by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
Farid grabbed Samira's arm and together they walked toward the restaurant door. They were followed to the door by a hand-wringing Louis Montague. Montague was the owner of the restaurant and obviously disturbed by the fracas that had just occurred.
"I apologize for the disturbance," Farid said to Louis when they reached the front of the restaurant. He pulled out several bills and offered them to Louis. "For any damage that might have occurred."
Louis waved the money away, then tugged on his dark goatee. "I apologize that one of my guests showed an incredible lack of breeding in saying such things to a lady."
Samira wanted to die as she realized the dapper man had overhead what Desmond had said about her. Tears of humiliation filled her eyes and she clung to Farid's arm, just wanting to leave, to escape from this place.
The walk back to their guest house was accomplished in silence. She could feel Farid's anger still radiating from him, a palpable force like a companion walking with them.
Desmond's vile, ugly words swirled around and around in her head, echoing painfully in her heart. There was no way she could even pretend now that Desmond might have liked her just a little bit.
His words had been demeaning and contemptuous, and she felt like such a fool for ever allowing him to touch her in any way.
When they reached the guest house, Samira went right into the bathroom, telling Farid she wanted to shower. What she really wanted to do was to wash off the feel of Desmond's hands on her shoulders. She felt slimy and dirty from his touch.
As she stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, she wondered how it was possible that she could be so smart in matters of the heart for other people, but so incredibly stupid when it came to her own life.
Others often came to her for advice about their romances. She'd even been instrumental in helping her brother Hassan understand what he needed to do to win over the woman he loved. So, why was she so incredibly naïve? Why had she been so vulnerable to a man like Desmond?
A lousy lay. The words had been low-class and meant to hurt. But now, Samira wondered if perhaps that's why Farid hadn't tried to make love to her again after the first time. She'd been so bad at it, he hadn't been able to force himself to touch her again.
A wave of deep despair swept through her and she wept, knowing the sounds of her sobs would be swallowed by the sound of the shower.
* * *
He'd wanted to kill him. Rage still ripped through Farid as his mind filled with a vision of Samira's stricken face. He'd never wanted to hurt anyone as badly as he'd wanted to hurt Desmond Caruso.
Even now his fists ached with the need to smash Caruso's pretty-boy face. He wanted to make it impossible for Samira's name to ever again fall out of Desmond's mouth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such rage. Certainly he'd never felt this kind of anger over a woman.
With the sound of Samira taking a shower in the next room, Farid walked over to the bar and poured himself a shot of whisky.
It had been bad enough that Caruso had placed his hands on her, but the foul words that had left his mouth had made Farid see red.
He downed the jigger of whisky, then poured himself another one and sank down on the sofa. Slowly the raging adrenaline that had filled him dissipated, leaving behind an ache in his heart for Samira.
When Desmond had said those ugly things, the look on her face had been devastating. She'd lost all color in her cheeks and her hands had flown to her stomach as if she would shield her unborn child from the man who was the father.
He'd wanted to shield not only the baby, but Samira herself from Desmond. But he knew that while he'd been able to remove Samira from Desmond's presence tonight, he wouldn't always be able to do so.
For at least the next eighteen years, Desmond Caruso would always have a place in Samira's life because of the child they shared.
And while Farid wished it wasn't so, there was no way he could change the fact that Desmond Caruso was the biological father of Samira's child and as such he would have to be afforded certain rights.
The sound of the shower ceased. He frowned and sipped his drink, relishing the burn of the alcohol down his throat. He worried about what was going through Samira's pretty little head. He knew how much she hated confrontation, and he'd certainly been a party to causing a huge showdown.
The entire congregation in the restaurant had been witness not only to her humiliation, but also to the violent scene Farid had caused.
He turned as the bedroom door opened and she came out. Clad in a short, pale-pink terry robe, she looked small and achingly vulnerable.
He motioned her to sit next to him on the sofa and when she did, his senses were filled with the clean, sweet scent of her. Her hair was damp and clung to her neck, and without any makeup on she looked younger than her years.
Her eyes were reddened and he realized she'd been crying. Although she was seated next to him, she refused to meet his gaze. Her fingers worried with the fringe at the ends of the belt that cinched the robe at her waist
Was she angry with him for losing control and making a small scene into a bigger scene? He finished his drink and set his empty glass on the coffee table before them.
"Samira … I'm sorry."
Her deep-brown eyes looked up at him in surprise. "For what?"
"For making such a scene."
She once again looked down at her hands, the belt still entwined in her fingers. "There's nothing to apologize for. It wasn't your fault." She shivered slightly. "He was awful and it was all his fault."
"Yes, but I lost my temper. I lost control and that's something I try never to do."
"So, you lost control. It was no big deal." She continued to look down. "I wouldn't have minded if you'd hit him once or twice just for good measure."
