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‘Stay there,’ he growled as his blasted phone rang again. He put it on speaker phone, rested it on the dressing table behind them, and proceeded to kiss her again as a nasal voice droned on in the background. ‘They will be calling me back in a few moments.’ Karim smiled at her as he barked his instructions to the phone. ‘Bath!’ he ordered—only she didn’t want to go.
She could feel his arousal pressing into her, could feel his tongue mingling with hers, and it was like being back in the tube station. There was a delicious pull low in her groin as he pressed himself into her.
‘Were you really?’ Felicity pulled away. ‘Last night—were you really thinking of me?’
‘Oh, yes…’ Karim said, lifting her onto the dressing table. He parted her knees slightly, pulling her skirt up around her hips, and Felicity felt her stomach tighten. ‘When you lie in the bath, think of me as last night I thought of you. Like this…’
Fascinated, terrified, she stared down as he parted his robe, her throat constricting at the sight of him. Fear and hopelessness gripped her because she could never accommodate him. And yet he was so exquisitely beautiful. His hand stroked his magnificent member, his fingers loosely gripping the dark skin that she wanted to touch too.
‘I thought of you in that dark conference room. I imagined forgetting everyone was there and walking over…’ He was slowly nudging her knees apart with his hips, stroking against the silk of her knickers. She badly wanted to touch him. ‘I thought of lifting your skirt…’ He could see her arousal on her panties, and he touched it with his tip. He took her hand and guided it to him. She bit on her lip as she felt his velvet-soft skin and the power beneath it.
‘Later,’ Karim said, ‘when I am not so busy, when I have taken this call and you are nice and warm from your bath…’
He was fiddling with her panties, pulling them down in one lithe movement, taking them over her ankles. Then he returned to stand before her, stroking her intimately with the tip of his erection. ‘When there is no chance of us being disturbed…’ He undid her blouse, shrugged it down to her shoulders, then unhooked her bra so her breasts were loose. Lowering his head, he suckled slowly on one nipple, dragging it out as still he pressed at the top of her legs. Her body twitched with each feather-light stroke. Then his mouth returned to hers, kissing her deeply, his tongue probing her, darting in and out as she unfurled inside.
Karim was always prepared, always aware of the value of his seed. Condoms were dotted everywhere in his life, and easily he opened a drawer as still he kissed her. ‘Here.’ He handed her a condom.
‘We can’t now…’
‘Of course not. We will take our time—we have all morning—but it is good to practise.’ He unwrapped the tiny parcel. ‘Later, after your bath, you will slide it on like this…’ Her hands were shaking so much she almost dropped the slippery thing. ‘When you know how to do it, it will be much easier. I will show you…’ He placed it on his tip and then took her trembling hands. ‘Now, roll it down…’
She was terrified she’d scratch him, but she did as told, watching it unfurl over his gorgeous length. ‘See,’ Karim said. ‘It is easy.’
Karim was glad it was on as he parted her and ran his erection over her sweet place; he knew that precious warning drop had already escaped. He had imagined her last night—but she was so much sweeter in the flesh. So pretty and pink and wet, and she was a virgin. Well, suffice to say he was ready! He stared down at her tentative hands and hoped he was doing right by her—because her beauty deserved it. He could hear involuntary moans escape her lips as his thumb worked her clitoris and his fingers crept to her entrance. He felt her tighten, felt her tense refusal, and knew rather than hoped then that he was right to do it this way.
She felt his fingers there and she panicked. But as they moved away she relaxed a touch.
His blasted phone was ringing again, and she knew he had to get it—except she didn’t want him to, was kissing him hard as he pulled back.
‘I have to get that!’
‘I know.’
But he was still kissing her as the phone clicked off, kissing her harder and harder as the message bank bleeped.
‘He’ll call back…’ Karim groaned his apology. ‘Bath, Felicity.’ He was right at her entrance, smiling a rueful smile. ‘You deserve my full attention, and when you come out…’
He was right there, right there, just nudging a little, with tiny, tiny thrusts that went nowhere and yet shot her to orbit, giving her a glimpse of what maybe could be done. Then the blasted phone rang—their five minutes were clearly up.
‘I will just take it…You go and…’
‘Okay…’
‘I really must take it.’
‘I know.’
He was staring down at his sheathed erection, just there at her entrance. Felicity did the same.
‘Soon I will have the whole day.’
‘I know.’
The phone was silent again. He was a tiny way inside her, just the tip of him nudging her, and she was still staring down. His phone would start trilling again soon, and she knew when it did that he’d have to answer. But she didn’t want him to.
‘Look!’ Karim gently ordered her, and she did, staring down at where he was, watching as he pulled out a little way and then pressed in a little more. He shrugged off his bathrobe, his whole delicious naked body in front of her, and she could feel her thighs shaking, feel a pit of want as he slid in just a little more. It was starting to hurt, and she knew she would spasm, but she was saved by the phone. There was utter regret in his eyes as she looked up.
