ROMANCE: Sleeping With The Sheikh (Billionaire Alpha Male Sheikh Romance) (New Adult Forbidden Series Short Stories) (2 page)

“It is time, my dearest, oldest son,” the Sheikh told Farhid, placing either hand on Farhid’s shoulders. “This has been postponed for long enough. It is important—I shall not live forever.” He smiled wryly at this, but Farhid didn’t appreciate the humor in this. In fact, he saw none.

“What are you talking about, father?” he asked, attempting to keep his tone even. He didn’t want to see upset with his father, but he sensed that what was about to be insisted was not something he was interested in taking form. “You have many years still—”

Sheikh Alim held up a hand, forcing Farhid to become silent. The Sheikh smiled at his son, looking at him as though he understood all that was happening here, sympathy showing through his expression.

“Come. It is time.” He opened his arms wide, indicating the balcony with its billowing curtains and the bright colors that caught the light of day and the darkness of night, using both instances to create what might be described as art.

Farhid turned, looking towards where his father had gestured and when he saw several figures moving through those curtains towards them, his heart fell. He recognized the beautiful woman who walked towards him, despite the veil that hung just below her eyes, and knew suddenly what his father was speaking of.

“Djamila Sarraf,” Farhid greeted, forcing formality into his voice to cover his disappointment.

Djamily stopped before him and bowed, her eyes dipping low as she returned the greeting. “Prince Farhid Kanaan. It gives me great pleasure to see you again.”

He forced a smile so that he might be able to lie effectively, but in his heart the truth beat like a drum: he did not take pleasure in seeing her again. She was a beautiful woman, of that there could be no doubt. She was young, barely twenty five, a full eight years younger than him, and had long thick hair that was a deep chocolate color. Her eyes were dark with thick lashes and he knew that beneath the veil she had full lips that curved easily into a smile. Her body was that of a healthy young woman and Farhid had no doubt that she would satisfy the needs of any man who was privileged enough to experience those curves.

But he still didn’t want her.

“Please, we shall be married one day. I insist you call me Farhid,” he offered to the young woman, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes on his face.

He could tell that she smiled beneath the veil when she straightened, nodding her head. “As you wish, Farhid. I am honored.”

His father stepped forward then and spoke the words that Farhid had dreaded to hear since the arrangement to marry this young woman was made, “That day has come, my son. Your reign will be soon and I have set a date so that you shall not enter into the perils of ruling alone.”

“A date?” Farhid worked to keep his expression neutral. He wished to argue with his father, but it was clear already that there was no point. His mind was made up.

“One week from today.”

***

That one week arrived quicker than Farhid ever could have imagined. In some ways, he surmised that it was a good thing. He didn’t have time to consider how this would change his life, for better or worse. He couldn’t think about how much he didn’t want to marry Djamila, no matter how beautiful or well connected she was.

Sighing, Farhid adjusted his sash. He tried to remind himself that this was not her fault any more than it was his. She was as much a victim of circumstance as he was. Their parents had gotten together to arrange their marriage to one another and while it made so much sense from a business standpoint, it had little merit based in the department of love.

He met her still for the ceremony, which was traditional and lovely. His father was proud, many people danced and ate and drank until late into the night. The festivities would go for many days beyond, because he was a prince and his wedding was significant.

To his people, at least, if not to him.

And when the ceremony was over, his father clapped him on the shoulder and reminded him that he was a good man, an honorable man. When they parted and Farhid headed towards his chambers, he was tired, but knew the day was not yet over.

She was still wearing her dress from the ceremony. It was a beautiful red color, vibrant and passionate, tinged with an intricate gold design around the sleeves and the hem. Around the neck likewise was golden, her entire frame covered by the lavish material. There was a shroud made of golden coins woven together that was draped over her hair and hung about her shoulders and a veil covered her full lips.

This was it. The moment when they would consummate their union and there would be no returning. It should be a joyous occasion and Farhid admitted that there was a good chance he would easily convince his body to respond to the vision before him, but he also knew that there was a difference between lust and love.

She was a beauty to behold, but he did not think he could love her.

“My husband,” she whispered and lowered her dark, smoky eyes.

He realized that he had been motionless and staring. With a nod to himself, he forced words from his lips, “Enter, my wife.”

She obeyed his command, entering his chambers—their chambers now—and came towards Farhid. Marriage bound them together and she understood her duties. That was why she removed her dress with trembling fingers, letting the fabric pool at her feet.

