ROMANCE: Sleeping With The Sheikh (Billionaire Alpha Male Sheikh Romance) (New Adult Forbidden Series Short Stories)

by Knight, Kylie

  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.”

  Chapter Eight

  Farhid slept for maybe an hour, possibly two that morning after returning to his hotel room after his night with Clarice. There was little that could bring down his spirits, but a call from his father tried very hard to do just that.

  It came at around eight in the morning. As soon as Farhid knew that it was his father, he understood the gravity of the situation. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, perhaps he hadn’t been at all, in assuming that sending Djamila home on her own might be a good idea.

  But it was all he could do at the time. Now he just had to find a way to explain that to his father without getting himself in a lot of trouble.

  “Father,” Farhid greeted in as respectful a tone as he could muster while still preparing himself for the worst. “Your call is pleasant, but unexpected.”

  “Is it really, Farhid my son?” came the Sheikh’s reply. His tone suggested that he was sitting on a brewing temper, one he was trying to manage and probably failing rather miserably. Farhid would have a very short amount of time to convince his father that this was the correct course of action before things would take a turn for the worse.

  Taking a steadying breath, Farhid prepared to make his case. “It is. It always is. As for unexpected… well, perhaps I considered that you might wish to ask after me.”

  “When you sent your new wife home without you perhaps?” the Sheikh growled into the receiver. “What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how it looks to send your wife home like that?”

  “Father—” Farhid tried, but the Sheikh was not having it. He had no interest in listening to Farhid just then.

  “It looks disgraceful. It looks as though your wife has angered you in some way, as though you are sending her home as punishment. This could damage her and her family’s reputation!”

  Farhid clenched his jaw tightly, biting his tongue to keep from saying what he really wanted to say. Which was that all the Sheikh ever cared about was appearances. Did his feelings ever matter in any decision? His wants, his desires, his needs? Did they matter so little to his father?

  It seemed the answer was yes, and it aggravated Farhid. It was the reason that his words came out a little clipped and less diplomatic than he would have liked. “She has done nothing wrong and you can tell whoever whispers behind her back just that. And as for her husband, he’ll return home in his own time. Am I not a man to be allowed at least that much to my own discretion?”

  “You are a prince, son of the Sheikh and you shall return at your father’s command!”

  But Farhid wasn’t listening. In fact, he’d made his decision. There was only one way he could extend his stay now and that was to hang up before his father could say anything else. So long as there was not a direct command, then Farhid was not directly disobeying his sovereign. It was a risky move, but it was the only one Farhid had left.

  He had to take it.

  The phone rang again, but Farhid didn’t answer. He almost unplugged the hotel phone—his he merely turned off—but realized that he’d told Clarice to call him at the hotel if she needed to get ahold of him. It meant he’d have to be careful as far as when he answered, but he would have to leave it plugged in.

  He needed Clarice able to get ahold of him.

  Feeling nervous and still very tired, Farhid went to the bathroom and showered, thinking of Clarice. He thought of her soft skin and her long, golden tresses. She was beautiful in a way so unlike Djamila. Her body was an hourglass, sand paused in time for what seemed like forever, frozen in a picture of desire.

  He craved her with her bright blue eyes and her soft, milky skin. She was the thing that he’d been wanting for so long, the thing that he had believed he could never have—because of Djamila.

  The thought of his wife cooled his rising desire and settled his growing hardness.

  Things had not changed in that respect. He was still married to her and to do anything with Clarice was to be unfaithful—but did love count for nothing?

  As the water cascaded down through his thick hair and across his broad, thick shoulders he leaned forward and laughed a little at himself.

  “Is that what it is now?” he asked himself, his voice mixing in with the echoes of the shower spray. “Are you in love with this woman?”

  He meant it to sound ridiculous, incredulous. How could he be in love with a woman he knew so little? A woman who was already taken, had little in the sense of her own independent wealth and authority, and seemed hell-bent on resisting him.

  Except for last night.

  Things had changed thing. She’d softened and opened up and when they’d kissed, he knew without a doubt that she had wanted him just as desperately as he had wanted her.

  In the end, his words sounded soft and tender, not harsh and incredulous. He wondered if maybe this was love. He had yet to experience it, though he had lived for thirty three years, and the thought that perhaps he had found it here in America of all places thrilled him.

  But it was too early to place all his hopes with this one woman. He would have to be patient.

  Turning off the water, Farhid dried off and began to dress for the day. As he slipped his pants on, still bare chested, the phone rang. For a split second, Farhid worried it was his father trying again and debated not answering it. But Clarice…

  He had to take the risk.

  “Hello?”

  “Farhid? It’s… it’s Clarice.”

  His heart swelled as both relief and eagerness filled him. “Clarice, my love. I was hoping you would call.”

  “Yes. I know it’s not really appropriate, but—”

  He cut her off. “I told you to call me. I wanted to hear your voice. I want to see you.”

  For a moment she was silent and he worried that he was too eager, pushing her farther than her limits might allow. He was walking on thin ice, trying to win a woman who was not technically available for the taking.

  But Farhid knew now that her husband did not deserve her. She should be treated like a queen and Farhid would do all in his power to make sure that happened.

  Finally, Clarice spoke. “I want to see you, too.”

  “Today? We’ll have brunch. The restaurant downstairs serves a lovely meal. Shall I send a car
for you?”

  Clarice laughed and it was a beautiful, perfect sound. “No, that’s alright. Just give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  Farhid gave her the address and said, “I will count the moments until I might see you again, my love.”

  She laughed a little, but it sounded light and giddy. He’d flattered her, as was his goal, and he felt all the better for it. They said goodbye then and Farhid finished getting dressed. When he was sure that he looked acceptable—black slacks and a button down shirt—he headed downstairs to wait for Clarice.

  The restaurant was busy, but not packed. Farhid had no troubles finding a secluded table near the back. He told the waiter to bring out two glasses of orange juice and a pot of coffee. By the time the drinks arrived, he spotted Clarice just walking into the lobby.

  Waving over a waiter, he told the man, “Invite the woman to sit with me.”

  The waiter nodded and immediately scurried off to find Clarice. Farhid watched as they spoke, studying Clarice. She was absolutely beautiful. She’d chosen to wear a dress for their brunch date, a deep red color that created golden highlights in her blonde hair. It stopped just above her knees, modest for an American, but still managing to show off her shapely legs. Whatever modesty there was happened to disappear when you took in how tight it was. It hugged her hips and emphasized her tiny waist, building up to her large bust. It was strapless, a low cut sweetheart neckline that plunged in a curved V that allowed her breasts to create a beautiful heart shape with her cleavage, of which there were ample amounts.

  Farhid let out a shaky breath at the sight of her, trying to push down his excitement and need. The hardness that was forming within his slacks would have to be tamed, lest he scare her off before they ever had the chance to quench the fiery thirst that he knew was inside both of them.