He wondered if she were naked beneath the robe. If he slipped the terry material off one shoulder, would he be greeted by the straps of a gown beneath or would there only be her smooth, sweet skin?
The thought of her naked filled him with heat and he cursed himself for being an insensitive bastard. She had just been through an unsettling experience and all he could think about was capturing her lips with his, cupping her breasts with his hands and burying himself deep inside her.
All thoughts of anything sexual instantly left him as she looked up at him, her eyes awash with tears. The misery that reflected from the watery depths of her gentle brown eyes stirred a deep protectiveness he'd never known before.
He pulled her into his arms and she came willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in the front of his shirt. "I can't believe I ever let that man touch me in any way," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I can't believe I ever believed anything that fell out of his ugly mouth."
"You don't have to worry about that ever again," Farid replied, stroking a hand down her still-damp hair. The pleasant scent of her floral shampoo filled his nose and again a wave of desire swept through him.
"He's a mean, hateful man with a black, black heart and I hate him."
Farid didn't reply, but merely tightened his arms around her.
At least she wasn't crying, he thought. Apparently all she needed was to be held, and he could do that gladly. Holding Samira was remarkably easy to do.
Minutes ticked by and he felt her slowly relaxing against him. Neither of them spoke but the silence wasn't unpleasant. After several minutes had passed, he began to wonder if perhaps she'd fallen asleep, but then she convulsed against him and released a deep, wrenching sob.
"Samira? Why are you crying?" he asked, wondering what had brought on the belated burst of tears. "Tell me what's wrong."
She shook her head and kept her face buried against his chest. "I don't think I want to talk about it," she said through her tears.
Was it possible she was crying from a broken heart? That somehow she'd entertained some kind of lingering hope about a relationship with Desmond Caruso, a hope that had been irrevocably dashed tonight?
> "Samira, honey … don't cry." He patted her back, unsure what else to do. Farid didn't know how to deal with a sobbing woman.
"I … can't … help … it." Her shoulders shook with the force of the sobs that ripped through her. She raised her head and looked at him and never had he seen such abject misery on a face. "I know now why you haven't made love to me in the last week. It's because I'm … a … lousy … lay."
Without warning she jumped out of his embrace and off the sofa, then turned and raced for the bedroom. Astonishment momentarily left Farid inert, incapable of movement of any kind.
That's why she was crying? Not because her heart was broken by Desmond but because she'd believed the crazy words he'd said about her lovemaking? She had taken his foolish, hurtful words to heart?
She really believed that Farid had not made love to her after the first time because the experience had been an unpleasant one?
How on earth could she believe that? Hadn't she seen his desire for her in his eyes, felt it in his touch? Didn't she realize how much he wanted her?
His incredulity passed and he jumped up off the sofa and entered the bedroom, where she was on her tummy on the bed, her face buried in a pillow.
The room was falling into purple shadows of approaching twilight and she looked heartbreakingly tiny in the middle of the king-size bed.
He stretched out next to her on the bed and placed a hand on the small of her back, touched by how fragile she felt and vowing that no matter what happened in their future he would do his best to never allow anyone to harm her. It didn't matter whether their marriage lasted or not … he would always want to keep her from hurt … from harm.
"Samira, my sweet, innocent Samira, surely you can't really believe what Caruso said about you."
"Why shouldn't I believe it?" she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow. "We haven't … you haven't tried to even touch me in that way since that one time."
"And you have no idea how difficult it has been for me not to touch you in 'that way' since the last time we made love."
"You're just saying that," she replied.
"Trust me, Samira, I'm not just saying that. A few minutes ago while I was holding you in my arms, I was wondering if you were naked beneath your robe. I was imagining kissing you again, caressing you again … making love to you again."
She raised her face from the pillow and looked at him. Her cheeks were stained with the tracks of her tears and her bottom lip quivered with barely suppressed emotion.
"You're just being nice," she protested.
"You know me better than that," he chided gently. "I never do anything just to be nice." He reached out a finger and stroked it down her cheek, swiping away an errant tear that lingered there.
"You have no idea how much I've wanted you this past week," he said softly. "I wake up in the morning hard and throbbing with my desire for you, and I go to sleep at night the same way. I watch you shopping in the piazza and I want to make love to you. I see you sitting in a restaurant opposite me and I want to make love to you. The night that we made love, I found you to be a beautiful, passionate lover that I instantly wanted again … and again."
"Then why haven't you tried to make love to me again?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless.
"Because I didn't want to do anything that you didn't want me to. But, trust me, Samira, not a minute has gone by that I haven't been half-crazed with wanting you." He didn't wait for her to reply, but leaned forward and captured her lips with his.
The gentle kiss he'd meant to give her instantly raged into something more as she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him more intimately against her.
She returned his kiss with a fevered hunger that sent desire crashing through his veins. Their tongues battled in an erotic dance that merely heightened his passion for her.