At first, Farhid looked away. He did not want her, not as a wife, and it seemed wrong then to allow this to happen. But her voice, trembling though it was, called to him. “Do you not want me, husband?”

And what could he do? What could he say? He had no options save the ones presented to him tonight: take her as his willing bride, or send her away shamed.

So he looked to her and allowed his eyes to ravage her perfect form, trailing over her large, firm breasts and down her slender body until he found her flared hips. Birthing hips. His body responded to her, even though his heart beat weakly in protest. This was not what he wanted, but perhaps love would grow. Perhaps he would learn to care for her in a way beyond that of how a man desires a woman.

Perhaps affection would come, too.

He took her to his bed that night and enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, thrusting into her willing body until he spilled himself inside her, praying strangely enough that he would plant no seed in her womb that night.

And when they finished, they washed—separately—and then he allowed her to sleep. But sleep did not come to the prince. He lay awake with Djamila at his side, curled up and facing away from him. Her body was warm, but he felt no connection there.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t lie there awake listening to the gentle breathing of his new wife, thinking over what they had done, what would be expected of them now, and how his life in so many ways simply was not his for the taking. He left his bed, careful not to wake his new wife, and threw on a robe. He walked the halls for a while until he came upon the large balcony that overlooked the gardens. There he paused, looking up into the dark night sky speckled with stars and the light of the moon.

He watched those stars twinkling like mischievous eyes winking in the night and wondered if he might ever love his wife. She was lovely and she satisfied his more carnal cravings, but there was a part of him that yearned for more. A part of him where it simply was not enough to marry for propriety’s sake or for the sake of an entire country—though he had and he would not disobey his father, the Sheikh. He craved the love of a woman, not born out of necessity or status or an arrangement made by their fathers as they sipped wine and talked of politics.

Was it so much to ask for a woman who might escort him through this life as a partner of both the mind and the heart?

Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was foolish to even dream of such things, but he did. And when he was done he shook his head and sighed, trying to remind himself that it was not Djamila’s fault that they were married any more than it was his fault.

“I wish that I might love my wife,” he told the sky and the stars in it. Then he considered it and frowned. Shaking his head, he amended, “I wish that I might want to love my wife.”

But he thought it was a silly, childish thing to wish for and did not think for a moment that it might come to pass. Love was too elusive to find it through the needs of a country and though he trusted his father in many things—in most things, even—he did not trust his judgment in this.

Chapter Three

Clarice was dressed in the nicest thing she owned. It was new, a long deep blue dress with slivers of cubic zirconia in it that made the dress shimmer and sparkle as she walked. The material was form fitting at the top, hugging her carefully carved curves, her large breasts and her slender waist. When it reached her hips, it dropped down in a loose line that hinted at her legs without exposing them. On her feet were tall stiletto heels that were designed to make sure she wouldn’t be taller than her husband—which meant no larger than three inches, and that was cutting it close.

Her whole outfit had been designed with Donald in mind. The deep blue color which would hint at her eyes and his alike. The lower heels which would mean they could stand together without looking awkward. And even the jewelry. She picked the necklace with its snowflake like design, the diamonds—real diamonds—so large that she was sure it must have cost a fortune, though she had never bothered to ask. It was a present to her, the first one Donald had ever given to her.

All of this was supposed to look perfect with Donald and his graying golden hair, his blue eyes, and his shorter stature.

And now, it was completely pointless.

“You’ve already committed!” she half shouted at him. Clarice was working hard to keep calm, but his blasé attitude was driving her up the wall. This wasn’t a last minute decision or a spur of the moment night out. He had promised to go nearly two months ago.

Donald waved her off, a signal that he wasn’t interested in fighting anymore. Normally, it told Clarice that there was no point in fighting anymore, because he wasn’t going to change her mind and she would just end up hurt and frustrated by the end of it all.

But tonight was different. She wasn’t going to let this one go.

“This function has been planned for months and you agreed to go over two months ago,” she reminded him, putting as much cool force in her tone as possible. Getting angry wouldn’t work; that would just tell him that she was an “irrational female” and give him the excuse to tell her that he wouldn’t deal with her when she was like this.

Donald finally looked over at her, a frown on his face. “Clarice, darling, I’m a busy man, you know that. I have commitments and—”

“This is one of those commitments,” Clarice reminded him, folding her arms across her chest and staring at him pointedly. “I presented you with the invitations and made sure your secretary cleared the evening so that you wouldn’t have any conflicts, remember?”

