And yet she had. She’d offered and he’d accepted and sometime very soon they were going to have sex.
She couldn’t imagine it. Not with Rafiq. Not with any man, really. She’d thought about being intimate with Eric, but that was different. She hadn’t worried about anything. She’d known he would be gentle and loving and exciting.
“Talk about wrong,” she said aloud as she studied the contents of her closet. Eric had turned out to be Toad Boy and was out of her life forever. Now she was the soon-to-be mistress of a fabulously wealthy sheik prince. A thought she couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around.
Not that she wasn’t grateful he’d agreed to help her out. She intended to enjoy every moment of her revenge. That goal probably made her a bad person, but she was willing to live with it. The condition of her soul was a little less worrying at this moment than what to wear.
She had plenty of work clothes and tons of casual stuff—jeans, shirts, khaki skirts. But no real mistress wear. Not that she could identify mistress wear. It wasn’t as if there was a section on it in InStyle magazine. But she had a feeling jeans and a cotton blouse weren’t going to cut it and she didn’t want to wear an outfit Rafiq had seen at the office.
After flipping through every item on a hanger, she settled on a simple blue short-sleeved dress and high-heeled sandals. She’d fake-tanned the previous week for her wedding, and there was still enough color on her legs that she didn’t have to worry about pantyhose. Earrings and a quick application of lip gloss completed the look.
She still had a few minutes until the car was due to arrive. Kiley walked into the living room of her apartment and spent the time packing up what few remaining wedding presents she had yet to return.
Touching items she and Eric had picked out and put on their gift registry made her sad. Where had things gone wrong? What clues had she missed? Okay, her friends telling her Eric had hit on them was a big one. Why hadn’t she listened?
“I’ll take responsibility for being stupid about that,” she murmured as she closed the box and picked up packing tape. “But not for what he did. He was the cheating, lying jerk in all this, not me.”
She heard a car pull up and glanced out the window. Sure enough, there was a large, black limo right there in front of her door. As it was unlikely to be for any of her neighbors, Kiley put down the packing tape and picked up her purse.
Five minutes later she’d met Arnold, the very nice driver, and had been escorted to the huge back seat of the vehicle. The only other time she’d been in a limo had been for her high school prom, and she and her date had been one of the three couples sharing it. This was very different.
There was a bar, a TV and enough floor space for a Pilates workout. “This is so not like my world,” she murmured as she buckled up.
A voice in her head asked if she knew what on earth she was doing. Kiley was ready to go with no on that one. She didn’t. Not really. Being a mistress was an intellectual concept she didn’t want to think about. Actually being one, in the flesh, so to speak, was a very scary reality she wasn’t prepared to deal with. Although she would have to later that evening.
“I went to Rafiq,” she reminded herself. “I’m the one who wanted this. Wanted him.”
And she still did. Revenge was all she had left.
Traffic was surprisingly light for a workday evening, and less than forty minutes later the limo drove down a long, narrow driveway that opened up in front of a wood-and-glass single-story house.
Tropical plants lined the walkway and provided a shaded entry. High walls on both sides offered privacy. When Arnold opened the rear door of the car, Kiley could hear the sound of the ocean.
“Have a nice evening,” he said as she smiled at him. “I’ll be waiting to take you home when you’re finished.”
Finished with what, she wanted to ask but didn’t. Better not to know for sure.
She walked along the flagstone path to the huge double doors. Before she could find the bell and press it, the door opened and Rafiq stood in front of her.
He might have spoken. She wasn’t sure. His lips moved, so there was probably sound, but she didn’t hear it. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe as she stared at him.
He wasn’t in a suit. She’d known Rafiq for more than two years, and she’d only ever seen him in a suit. Usually without the jacket. He took that off as soon as he arrived at work and rarely put it on except for certain clients. She’d seen him tired, cranky, mussed, with his sleeves rolled up and his tie pulled off, but she’d never seen him dressed casually.
Tonight he wore tailored slacks and a polo shirt. The latter told her that her first impression about his body had been correct—plenty of lean muscle sculpted into something darned close to male perfection.
She’d known she was out of her league, based on the women he was usually involved with. Now she realized she was out of her league because of the man he was. Talk about a bad idea.
He was rich, royal and dangerous. He was also gorgeous.
She bit back the need to apologize for taking up his time and scurry back to the limo to be taken home. She’d asked, he’d been interested, and the decision had been made. For reasons clear to no one, Rafiq had wanted her as his mistress. As soon as she stopped hyperventilating, she was going to accept that truth and deal with it.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She managed a smile. “Not even close, but I’ll get better.”
“What will help?”
“The passage of time or a head injury.”
He smiled. “Perhaps some champagne.”
“A possible alternative,” she said as he led the way from the foyer into a step-down living room.
Seeing a casually dressed Rafiq had been one shock. Seeing the Pacific Ocean spread out before her like a fabulous painting was another. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the entire west wall of the living room. She could see a deck, then a bit of sand, then moving, swirling beautiful blue ocean.