‘Now, if you will forgive me, I really have to…’ And he did. Holding her eyes, he thrust deliciously in, watched the shock of fear as he stabbed inside her, watched the surprise, the bemusement and then the wonder. If it had been anyone but her he would have come at that second, it was almost killing him not to come, and yet he wanted her to relish this moment. There was no triumph, just tenderness as he saw the rapt expression on her face as she looked down.
Oh, it had hurt—did hurt—yet it was a delicious hurt. For Felicity it was like a bizarre out-of-body experience. She was watching it, feeling it, yet unable to comprehend that it was happening to her. He absolutely filled her, guiding her hands to feel him, to feel him slide in and out, till she could look no more—because she was weak, leaning on his shoulder and sucking it—biting it, maybe—as her legs wrapped around his back. And then she felt it.
The it she’d never felt was emerging, the tremble in her thighs spreading, a flash of heat darting up her spine as he bucked fiercely within. And it wasn’t gentle, it was fabulous as he pulled her off the dressing table, and finally she came. Karim pressed her right into him, holding her, supporting her, as her body gave what she thought it never could—the delicious stabs of her first orgasm. She wanted to scream, but she held back. And then he was groaning and thrusting. And, yes, she could scream now—but instead she sobbed, a deep, sweet sob as he climaxed inside her.
Karim was dizzy.
He came often. But not like this—never once like this. He felt depleted—his thighs ached, the small of his back ached. It was as if he had dragged on hidden reserves to deliver all of his best. He couldn’t even take her to his bed for a moment, just stood as he lowered her down.
‘Thank you…’ she gasped, as weak and as dizzy as him. She stood till the world caught up, and then let him take her to his bed. She sat on the edge as he undressed her, garment by garment, kissing each newly exposed part of her body and then lying down on the bed beside her. He held her in the crook of his arm and felt her warm skin. ‘I loved it…’ Her voice was more normal now. ‘I never, ever, even in my wildest dreams…’
Her hand slipped down. He was about to tell her no, that it was too soon, too tender—but nature never ceased to amaze him. Her pleasure was so transparent, her wonder so catching, and he watched as he rose to greet her. And for Felicity—for her—he knew that he could do it all over again.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_05ac290d-2444-5395-9768-001c472bc92c)
FOR three years, at some level, Karim had known this day would come.
Late afternoon his phone had buzzed quietly—not his regular phone, which he had long since turned off, but the one phone that he never could.
He had taken the call in the lounge, listened to the news and sat with his head in his hands in silence for a full five minutes afterwards. Then he had walked back into the bedroom, his gaze falling to where she slept, and all he’d wanted to do was climb in beside her, rest next to her soft skin and disappear. He wanted to wake with her in his arms and smile in relief as he realised it was just a dream. But to sleep now would have been to waste what he knew was his last taste of freedom.
The last few minutes in his life of being Karim—because, despite being the third-born son, he was being groomed to be King.
This day that should never had come—had never, when Karim had been a child, been anticipated. The third of four boys, relatively safe from the prospect of succession, he had run free. His mother had loved him with more abandon, the press had been less interested in the dark, wilful young Prince than in his elder brothers.
His elder brothers, Hassan and Ahmed, had been groomed, of course—Hassan the successor, Ahmed just in case. But for Karim, and later Ibrahim, there had been more freedom. It was a freedom that their mother had fought and begged for, and had been won only for her younger sons. Three of the boys had inherited some of their mother’s features. Hassan, the eldest, had her piercing blue eyes but none of her joy or lightness, Ahmed, the second boy, had a lighter complexion and hair and had inherited her high-strung personality too.
And young Ibrahim was a true mix of both—royal and abrupt, like his father, yet dashing and wild, like his mother.
Karim, though, was truly his father’s son.
He was, his father had said in a pensive moment, the one who would make the best King.
Decisive, arrogant, Karim held an innate strength, a deep streak of privacy that belied his public persona. Even when his mother’s indiscretion had been exposed and she had fled, shamed, to England, Karim, the closest to her, had been the only brother who had refused to cry.
It was how it had to be.
There could be no pardon, no erring from the rules—she was the wife of the King.
To Karim it was simple.
And, as third in line, it was simple: he could indulge his passion. While after their mandatory stint in the army his older brothers had studied politics and history, the young Karim had indulged his desire for medicine, heading to the UK, spending time with his mother, causing a stir on the social scene. A dashing Prince, he had had the young fillies of London eating out of his manicured hands.
At what point had it changed?
Staring out into the darkening London skies, Karim rested his forehead against the cool window and watched the cars, taxis and shoppers below enjoying the anonymity London afforded. He remembered the first time he had felt it, that shiver of realisation, a feeling he would later recognise as dread, sliding like black fingers around his heart. He felt it occasionally at first, then more regularly, until now each morning he awoke with a tight band around his heart.
Hassan had married. Karim remembered well the pride and the jubilation in Zaraq. Remembered too laughing at his father’s concerns when it had been two years and no heir.
‘There is plenty of time…’
Then it had been three years, then four, and then finally the news the country had waited for.
A baby due in April.
In February he had come—too soon for the little scrap of life named after the King. Karim had held his tiny nephew, Kaliq, on that last day. As a doctor he had known at first glance that no machines or technology could help. When neither Hassan nor his wife, Jamal, had been able to face it any longer he had held Kaliq in the palm of his hand, stared at the little life that was too weak, too frail, and yet so wanted, then held him to his cheek as his life had slipped away.
