He’d confirmed it. This was make-believe to the nth degree.
“I’m not hungry really,” she said.
“If I didn’t exhaust you, at least a little, that means I didn’t do it right. Give me an hour and I’ll try again.”
She laughed. “You did everything very, very right.” She kissed his forehead. She lay in his arms for a few minutes and closed her eyes.
The phone on the bedside table rang. “I need to answer that.” He pulled away from her slowly and picked up the phone.
Was this his exit strategy? Tell her to stay, give her the royal treatment and have one of his associates call with an emergency. She refused to think about how many times he had done this before.
She hated to be made a fool of, so she stood and searched for her underwear and dress. She was still wearing her shoes. She refused to let her awkwardness post-sex ruin the memory. That she was holding close and preserving.
He was speaking into the phone in another language and he sent her a questioning look. He hadn’t dressed, nor had he made any attempt to cover himself. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. He was the most ripped man she had ever seen naked in real life.
Barr shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifted and he pointed to the bed. He wrapped up the call quickly, never taking his eyes off her.
“Please don’t leave so soon,” he said, sincerity in his voice.
How could she say no to that? If he’d wanted her to leave, he hadn’t needed to stop her. “I’ll stay. For a little while.”
She returned to the bed and he pulled her into the crook of his arms and held her. Sarah rested her head against his shoulder and found sleep tugging at her. She’d rest for a few minutes and then she would say goodbye.
* * *
Saafir cursed inwardly. Sarah Parker. Her name was Sarah Parker and she was the event coordinator for his trip while he was working with the Americans on the trade agreement.
It had been Adham who had encouraged him to take the night off and enjoy some time in an American bar. As one of his last weekends as an unattached man, Saafir would forget his responsibilities for an evening. Adham had implied it would do Saafir good to have a fling with a woman. Flings were more complicated than the word implied and Saafir had learned to be careful both with a woman’s heart and with jumping into bed with her. Saafir hadn’t been sold on the idea until he’d seen Sarah, spoken to her and listened to the warmth in her voice. Her dress fit close to her body, showing off her curves, the right amount of softness and strength. They’d had a sense of connection, that rightness that came when two people clicked on a level beyond first impressions. Something primal had stirred in him and he’d known he’d needed to have Sarah in his bed.
Having a drink and a meal in the bar had been a last-minute decision, like many of his social plans. Last-minute didn’t allow for security preparation, but it also limited anyone knowing where he was scheduled to be and using that information to plot an assassination. Though he didn’t like it, he had to think in those terms to protect his life.
Though Saafir had told Adham not to, Adham had dug around and found out more about the woman who had approached him in the bar. Saafir would have connected who she was when she’d shown up at their meeting Monday morning.
Did she not know who he was? The Americans wouldn’t try to manipulate him in such an obvious way. No one could have predicted the chemistry he had with Sarah. No one could have known he would desire her as strongly as he did. Even holding her in his arms a few minutes after sleeping with her turned him on.
Her long brown hair hung over his arm and her skin was soft against his. She was different from the women in his country, no less sophisticated or beautiful, but more free and uninhibited. She hadn’t waited for him to take the lead on their meeting or remained passive when they were alone in this hotel room. Fire and passion simmered inside her and Saafir wanted to be close enough to share her heat.
If it was a setup, he would have expected an Arabic woman or someone who spoke his native language. Still, he’d never had this combustible attraction with a woman before and he wondered if any part of their relationship had been architected. She hadn’t been the first woman to approach him in the bar, but she was the first woman who he’d been interested in talking with.
“You never said what you did for a living,” he said. A test. Would she lie?
“I’m an event coordinator,” she said, sleep heavy in her voice.
Was she evading his question? He didn’t detect anything in her voice. He didn’t want their connection to have been a fraud. He wanted her to like him for him. The thought was desperate, perhaps a remnant of the relationship he had wanted before becoming the emir. “Do you focus on certain types of events?”
Sarah yawned and rolled over to face him. She opened her eyes and he was caught by the shades of brown in her irises, flecks the color of sand and of cedar.
“Do you really want to hear about this? Most people find what I do boring. Unless it’s a bride and it’s her wedding. Those conversations last well over an hour.”
He found nothing about her boring. But if she was here to pry information from him, he wanted to know it now. “Tell me about it. I bet I won’t find it boring.”
She tilted her head up to look at him and brushed some of her long brown hair away from her face. “I started my business about four years ago. It’s still small, but we’re growing every year. I take any contracts I think I can do well. I’ve done dog birthday parties, a Pi Day event and a divorce party where the client wanted every menu item to include strawberries, which her ex had been allergic to.”
Saafir laughed.
Sarah drummed her fingers on his chest. “I’ve done some charity events to raise money for a local substance abuse support group.” She brought her hand to her mouth in thought. “I’ve turned away a few elaborate weddings, but I did take an important contract recently. If it goes well, it will be great to have on my resume for other jobs. It’s already been a wild experience.”
She must be referring to the trade summit contract. “What was the contracted event?” he pressed. He could have dropped his line of questioning, but he wanted to know if this was a happy coincidence that they’d met and not that she was a spy. He expected a spy to lie, flat out and without so much as a blink.
Sarah shifted, appearing uncomfortable. “I’ve been asked to keep the details private. It’s an important client.”
Unless she was a world-class liar who could lie even while naked, she didn’t know he was the important client.
Saafir couldn’t stand the thought of her showing up with breakfast Monday morning and realizing he was the emir of Qamsar. Being fastidious about security, Adham had booked this hotel under Saafir’s mother’s maiden name, Barr, the name Saafir used when he wasn’t representing himself as the emir, two days earlier than he was expected to arrive in the United States.
“Is your client someone famous?” he asked, wondering how trustworthy she was. He hated testing her. If she admitted something, it was akin to entrapment.
“I can’t discuss that,” she said,