For a moment, he looked almost panicked. Donald wasn’t use to being the one who was cornered with limited options and admittedly it’s because he usually wanted. In their marriage it was Donald who carried all the cards and there was no question now that the tables had turned, Clarice was taking some pleasure from it.

That was part of the reason she was being so insistent on him going. In all honesty, she had long since accepted that her husband attending her functions wasn’t all that much fun for her. It often left her alone, feeling inadequate and once again overshadowed by all the many business acquaintances that weren’t supposed to be nearly as important as she was. But were.

The other part of why she was being so insistent, however, had little to nothing to do with her. Yes, she had helped organize the function since she was on the committee, but none of the benefits went to her and she really didn’t get anything from it. But this function promised to match one thousand dollars for ever individual who attended the function—meaning two thousand should the both of them manage to make it—as well as take additional donations. There were other parts to the function as well including a raffle, a donation box, and wares and goods that were being sold at outrageous prices in order to give the majority of the proceeds to the fund.

All of that was good. All of it would go to the children’s literacy fund which would donate books as well as literacy education for children from lower income families. It was an important charity that Clarice felt whole heartedly about, especially since she had come from a poor family in a small town that couldn’t do a thing for her.

She wasn’t sure if Donald even knew what her charity was for, come to think of it.

“Honey, I really don’t think—” Donald tried one last time, but Clarice wasn’t listening. She had already gone into his closet to pick out his tuxedo and brought it out for him to put on.

“You’re going,” she said firmly and for once it was clear that she broached no argument.

***

As soon as Donald and Clarice arrived at the fund raiser they were greeted by a host of people. Many of them were committee members who wanted to congratulate her on a job well done—the whole idea had been hers. By the time Clarice had shaken two hands and said hi to three husbands, her own husband was gone. She looked around for him, halfheartedly, and spotted him chatting to a group of older men who wore business suits that Donald probably would have preferred as well.

Though she was disappointed, Clarice couldn’t force herself to be surprised. This was to be expected. Really, she should be grateful that she’d convinced him to attend at all. Even so, it stung to see him forgetting her so easily, so casually.

Clarice forced herself to be smiling and to mingle happily with those who had made a point to attend. There was more wealth in one spot that night than she could even imagine. These were the business moguls and the politicians; the classy old money and the showy new money. There were even some entertainers, musicians and actors who had decided to drop in just for the sake of their good name.

It didn’t matter to Clarice though. Whether they were there for the food or the chance to wear a pretty dress or simply wanted their name in the paper for a good cause for a change, it all went to the same place. Their attendance meant that some kid somewhere would get a second chance at a better life.

Eventually, when Clarice had made her due rounds and Donald had settled over by the bar with several younger business men who hung on his every word as though it was gospel, she meandered over to the food table.

There wasn’t a per person plate dinner, but rather a buffet style spread that allowed people to make up their own plates.

She found several d’oeuvres that suited her, but found she wasn’t all that hungry. It wasn’t the food’s fault, though; everything on the table was positively delicious. She’d tasted several samples from the company that catered the event herself when they’d been in the planning stages and knew that it was definitely worth the small fortune they shelled out for the event.

As Clarice tried a couple of things, ultimately she found herself merely looking around and watching her husband from afar. When that became too aggravating, she people watched. Most of those at the party there, she knew already. They were high rollers, so to speak, in the charity world. There were a few she knew of, either because they had RSVP’d or because she had seen them in the news, in movies, or on some album cover. And then there was one, just one, that she didn’t think she’d ever seen before in her life.

She frowned, trying to figure out who it might be. Had there been someone on the list attending whose name she didn’t recognize? She didn’t think so.

He was a tall man with dark features, his skin a smooth olive color that was somewhere between tree bark and mocha. His hair was a thick, dark color, almost black, and wavy. It was kept short, but there was still enough length to it that she could see the curls that made him appear younger than maybe he actually was. When he turned her way, she caught sight of his strong jaw and his dark eyes. They were endlessly deep and lined in thick dark lashes, and they were staring right back at her.

Embarrassment flooded her as she realized that she had been staring at a complete stranger and she nearly looked away. But the smile on his full lips told her that he’d already caught her and looking away now would only make her seem childish.

