challenged tartly.
He stroked the back of his bent finger along her jaw, perhaps looking apologetic, but all he said was “Not if I have anything to do with it, no.”
Then he kissed her until she was leaning into him, utterly spellbound.
ASIDE FROM THE odd time when she had become tipsy from having too little to eat before having a glass of wine, Angelique had never been drunk or stoned. Kasim, however, provoked a feeling in her that she imagined one felt when ingesting party pills.
She walked around in a fog of euphoria after London, mood swinging wildly. One minute she was lost in recalling how they had essentially spent two solid days in bed, rising only to eat and make love elsewhere in the flat: the sofa, the kitchen chair, the shower. It made her too blissed out to care about the lost shipment of linen or the hundreds of euros in hand-made bobbin lace that wound up attached to the wrong gown.
The next minute she plummeted into a withdrawal depression, certain she’d never hear from him again. With his hand buried in her hair, he had kissed her deeply late Sunday afternoon, both of them aware cars and planes were waiting for them. He had finally released her, saying, “You won’t hear from me. I’ll be tied up in meetings. I’ll try to meet you in Berlin. If I can’t, we’ll figure out something for the following week.”
Would they, though? She wished they’d made a clean break of it. She could have handled that. This veering between hope and despair was too much!
If Trella noticed Angelique’s distraction, she didn’t say anything. She was immersed in finishing Hasna’s wardrobe, almost obsessing over each piece, working late and rising early to ensure everything was perfect. She seemed really wound up about it when she was usually the coolheaded one about deadlines and never lacked confidence that their work would be received with great enthusiasm.
Angelique had a fleeting thought that her sister was burying herself in work to avoid her, but they were behind, thanks to Angelique staying in London an extra day. It was probably her own distraction making it seem like her sister was off. She was grateful to Trella for picking up the slack and tried to set her own nose to the grindstone so they could ship everything as planned.
Then, even though time passed at a glacial pace, she suddenly found herself rattling around her hotel room in Berlin, phone in hand as she compulsively checked her messages for word from Kasim, behaving exactly like an addict needing a fix. She had sent him her agenda yesterday, mildly panicked at the lack of word from him. She absolutely refused to let herself text again.
Tonight’s event was taking place here in this brand-new hotel. Her suite was airy and ultra-contemporary, run by a firm out of Dubai that understood the meaning of luxury. She promised herself a soak in the private whirlpool tub when she returned later. It was already filled and warmed. Tiny whorls of steam wisped from the edge of its rollback cover and candles were at hand, awaiting a match.
She would need to drown some sorrows since it looked like Kasim wouldn’t turn up. She was devastated.
That shouldn’t surprise her. Right from the beginning he had pulled a formidable response from her.
She fought tears as she set out her gown and did her hair, then her makeup, saying a private Thanks, Trella, as her sister’s face appeared in the mirror to bolster her.
She wished now she had brought one of Trella’s designs. Her sister’s confections tended to have a self-assured cheekiness whereas Angelique’s evoked more introspective moods. Hers tonight was wistful and damned if it wasn’t blue.
A powder blue in silk, sleeveless, but abundant enough in the skirt to move like quicksilver. The bodice was overlaid with mist-like lace that split apart at her naval and fell into a divided overskirt that became a small train. She pinned her hair back from her face, but let it fall in loose waves behind her naked shoulders and painted her lips a meditative pink.
Her earrings were simple drop crystals that caught the light. A velvet choker with a matching stone collared her throat. A panic switch was sewn on the underside. She and her sister often joked about starting their own line of high-end security wear, but they didn’t want to tip off anyone that they wore it themselves.
Just for a moment, as she took in her reflection, she wondered what it would be like to live without so much vigilance. In a prince’s harem, for instance.
This lipstick really emphasized the pout she couldn’t seem to shake. Ugh.
She gathered her composure before facing the masses. It was better that Kasim wasn’t with her, she consoled herself. Events like this, when her presence was advertised ahead of time, were always particularly rabid attention-wise. Maurice wore special sunglasses to deal with the glare off the flashbulbs it was so bad.
Maurice was reading something on his phone when she came out the door. He tucked it away promptly, but took it out again when they were in the elevator, since they were alone.
“Je m’excuse,” he said. “It’s a report about some photos that have surfaced. I’m sending instructions to question their authenticity.”
She dismissed his concern with a flick of her brows. “Of me with the prince?”
“It says ‘prince,’ yes, but—”
“I don’t care,” she insisted, even though she cared a great deal.
The elevator stopped, the doors opened and some models joined them. One was beyond thrilled to be sharing an elevator with One of The Sauveterre Twins. Maurice put his phone away and remained alert while Angelique exchanged a few remarks with the strangers and consented to a selfie.
Moments later, the doors opened onto the ballroom floor. The paparazzi went mad as soon as they saw she had arrived.
Maurice guided Angelique down the narrow pathway toward the VIP entrance where greeters would be waiting to check off her name on a tablet and handlers would hand her a swag bag that she invariably gave to her mother.
As she approached, a man in a tuxedo turned to look at her.
Kasim.
* * *
He was asking if she’d already entered the ballroom when the madness behind him made him turn.
She was stunning. Like an ethereal creature surrounded by fireflies as a million flashbulbs went off behind her.
Even more riveting than her beauty, however, was the way her composed features softened with surprise, then dawned into warm recognition. Her eyes sparkled and a joyous glow suffused her. Her breasts rose as he moved toward her.
He caught his own breath. Him. The man who had decided this affair was too inconsequential to mention to his father, merely stating he had, indeed, resolved the situation with Sadiq’s “friend.” While he’d been so far away from her, he’d been able to convince himself their time together had been merely a pleasant diversion.
Nevertheless, he’d found himself bulldozing his way through his meetings, working late to negotiate agreements and pushing hard for resolution, a mental clock urging him to leave on time to be here with her. He had worked nonstop
