She had to swallow the urge to mention that one green business practice was to take a commercial flight, but when they stepped onto the plane surrounded by four bodyguards, Clem saw instantly why the royal family preferred to fly private. The process of getting someone like Samir through an airport would have been complicated, to say the least. And as environmentally conscious as Clem was, she couldn’t help but enjoy the cushy leather seats and the way the plane smelled fresh and new, reminding her of the just-renovated library down the block from her apartment.

  By the time they’d flown across the country, dashed through Brooklyn to retrieve her passport, and returned to the plane, she was exhausted. She sank down on a wide bench seat next to Samir with a yawn.

  “Incredible,” she said.

  “What is?”

  Sitting here, next to you, she thought. “Being able to visit New York City for ninety minutes in the middle of an international flight, not just stay at the airport.”

  He laughed, the sound resonating through her like a low bell. “There are advantages to traveling with me.”

  “That’s an…” She yawned again. “An…” Where was the word understatement when she needed it?

  Clem started awake at some point later, realizing in the space of a few moments that she wasn’t sitting up anymore. Her legs were stretched out along the bench seat, covered in a soft blanket, and her head was resting on a pillow.

  The pillow was on Samir’s lap.

  Every breath was full of him—that scent that reminded her of wealth and a lazy summer day and a hint of spice—and something glowed warm at the center of her. She liked waking up next to him.

  But how long had she been sleeping? Had she been snoring? Was his lap…numb?

  Clem scrambled to sitting, trying to be discreet about wiping at her mouth with her sleeve. Samir’s hand on her shoulder steadied her.

  “You didn’t have to move,” he said.

  The lights were low in the private plane, and it was enough like the blackout curtains in their hotel room in Vegas—or enough because she was still half-asleep—that she blushed.

  “You need your lap, though, and I—I shouldn’t have taken it over like that.”

  “Don’t worry about my lap.”

  A jarring bump and rumble snapped Clem out of her handwringing, and she twisted around in her seat to look out the window. “Was that the landing gear? Did I really sleep through the whole flight? I—”

  Words failed her, because out the window she could see the Eiffel Tower.

  The Eiffel Tower.

  Paris at dawn spread out below them, lights twinkling in the fading dark, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “Samir,” she said. “This is Paris.”

  “I know.” He put his hand on the small of her back, something that seemed strangely intimate, considering the previous morning she’d woken up naked in his bed.

  “I thought you were taking me to Omirabad.”

  “We’ll get to Omirabad,” he said. “But I remembered what you said about wanting to see Paris. We have a private jet—why not take advantage?”

  “But we had to go well out of our way,” she said, pressing a hand to the window. “Wouldn’t we have flown over Africa to get to Omirabad?”

  “Not with a stopover in Paris. Though I am impressed with your knowledge of flight paths across the ocean.” He moved closer, and Clem didn’t mind it at all. “This is good for all of us. The flight crew needs a break. I thought we might as well spend it in the City of Light.”

  “Very accurate,” breathed Clem.

  “We’ll only have one night,” Samir said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

  “We’ll have plenty of time for longer trips later,” she said. It was a wish for the future.

  In a few minutes they were touching down on the runway. A private car awaited them, and Samir bundled her toward it. It was early morning, Paris time, and she took a breath of the fresh air. Clem swore she could taste excitement on the breeze, a sweetness dancing over her tongue. Why had she been so reluctant to leave Brooklyn? Things could get complicated once they were in Omirabad—she was enough of a realist to admit that there were still knots to be untangled when it came to the marriage—but it gave her a thrill to know that Samir had heard one comment about Paris and given it to her without even a hint of the superiority she’d come to know from the guys in college. Those men wanted credit for everything they did. They’d wanted her to know that everything she got, she got because of them. But she could feel Samir’s eyes on her face as they drove through the streets of Paris, her nose practically pressed to the window of the car, and he didn’t brag. He was kind.

  It wasn’t long before the car pulled up in front of…a mansion.

  Clem turned in her seat and stared at Samir. “Is this your house?”