So she grinned back at him sheepishly, shrugging her bare shoulders a little to indicate that she didn’t know why she had just done what she’d done.

Thankfully, he didn’t appear angry. He’d been talking to a small group of people—half of them women who looked to be swooning over him—but took a moment now to excuse himself from whatever conversation they’d been engaged in. The women looked disappointed, but he paid little attention. Then he turned and crossed the room over to Clarice.

Clarice’s heart suddenly fluttered like a butterfly’s wings and she chided herself for acting like a little girl with a crush. So what if he was a devilishly handsome man? She was a married woman—with a husband who barely noticed her—and wouldn’t be taken in by some Romeo.

When he reached her, he said, “I think I may have had the pleasure of meeting everyone in this room—except for you.” He took up her hand then, his skin warm and soft against hers, and brought it up to his lips to kiss the back of it lightly. Her heart fluttered again, though she tried to ignore it. “And I feel like perhaps your acquaintance is the pleasure I’ve been looking for.”

Though her cheeks burned a fiery crimson, she forced a laugh as he continued to hold on to her delicate hand. “Very charming,” she told him brightly, her face alight with a wide smile, her first real one of the evening.

“Will you deny me this pleasure?” he asked her, grinning as he sent her a wink.

Still smiling, she shook her head and answered, “Clarice Herston. I’m on the charity committee that’s hosting this event, which means I should know who you are. But I don’t.”

“Farhid Kanaan.”

“Farhid Kanaan,” she repeated back to him, enjoying the way his name slipped over her tongue. “If you don’t mind me commenting on it, that isn’t a very common name for New York. Where are you from?”

He finally released her hand, though she thought it was with some reluctance and for her own part she missed the warmth of his skin quickly as it disappeared. “Qatar, a peninsula along the northeastern coast of the Arabic Peninsula.”

She couldn’t help it as her mind flashed the word exotic at her. She knew that wasn’t a far assessment of him; different from herself didn’t make him any more exotic than it made her. Still, he was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise predictable room full of boring wealthy individuals who had nothing better to do with their time than to chitchat about the state of the economy and how long their past relatives had been in the oil industry.

“That’s a long way from here,” Clarice commented. “A very long way simply to attend my little function. Our little function,” Clarice amended quickly. “I admit I think of it as mine because I might not get out of the house at all if it weren’t for the charity and it’s work.”

Farhid nodded. He paused, considering something as he studied her face—she thought he lingered on her lips, but she couldn’t be sure—and then said, “Indeed. I was not originally intending to attend this… function, as I’m sure you might understand, but after arriving here in your city, I was presented with the opportunity to attend. I thought it might be an excellent way to get to know the city and its inhabitants.” He smiled widely at her, his dark eyes flashing. “Now I am ever so glad that I am here.”

Fighting back her continued blush, Clarice nodded her head in his direction and thanked him for his presence. “I’m sure if you had the time to look at the program, your presence has increased the donation by a thousand dollars, all of which will go towards impoverished children. You made an excellent choice tonight.”

“I am happy to hear that,” he told her and she thought she heard sincerity in his words, something that she hadn’t had the pleasure of hearing for some time now. He paused, but then added, “And you?”

She blinked at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, what about me?”

“Are you happy about my choice?”

Her heart did that pitter patter thing again and she couldn’t ignore the heat in her cheeks. Her eyes flickered down to his full lips which played with a smile that might be closer to a smirk. So handsome, she found herself thinking before she could catch herself.

Clearing her throat, she said through her blush, “Yes. I am.”

He seemed to like her response, because his smile widened and he took a step closer to her. “Because of the contribution my presence brings?” he pressed.

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Yes.”

He stepped closer again. “Is that the only reason?”

He was closer than was strictly appropriate, so close that she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. It made her own body call out in response, flushing with a want that she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Her lips parted and she responded breathily, “No.”

“Husband, there you are,” came a pretty accented voice that was attached to an even prettier woman in a deep red dress accented in delicate gold embroidery. She came to a stop beside Farhid and familiarly entwined her arm with his.

Her voice alone had been enough to break Clarice from their moment. It brought her to her senses, forcing her to take a quick step back to put some distance between them as she remembered all the reasons that their flirting—and yes, it had been flirting, there was no denying that—was incredibly inappropriate.

The main one was that she was married and now that she saw the beautiful dark haired beauty standing beside Farhid, she realized that he was married, too.

Oh, she definitely felt embarrassment beginning to set in.