“Love the view,” she said.
“I’m glad. It reminds me a little of Lucia-Serrat. My house on the island there overlooks the Indian Ocean.”
“Is there a difference?”
He crossed to a glass-topped sofa table where a bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket and a tray of appetizers nestled by two white plates.
Rafiq picked up the bottle and opened it. “The smell,” he said at last. “The sound of the ocean is the same, but if I close my eyes and breathe deeply, I can always tell where I am. At home, the salt air is more tropical.”
“While here it smells like Hollywood,” she said, accepting the slender glass he offered.
“Is that the scent?”
“I’m only guessing,” she said, staring at the bottle of Dom Perignon. Sure, she’d had champagne before but never anything this expensive. “I know in my head that Lucia-Serrat is a beautiful tropical island, but whenever I think of your part of the world, I picture sand and oil.”
“There is that, as well,” he said, gesturing to the sofa. “You are imagining traditional desert images. You can find the reality of that in El Bahar or Bahania.”
She doubted visiting either country was going to be on her near-term to-do list. First she had to get her life back in order.
“You’re related to the royal family of Bahania, aren’t you?” she asked.
He waited until she’d settled on one end of the sofa and took the other for himself. “The king of Bahania and my father are cousins.”
“An interesting extended family.”
She tasted the champagne and was pleased by the light, bubbly flavor. “This is nice,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Would you like something to eat?”
“No, thanks.”
Food? Now? So not a good idea. She was already nervous. Eating would only upset her stomach, which could lead to an unfortunate throwing-up incident. Not a memory she wanted for her first visit to Rafiq’s house.
Oh,
God. She was in his house! She’d agreed to be his mistress! Soon there would be nudity and sex and possibly bad language. Her life had become an R-rated movie.
She set down the glass and tried to think of something to say. Funny how she and Rafiq had never run out of things to talk about at the office. Of course there they had business to discuss and now they didn’t. Somehow it didn’t seem right to bring up the latest oil reserves or mention the meeting he would attend in the morning. She needed a slightly more “mistressy” topic. But what?
And how were they going to do it? Did he just make a move on her and she let him? Was there a universal question or signal she was supposed to pick up, because if there was, she was unlikely to get it.
“I can hear you thinking again,” he said with a smile. “You are nervous.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Under the circumstances?” He considered the question, then said, “Yes.”
“Okay, then.”
“Perhaps if we discussed logistics you would feel more comfortable.”
She doubted anything would help but, hey, stranger things had happened. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“I have several upcoming social events I would like you to attend. I will get you a list of dates. In return, if there’s anything you want me to do with you, I will.”
Her sister was about to give birth, and after the baby came, there would be a big family get-together. Somehow she couldn’t imagine taking Rafiq to the party.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“Am I?” She shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t see you fitting in with my family. Everyone is very normal. We’re your basic hearty, peasant stock. Not a drop of royal blood anywhere.”
“Why would that matter?”
“I doubt it’s what you’re used to.”
“I adjust very well to different circumstances.”
She angled toward him. “I’m one of three girls. The youngest, in fact. My father is a firefighter. My mom works in a gift store. They’ve been married thirty-one years and have lived in the same house for nearly twenty of them. It’s a four-bedroom ranch-style built in the seventies.”
“What is wrong with that?” he asked.
She laughed. “Nothing. My point is, you don’t have a ‘bondy story’ to go with mine. What are you going to say? That the smallest family castle only has eleven bedrooms?”
“I believe it has fifteen, but I’ve never counted.” Rafiq stared into Kiley’s blue eyes and liked the amusement he saw there. “But I understand your point. We come from different worlds.”
“I’m thinking it’s more like different planets.”
“Yours sounds very nice.”
“It is,” she said. “But yours has better jewelry.”
He chuckled. “That is true.”
She reached for her glass of champagne and took a sip. He watched her and knew the exact moment the humor faded and the nervousness returned. Her grip on the glass tightened and she refused to look at him.
“Kiley, we will not be making love tonight.”
Her relief was nearly as tangible as the building itself. Tension dropped from her body, as she sagged back against the sofa. “Really?”
“We need to get to know each other first.” He was amused by her reaction. Did she really think he intended to take her so quickly? Much of the pleasure lay in the anticipation, in watching her move and imagining her hands on his bare skin. In listening to her voice and knowing how it would sound when she begged him for more.
“Okay. Good point,” she said. “It’s just I’ve never done anything like this before. Obviously. In addition to the whole never-been-a-mistress-before thing, there’s the fact that I’m not all that good with men.” She wrinkled her nose, then took another sip of the champagne. “I didn’t date much in high school. I was more the buddy type.”
The information didn’t surprise him. While Kiley was very attractive, hers was a more-subtle beauty. Still, the flower one must discover was more special than the one simply thrust in one’s path.
“You met Eric in college?” he asked.