"Farid." She tore her mouth from his, her eyes glowing in the semidarkness of the room. "I am."
He frowned down at her, finding thought next to impossible. "You are what?"
She smiled, a sexy smile that sent rivulets of electricity tingling through him. "I am naked beneath this robe."
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Farid lost complete control.
Chapter 10
As Farid removed the robe from her, kissing each inch of skin as it was exposed, all thoughts of Desmond and his mean words faded from her mind.
When Farid touched her, when he kissed her, it was impossible to think of anything but him and the wonderful, exciting sensations he evoked in her.
When her robe was gone, thrown to the floor next to the bed, he got up only long enough to remove his clothing, then rejoined her.
"Never doubt how much I desire you," he said just before his mouth claimed hers in a hot, hungry kiss.
And she didn't. She couldn't doubt his desire when it was so evident. She not only felt it, hard and throbbing against her, she also tasted it in his kiss, felt it radiating through his fingertips.
It was difficult for a man to fake desire, much easier for a woman to do so. She had faked it with Desmond to please him, but she didn't have to fake anything with Farid.
As his mouth left hers and traveled down the length of her neck, and his hands cupped her breasts, she gasped with pleasure.
She tangled her fingers in his thick black hair, lost in sensual splendor as his mouth reached where his hands were and his tongue teased first one nipple, then the other. She felt as if her breasts were electrified and each time he touched them currents of energy coursed throughout her entire body.
"Never doubt that I want to make love to you anytime, anyplace," he murmured. "You positively enflame me with desire for you."
She wasn't sure if it was his words that moved her or his continued caressing of her, but tension began to build inside her, a tension that was both frightening and wonderful.
One of his hands left her breasts and trailed down her rib cage, caressing her hip, her inner thigh, but not touching her where she needed him most.
He raised his head and looked at her, his eyes glittering with a ferocious hunger. "It has been sheer torture, lying next to you each night in bed and not touching you."
"You should have touched me," she said, gasping with the effort of trying to speak while her heart pounded frantically and her pulse raced erratically. "You should have reached out for me. I would have come to you willingly, eagerly."
"I didn't want to offend you," he replied.
"This doesn't offend me, this electrifies me."
Once again his fingers moved up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, stopping just short of touching her intimately. It was a sensual, heart-stopping form of torture that merely served to heighten both her frustration and her utter pleasure.
She wanted to give him the same kind of fevered sensations that he was giving her. With this thought in mind, she sat up and pushed him to his back.
Her fingers trembled as she ran them across the broad expanse of his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath her fingertips and she leaned down and placed her lips on the spot where she thought his heart might be.
Moving her hands down the flat of his stomach, she felt his swift intake of breath as she avoided touching him as he had done to her.
She touched his inner thighs where she knew the skin was sensitive and a low moan escaped him and she felt the tension that surged in his body.
"Samira." His voice held both an unspoken warning and a plea.
"Farid." She answered her name with his own and smiled, reveling in the knowledge that she was giving to him the same kind of pleasure he'd given to her.
She wrapped her fingers around him and heard the hiss of his swift intake of breath. She was surprised to discover that his obvious pleasure at her touch increased her own.
She stroked her hand down the length of him, but before she could repeat the motion, he rolled her on her back beneath him.
"Are you trying to drive me insane?" he asked, his voice filled with an urgency that thrilled
her.
"Yes … I want you insane with wanting me," she replied.
"Then you have succeeded, my love," he said, then crushed his mouth to hers for a kiss that stole all reason from her mind.
He eased into her, filling her up with his heat and she welcomed him, arching up and wrapping her hands around his back.
The mind-blowing sensations that soared through her half-blinded her and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to wallow in the flames of fire that filled her.
He buried himself deep within her, then pulled back until he was barely touching her. She gripped his buttocks, and pulled him back deeply into her, crying out as he once again nearly withdrew.
The teasing strokes drove her half-wild and she cried out in both frustration and ecstasy. As if her cry had broken loose something inside him, he changed the rhythm to a frenzied pace that took her breath away.
Faster and faster they moved together and the explosion of her release shuddered through her with an intensity that left her mindless.
His body went taut as a bow string and he stiffened against her, emitting a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure with his own release.
For a long moment he remained unmoving, the bulk of his weight held off her by his arms on either side of her. Even in the near-darkness of the room she could see his eyes gazing at her. They were filled with a tenderness that surprised her, yet warmed her.
He leaned down and gave her a gentle, lingering kiss that stirred her as deeply, as profoundly as what they'd just shared. She wondered how she'd ever been able to think of this man as cold and arrogant.
He rolled over to the side of her and drew her into his arms. She curled her body next to his, her hand on his chest where his heartbeat was beginning to slow to a more normal pace.
"There's only one reason why I haven't made love to you in this past week," he said, his voice deep and soft.
She raised her head to look at him, loving the way the moonlight played across his strong features. "And why is that?"