Those first voices of dread had started to speak up, but he had quashed them, dismissed them out of hand. Because if Hassan could not produce, then long in the future, if the King should die, there would be Ahmed.
Ahmed. Despite the grooming, despite the bravado, Karim had always known that his brother was fragile emotionally—just how fragile Karim had refused to consider. Burdened by the prospect that one day he might be King, Ahmed had one day taken his four-wheel drive into the hostile desert. Suicide was a sin, so it had been called ‘heat exhaustion’.
By November the country had been plunged into mourning again.
Nothing was ever voiced.
Nothing had ever actually been voiced.
As third in line, Karim had always indulged in his passion for surgery, but as the line of succession had shortened, so too had his theatre and patient list. Slowly he’d been moved away from the hospital and from direct contact with patients. Instead he built a new hospital and a new university, trying to ignore the voices. Because if he acknowledged they were real…
Today they were real.
Today they spoke.
You are strong, Karim said to himself. You will be a good leader for the people.
He knew he was strong. And he wouldn’t acknowledge, even to himself, the deep and buried truth.
Instead he pushed it aside and chose to get on with what he had been summoned to do.
The room was still and dark when Felicity awoke, stretching luxuriously. For that moment all she felt was peace—not a smudge of regret for what had taken place.
Karim was standing by the window, staring out on to the street below. Just as she was about to smile and greet him, she stilled. She saw the grave expression on his face, the weary set of his shoulders, and a chill of foreboding swept through her.
‘Karim?’
He came over, forced a half-smile on his grim face, and sat on the bed beside her.
‘You looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘Is something wrong?’ There was a different energy to him. They had made love on and off throughout the day, and Felicity had shared with him not just her body but her mind. She had told him how she adored her family, how it was tearing her apart to leave them even for this short while, how she adored her work, her friends. Bit by bit she had revealed herself to him, but now, as she stared up at his strained face, despite his tender words she realised Karim had revealed so very little.
‘My father is ill.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘He has been ill for some time, but I have just found out that he has been admitted to hospital. I have to leave tonight for Zaraq.’ His face was stamped with pain.
Felicity knew he was telling the truth, and she moved to comfort him as he had her, but even as she held him, he was unreachable. There was tension in his shoulders, and when he pulled back his voice sounded formal rather than tender.
‘I don’t know when I will be back.’
‘Will you call me?’ Oh, of course one should never sound needy, but she was needy—needy of him.
‘I did not expect to have to return so soon. Felicity…’ He wasn’t finding this easy—wasn’t finding any of it easy. He stared at her. She looked confused and gorgeous, and he wanted to take her with him, but he couldn’t. She didn’t even know who he was—and more than that he couldn’t inflict it all on her. She wanted romance, flowers, phone calls, Karim reminded himself. She wanted her family and her friends and the freedom in her body that he had just given her. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do it to her. ‘It will be busy when I get home. Things are very different for me there.’
‘So that’s it, then?’ Hurt, angry eyes met his, yet there was a dignity to her as she dressed, a proud dignity as she pulled on her clothes. And there was something else about her too—since this morning she had grown up. Before him now stood a proud, strong woman, and Karim knew that this day had played a large part in that.
Felicity knew it too. Oh, she was hurt, and bitterly disappointed, yet somehow she also felt strong. Of course he must go to his father. Of course they could never be…
But something beautiful had been taken away too soon, and it was with that sentiment that, instead of storming out, she walked over to him. And Karim held her. He held her in his arms as if he never wanted to let go.
‘I will have a car take you home.’
‘Karim, I live miles away…’
‘You are not getting a train.’ His phone was ringing again, and this time he answered it, talking for a second or two before clicking off. ‘My plane is being prepared.’
‘Your plane?’
He checked himself, determined not to confuse her further. ‘I am sorry. Sometimes my English is confusing. I have to be there soon. I have booked my ticket. I have to leave in half an hour.’
He didn’t want to go. She knew that. She could feel it in the hard kisses that he showered on her, in the desperate lovemaking that ensued, could even feel it as he took her down to Reception and saw her to a waiting car.
The journey home was long, but Felicity wanted it to be. She needed to get her head around all that happened in the last twenty-four hours.
She didn’t even know his surname—yet this man had changed her.
To anyone else it would sound cheap and sordid—a day of no-strings sex, with someone she would never see again—yet Felicity felt no need to justify to herself what had taken place.
Especially as, after she had taken the lift to her apartment and rummaged for her keys, when she paused in the middle of the corridor and saw a most exquisite bouquet at her door.
They must have cost a fortune, soft pink blooms of orchids, and with tears in her eyes Felicity read the note.
Never forget.
Karim x
How could she ever forget? Felicity thought, letting herself into the flat, staring at the blinking red light on the message machine and listening as Noor offered her a position in Zaraq.
The money was more than she’d been expecting; the only blight was that she had to leave within a week. Felicity knew it couldn’t have been Karim’s doing as, from the time of recording, the message had been left immediately after the information session.
