Their eyes locked for a moment, and then he lowered his lips to hers.
When their mouths met, the breath stalled in his lungs and his body stiffened under the weight of shock and awareness. He’d known the kiss would be pleasurable, but that small sample was already exquisite. Unexpected bliss swept away every sound and scent in the vicinity and had his senses focused on the sensation of her soft body pressed against his and the sweetness of her filling his nostrils.
He found himself cupping her face with his other hand and sucking on her bottom lip, for the first time tasting wine as he dipped his tongue along the inside of her mouth. But the flavor paled in comparison to the taste of Imani.
She whimpered, pressing her pelvis against his and clutching at his upper arms. Her moaning and the way she gripped his biceps made him feel invincible, powerful. As if he was strong enough to clear mountains out of her path.
She stepped backward and he followed, pressing her into the wall. With a low growl, his tongue penetrated her lips and licked at the moistness within, and he thrust long fingers into her short, silky hair as he grasped the back of her neck. He held her firm, keeping her in place so he could have more.
He urged her lips wider as he assaulted her with his tongue and swallowed her gasp. Her own fingers lifted into his hair, and a shudder rocked his frame as her short nails scraped at his scalp.
Wasim could feel himself losing control, practically bursting at the seams for the opportunity to sink into her, finally, after lusting after her for years. Partially out of respect for his good friend, Kofi, he’d kept his distance. But with her tight little body pressed up against his, heat licking at his skin wherever her roaming hands wandered, the battle of resistance would be lost tonight because his erection stood heavy like a cylinder of lead between his thighs. If he didn’t get a chance to have this woman he might explode.
Wasim lifted Imani against the wall and pressed the full weight of his erection between her thighs. She groaned as he did a teasing grind, showing her what she was missing, what he could offer if she only let him in.
“One night.” He licked her neck and his teeth nipped at her sensitive skin. “I promise that I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. His voice, hoarse and hungry, didn’t sound at all princely. He sounded desperate and was shameless in his need for her.
He lowered her to the floor and slipped both hands under her dress. He grasped both sides of her panties and was about to yank them down to her ankles when she grabbed his wrists.
“Wait. Stop.” She was panting, but he clearly heard the words.
Wasim rested his forehead on the wall right above her shoulder. “Imani…” he said in a gravelly voice.
“I can’t.” She whispered the words against the beating pulse of his throat.
Wasim closed his eyes. “Why?” The ache in his loins was going to eat him alive.
She pushed against his chest to create distance between them and with deep reluctance, he stepped back.
He watched her in the momentary silence. Downcast eyes. Heaving breaths. He’d kissed off her lipstick and exposed the raw beauty of her succulent lips, now swollen to more provocative fullness.
“A couple of years ago, I promised myself that the next man I have sex with will be my husband. I guess we both have rules that we live by.” She lifted her eyes to his. “We should pretend this never happened and stick to friendship, don’t you agree?”
Years? Imani hadn’t been made love to in years?
Wasim didn’t reply to her question. He would have to respect her wishes, but he didn’t agree. Because his loins burned with desire for her, the flames flaring hotter now that he knew about her abstinence. If she said one little three-letter word—yes—he’d have her naked and on her back in seconds.
“Good night,” Imani said.
Then she quietly left the room.
10
The reception in the Grand Hall of the Ritz-Carlton to kick off the first Kabatra Technology Expo was filled with the biggest names in the tech world, with representatives from countries on six of the world’s continents. Tonight, Imani wore a simple black pants suit and wrapped her hair turban-style in a black and red Ankara-print scarf, accentuating the look with gold hoops in her ears and bold red lipstick.
She hoped to make contacts tonight that would facilitate future business deals to benefit the tech companies in Zamibia. In addition, she had invited two of the biggest names in Zamibian cybersecurity and had spent the better part of the afternoon prepping them for tonight. Both—one a woman and the other a man—seemed to be doing well so far, but she kept a close eye on them nonetheless.
For now, though, as she walked the room shaking hands and making conversation, her mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of Wasim. After Sunday, the memory of their kiss in Estoria came back with a vengeance and reminded her of what it was like to have his hands and mouth on her. She couldn’t believe she’d managed to resist him. One night, he’d whispered, and she’d been sorely tempted to give in. Thank goodness he hadn’t pushed harder.
“Hello, Ambassador,” one of the attendees said. They shook hands and chatted for a few minutes. Then Imani got a ginger ale and went to stand on the edge of the room.
Wasim’s assertiveness with Mark had been…appealing, and the thought of being taken care of lingered like the aftertaste of a sweet pastry. One she definitely wanted more bites of.
She shook her head in disgust. She was losing it. The man had actually used the word mine. His ideas were archaic. She was Lioness Abameha Imani Karunzika, Zamibian Ambassador to Barrakesch. The thought of belonging to a man was nauseating. She was independent and knew her own mind.
She would never belong to a man, but if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be Prince Wasim of Barrakesch. She’d grown up around men like him who were used to having power and their authority unquestioned. She couldn’t thrive in a relationship like that. She’d suffocate under the limitations he was sure to impose.