“My senior year. We were friends for a while, then we started dating. There were a couple of guys before him but no one special.”
The women in his life were usually much more experienced. Not that Rafiq minded her relative innocence. “As I said, we will get to know each other,” he told her. “Progress leisurely.” He paused, then said, “I assume Eric was your only lover?”
He didn’t mind the competition, he simply wanted to know how slowly he should move.
Kiley blushed and turned her head. “He, ah…”
“I do not mind if there have been more.”
“Yes, well…” She finished her glass of champagne and set it on the coffee table. It was only when she raised her gaze to his that he saw the truth.
Not more lovers. Less.
She was a virgin.
Rafiq was less startled by the news than by the fierce need to possess her that swept through him. The primitive emotions startled him with their intensity. In his day-to-day life, he rarely felt his desert heritage, but at that moment he was one with his ferocious history.
“I know it’s really old-fashioned, especially now,” she said, speaking quickly. “Socially, it’s not something I really talk about. I don’t even know where the idea came from. My mom always talked about the first time being with someone I loved, but never that I should wait. Still, I wanted to. I wanted to give that to the man I married. I wanted to be a virgin on my wedding night.”
She stared at the floor. “Eric knew, of course. He was all for it, the bastard. In a way that’s what made it worse. I’m not a saint or a sexless creature. We would kiss and touch and I wanted to do more. I thought I was being strong and noble, and sometimes it was really tough. I thought he believed, too. Instead I would go home frustrated and he would head off to sleep with somebody else.”
Rafiq had never had an opinion on Kiley’s fiancé until she told him what he’d done. Then he’d felt mild annoyance and contempt. Now he wanted to hunt down the other man and horsewhip him into a bloody pulp. How dare he reject such an incredible gift with thoughtless callousness?
“It is better you didn’t marry him,” he said, careful to keep his anger from his voice.
“Agreed. He was a jerk and I’m lucky I found out before the wedding.” She looked into her glass. “I just don’t feel very lucky. I feel stupid. Like I did this really big thing and no one noticed or cared.”
Her admission of innocence made him want her more. He wanted to be the first to touch her and pleasure her in the unique way a man could please a woman. But to defile a virgin…
“You must reconsider our arrangement,” he told her, even as he longed to pull her close and take her. “Someone who was willing to wait so long should not give her gift so easily.”
She stared at him. “You’ve changed your mind? But you can’t.”
“I have not,” he said gently, hating the need to do the right thing. His body told him to take what was offered without question, but his soul demanded Kiley make the choice. “You said yourself you should be in love the first time.”
“Were you?”
He smiled. “It is different for a man. We are eager to dispose of our virginity.”
“Gee, that’s what I’m thinking. I want this, Rafiq. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t.”
Honor demanded he give her an out. Now that he had and she’d refused it, he wouldn’t ask again. “Then we will go on as planned,” he said. “With one small change.”
She frowned. “What’s that?”
“I had thought we would wait a few days to become intimate. Now I think we will move even more slowly.”
“You don’t have to because of me.”
“Oh, but I do.” He moved closer and touched her cheek. Her skin was smooth and soft.
Based on what he’d heard about Eric, Ra
fiq would guess the other man hadn’t been interested in teaching Kiley the possibilities.
“There are many ways for a man to please a woman,” he said, staring into her eyes. “We will explore all of them together. I will show you the way it should be, and when you are ready, we will be lovers.”
Kiley felt equal measures of relief and disappointment. On the one hand, she appreciated that she didn’t have to get naked right this moment. On the other hand, there was something about Rafiq that intrigued her.
Maybe it was the way he talked—speaking of possibilities and pleasure. Moving slowly toward an ultimate goal. A shiver of anticipation raced up her spine. Maybe this was going to be fun.
“Would you like to see the house?” he asked. “There are some beautiful pieces I brought from Lucia-Serrat.”
The change of topic left her blinking. Couldn’t they keep talking about how great he was going to make it? Unfortunately there was no way she could ask, and as he stood, she would guess he hadn’t read her mind.
“That would be nice,” she said.
She accepted the hand he offered and let him pull her to her feet.
“This small chest was built in the sixteenth century,” he told her, pointing at a small, carved chest by the end of the sofa. As he spoke, he rested one hand on the small of her back and placed the other on her upper arm.
Both points of contact were warm. Nice, she thought. More than nice. Interesting. Appealing. He moved his fingers back and forth, stroking her like a cat. As he continued to tell her the history of the chest and touch her, she found herself relaxing.
They circled the living room. He pointed out several works of art painted by people even she recognized. They passed through a large, well-appointed kitchen filled with the delicious scent of cooking dinner. Rafiq pointed to the oven.
“Sana, my housekeeper, has left us dinner. Are you hungry?”
As he asked the question, he put his hand back on her hip. She found herself wanting to step closer. How odd. Until this morning they’d never touched, except by accident as she passed a file or they walked together down the hall. Now he had the right to touch her whenever he wanted, and she could place her hand on him.
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