thinking. You imagine that you are one step ahead of everyone else all the time.” She smiled and shrugged, enjoying his confusion. “That’s just not always true.”
But he
was
one step ahead of everyone else all the time. At least he was with everyone but Stacia. “I suspect you are referring to something, but I’m not sure what,” he admitted.
“For example,” she said. “You think I came all the way here to return that money and tell you off.”
That was exactly what he thought. But if she hadn’t come to do that, why was she here?
“The last time you threw that envelope at me, that was your point, I believe."
“True,” she said. “But the
first
time I threw money at you, it was to procure your sexual favors.”
To procure your sexual favors.
The envelope. She hadn’t come as one final farewell. This wasn’t an ending, but a beginning. They were not beginning an affair. They were beginning a lifetime. Something inside him broke, a tension he’d been carrying since he’d left Vegas.
He could not restrain himself any longer. He closed the space between them in an instant, as she stood from the chair to meet him. He cupped her chin in his hands, feeling the soft skin over her jaw, and pulled her mouth to his.
His lips were warm and soft as ever. The kiss quickly turned urgent, filling with all the longing and pent up desire of the last month. The silk waves of her hair brushed the backs of his hands, teasing him with a light, sensual touch. She returned his passion, pressing tightly against him, slipping her hands beneath his suit jacket. She dug her fingers into his lower back, as if she couldn’t get him close enough.
His body reacted to her in every way. The urge to drag her to his couch and rip off her clothing nearly overwhelmed him. It was a long time before the kiss broke.
“I assume your rates haven’t changed, then,” she said. And then, very deliberately, and much more softly, she added, “Zaq.”
Zaq. The name of an escort in Las Vegas. Well, he would happily escort her for the rest of her life.
Yet, he needed assurance that she understood the implications of accepting him. The full implications. She was not simply dating Zaq, nor having an affair with Zaqwan. She was the intended of the Crown Prince of Ittar, with all the responsibilities involved in that position.
With effort, he broke their embrace. She needed to be clear-headed when she considered what he asked her next.
“In two months’ time,” he said. “There is to be a royal gala in Ittar. I want you to attend with me. You will meet my family. I have never introduced any woman to my family, or appeared at a public event with any woman.”
One of her arms crossed her chest to grasp her elbow. The other hand went to her face to cover her mouth. Her gaze dropped to the floor. Clearly, she had not been quite prepared for this.
He could tell that she understood the full impact of the commitment. It would be as good as an engagement ceremony.
She would also be in the public eye for the first time in her life. The pressure of being a bridesmaid in a private wedding in Vegas would be nothing compared to walking into the National Theatre of Ittar on the arm of a royal prince. Not to mention that she wouldn’t know the customs or the culture or anyone else in the entire country. She would not know what to wear and likely not be able to afford the designer gown expected of his fiancée, which the entire country would assume she was. And they would be correct.
She would be the ultimate fish out of water. She wouldn’t even speak the language. She would have to depend on him for everything. Knowing Stacia, she would hate this more than anything.
She took deep, considering breaths, clearly weighing the factors, facing her discomfort at situations she could not control.
But she didn’t argue that they might not be together in two months. He could tell that she knew their relationship fit. She hadn’t told him that she loved him, but he knew she would say it. It was a matter of time.
If she could face the challenge of being miles outside her comfort zone.
After an expanse of silence, she raised her gaze to his. “Yes. In two months. Yes.” Then she sighed. “I’ll need your help.”
She faced the thing she hated so she could be with him. He could do no less. “I will do anything you ask. And nothing you do not.”
It would be difficult for him, allowing her to make her own way. Not manipulating others into positions where they had to accept her. Not easing her way through Ittari society. But just as he was not her inferior to control, she was not his problem to solve.
She rewarded him with a passionate kiss. An appropriate way to seal their bargain.
“I’ll learn as fast as I can,” she told him. “I’ll be useful to you before you know it.”
He ran his fingers down her soft cheek, assuring himself that she had really accepted him. “You are useful to me right now.”