A spattering of applause filled the air, and Imani turned to see that Wasim had finally arrived. He looked handsome in a dark three-piece suit with a pale pink tie. He wore his hair brushed back from his face and had tamed it into a semblance of order, though one lone curl managed to go rogue and fall to right above his left eyebrow. When he flashed a smile, lifting his hand in greeting to the attendees, she let loose a slow breath to calm her racing heart.
He found her in the crowd, and when their eyes met, she tipped her glass of ginger ale to him, and a minute smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Not a full smile, though—as if he wasn’t completely in the best of spirits. The vibrancy in his eyes was missing, and there was an emptiness there she wasn’t used to seeing. Then the crowd converged, and his attention was taken up by the people who surrounded him.
The night continued in the same vein it had started—conversations with potential partners, exchanging business cards, snacking and drinking, and more talking. After her two invitees left, Imani took a seat at a corner bistro table and watched the thinning crowd.
She checked her watch. She’d stick around for another half hour or so and then leave so she could get up early in the morning for the first day of the expo. She was scheduled to do a speech at the opening breakfast and wanted to get home in time to practice one more time and get plenty of rest for the event.
Wasim approached, stopping briefly to speak to two men from Saudi Arabia before finally making his way over to her. He set down his glass of water and stood beside the table, resting an arm on the flat surface. His cologne, with the underlying scent of oud, filled the space between them.
“Hiding?” The inviting sound of his dark, sinful voice washed over her.
“Taking a short break until I have to make my rounds before I leave for the night.”
Wasim nodded. He remained quiet for a while, then, “I owe you an apology for my behavior the other day, at the party at my house. I acted like an ass.”
“You acted like an ass? Unheard of.”
“Sarcasm is not a good look on you,” Wasim said dryly.
Imani bit her bottom lip, chuckling softly.
“I have no doubt you can take care of yourself. As for Mark, I’m not sorry I kicked him out. He had no business being there and not in that state.”
Imani nodded her agreement.
“What do you think about tonight? Not a bad turnout, considering this is the first time.”
He’d wanted to put on this event for a while and had been working on it for several years, so she knew he was glad that it had finally come to fruition. This was one of the many ways he hoped to move the country forward, and she envisioned him being able to do much more once he became king.
“I’m impressed. If tonight is anything to go by, you can safely make this an annual event.”
He nodded. “Agreed. I think it would be good to allocate slots for smaller firms the next time.”
“Maybe even offer some type of funding in the form of a scholarship for small businesses who might not be able to afford to come. It would also be nice to see more women-run companies in attendance in the future, too.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I was thinking the same thing. We could set aside a couple of scholarships specifically for those reasons. When I give my father a full report, I’ll mention that idea.”
This was Wasim’s personal project, but it was not unusual for the king to show his support by showing up to events, even if only for fifteen minutes or so. But since the announcement, he’d eliminated all public appearances.
“How has he been?”
“Not good,” Wasim answered, eyes bleak.
Before she could ask him anymore questions, an Australian businessman approached. Medium-height with flaxen hair and matching eyebrows, he was a slight-looking man with dark eyes, dressed casually in chinos and a polo shirt. Imani had talked to him earlier, and he acknowledged her with a smile, but extended a hand to Wasim.
“Prince Wasim, I was wondering if I could have a moment with you,” the man said with a nasal twang. “I want to talk to you about working with the royal family on a top-secret project, one that I think you’d be very interested in. I strongly believe a relationship between us could be mutually beneficial, but your chief of technology doesn’t think so. At least, he’s hesitant.”
“Tonight is for networking, not making final deals,” Wasim said, softening the chastisement with a smile. “If he seems hesitant, it’s because he doesn’t know you well yet.”
“Understood. I suppose a better question would be, how can my company get to the head of the line, so to speak?”
“What is the name of your company?”
The Australian gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry. Heath Palmer, of P & T Technologies. I’m in business with my brother-in-law. I’d love to tell you more about my idea and how we use tracking devices in security for the rich and famous around the world.” He extended a card.
Wasim turned over the card in his hand. “Have you sold many of these products?”
“Well…” Heath hedged, laughing again. “Right now we’re in the beta stage and offering the technology free of charge to a limited number of clients.”
“In exchange for free publicity through word-of-mouth,” Wasim deduced.
“Yes,” Heath admitted. “But I strongly believe you will love these. They can be placed in a piece of jewelry, the heel of a shoe, or sewn into the seam of a bag.” He seemed to hold his breath as he waited for Wasim’s response.
“Let’s go over here for a few minutes to chat.” Wasim turned to Imani. “When are you leaving?”
“In another thirty minutes or so.”
“Don’t leave before we get a chance to talk again.”
“Pardon my rudeness. Congratulations on your engagement,” Heath said, looking between them.
“Thank you,” they both replied, as Imani’s heart twisted a little painfully on the inside.
Wasim gave her another wry smile before leaving with the Australian.
Imani stared after him. Then she glanced at the glass of water he left behind. There was the faintest imprint of his lips at the rim, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts.
She shouldn’t have kissed him that night, because almost every day since then she’d had some variation on that thought—I shouldn’t have kissed him. Her cheeks heated as she quietly admitted that she wanted to place her mouth in that exact spot where he’d placed his. For a little taste, no matter how minor.
Imani abruptly stood and abandoned the table, going back to mingle among the crowd. Time was counting down, not only on King Khalid’s life, but on her stay in Barrakesch. Her stomach turned in distress. The whole ruse was a bad idea and she wished she’d never suggested it.
The relationship may not be real, but these feelings she had for Wasim—these feelings were definitely real. True enough, she’d miss this country—the food, the people, the culture—her home for the past six years.
But deep down she knew she would miss Wasim most of all.
Wasim listened absentmindedly to the owner of a Brazilian tech firm who’d been talking to him for the past five minutes. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Imani again since they spoke earlier, and he longed to break away from this conversation and spend a few minutes with her so he could decompress.
He finally located her in the room, talking to one of the few women attendees. Looking regal. Talking passionately about some topic as the woman nodded constantly. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’d picked a woman to engage in conversation. By the end of the night, Imani would probably have a plan whereby the woman could compete on equal footing with the men while doubling her revenue.
The smile that had taken over his face slowly died when Wasim saw one of his father’s messengers approach. With a sickening lurch, he guessed why the man had come. As he told Imani, his father had not been doing well, and he knew this was more bad news.
The man dipped his head in respect to Wasim. “Your Royal Highness, your father has requested your presence at The Grand White Palace. He is not well.”
All along he’d known that at some point in the near future he would no longer have his father, and that sobering thought remained at the back of his mind as he worked tirelessly day and night and spent time with his father to learn as much as he could. It was a bittersweet time, one that he both appreciated and dreaded.
“Excuse me, I have to go,” he said to the Brazilian, and took off toward Imani.
As he approached, perhaps sensing he was on his way to her, she looked in his direction. Everything he felt must have been in his face, because she excused herself from the conversation and came toward him.
Her beautiful brown eyes that normally contained a teasing light were darkened with worry. “It’s King Khalid?”
Wasim nodded, his heart heavy and fear blocking his throat. She lifted her hands toward him and then clasped them together. He wanted to touch her, too. To pull her into his arms and seek the comfort he craved.
“I’ll say a prayer for him, for all of you tonight,” she said.
“Thank you.”
With a curt nod, Wasim hurried from the room with his bodyguards. The few remaining attendees stared after them as they rushed past, but all he could think about was getting to his father’s side.
11
He’d prayed often during the past two days.
Wearing a white dishdasha and white taqiyah on his head, Wasim lowered to his knees in the dimly lit prayer room and touched his forehead to the prayer mat. He remained still, only his lips moving as he uttered more prayers.
The doctors were with his father now, who earlier this evening had taken a turn for the worst since the night of the expo reception. No one was surprised, as he’d done little more than drink water the past couple of days. He’d lost his appetite and spent most of his time half-reclined out on the balcony where he could look out at the sea.
Wasim had lost his appetite, too,
and worry remained an unwelcome burden in his stomach, but he did his best to hide his fears and appear strong for his father’s sake. He, his siblings, and King Khalid’s wives spent more time with his father the past couple of days—talking and laughing, reminiscing about holidays, birthday celebrations, and other events in the past. They reviewed old photos to refresh their memories and pretended that these happy moments could delay the inevitable.
His prayers completed, Wasim lifted from the floor and exited the prayer room. One of his father’s aides stood outside.
“It’s time, Prince Wasim,” he said, his voice filled with the pain they all carried.
Wasim walked briskly with him through the palace to his father’s bedroom. King Khalid lay prone on the bed, eyes closed, face pale. Two of his closest aides, three doctors, and Wasim’s brothers surrounded him. The youngest son—a teenager—had tears running down his face, while Akmal and the other three remained stoic with somber faces.
When Wasim arrived, everyone stepped back to give him privacy with his father. The oldest son, the heir had arrived.
Wasim lowered to his knees beside the bed and held his father’s hand. He closed his eyes, temporarily shielding himself from the truth—a truth he didn’t want to accept, though death was part of a greater plan. Losing his father reminded him of losing his mother as a child. Now this fresh anguish would become a part of him for the unforeseen future.
King Khalid turned his head toward Wasim. His eyes opened to mere slits. “Wasim,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“I’m here, Baba,” he whispered.
He hadn’t called his father that since he was child. But that’s how he felt, like a child. Helpless and powerless to fight off death’s tentacles as they ensnared his last living parent. Untold wealth existed at his fingertips, but he couldn’t save his father.
“You must marry Imani…soon,” King Khalid whispered.
At first, Wasim wasn’t sure he’d understood. He sorted the words in his mind, and when he did, the sword of guilt dragged its sharp edge through his chest. He gave his father’s hand a gentle squeeze.
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