  “No. It’s our hotel.” He leaned closer, looking out the window with her. “La Réserve.”

  A uniformed butler opened the towering red door for them at the front of the elegant nineteenth-century building that was nothing at all like the modern Cosmopolitan in Las Vegas. It was clean and bright, yes—but goose bumps rose on Clem’s skin as they walked over the marble floors of the lobby. This was not new construction, and the history of the hotel seemed to whisper from the walls and floors. Antique furniture set the stage for a trip that felt…personal, in a way. It was luxurious, but she wouldn’t have called it sleek. One of Samir’s guards jogged up and pressed a key card into his hand. No need to stop at the front desk—not for the sheikh. They took an elevator to the fifth floor, and even the feeling of the carpet beneath her feet made Clem’s nerves come alive with excitement.

  It was Paris—and not Paris in a hostel, not Paris staying with a friend, but Paris at the height of luxury.

  Samir opened the door to an enormous suite done up in cream and red. Clem stepped inside and froze. It was almost too beautiful to touch.

  “Do you like it?” he murmured in her ear.

  Through one doorway, she could see a massive bed inside a bedroom with the same red accents as the living room. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. “It feels like a home. A palace.”

  “It was,” said Samir. “It was originally built for Napoleon’s half-brother.”

  It made her dizzy, thinking of one family living in a building this size. It was dwarfed by the Cosmopolitan, which, after all, had housed its own shopping mall and wedding chapel, but Clem had an entirely different sense of space here. She moved forward and ran her fingers along the polished wood backing of one of the chairs. Then she turned back and looked Samir in the eye. “Thank you. This is…this is wonderful.”

  He grinned at her. “Which bedroom would you like?”

  The wave of relief took her by surprise. “There are two bedrooms?”

  “Yes, and a separate dining area.”

  She laughed. “Either bedroom is fine with me.” Clem hadn’t made up her mind about how they should tackle this trip to Omirabad. Should she stay with him every night? Or, in light of the fact that the marriage would only last three months, should she keep her distance?

  She didn’t want to keep her distance, but it might be good to step back and breathe. At least for one more night.

  Samir held up a hand. “Ah, wait. I know how to tell which room is yours.” He walked through the living area to the other bedroom—Clem saw the door now. “It’s this one.” He nodded through the doorway. “Come see.”

  Laid out on the bed was the most beautiful dress Clem had ever seen. It had a vintage look to its lines, and she knew instantly that it would look as perfect in the evening as it did in the morning light.

  “I had one of the fashion houses take a guess,” Samir said behind her as she ran her hands gently over the fabric. “Packing was a last-minute affair, so I wanted to make sure you had something exquisite for our day without having to dig through suitcases.” He went over to a wardrobe in the corner and pulled open the door. “Ah, yes. Everything else is here, too.”

  She could hardly breathe. It was so above and beyond.

  “Samir…”

  He turned away from the wardrobe and came close. “Yes?”

  The words stuck in her throat, and she forced them out on a whisper. “Thank you so much.”

  He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, warm and firm, then took her chin in his fingers. Affection opened like a flower in the center of her heart as Samir’s eyes searched hers. He took a deep breath and stepped back. “Take some time,” he said. “Draw a bath. We’ll go out in a few hours for lunch.”

  Clem thought she’d never be able to sit still in the bath but changed her mind the moment she saw the gorgeous marble tub. Marble everywhere. And soap that felt so light on her skin that it was like bathing with clouds. Her skin seemed to sparkle when she climbed out an hour later and set about getting ready for lunch. Everything in the suite was unbelievable, and time slipped away. She was, at least, dressed in the perfect blue dress when Samir knocked at her door.

  His eyes went wide at the sight of her. “It’s a perfect fit.”

  You’re a perfect fit, she thought, absurdly, and the heat in Samir’s eyes made her wonder if the dress would ever see the out of doors. Her breath caught on the sensation of something being pulled tight between them.

  Samir shifted on his feet. “Let’s go see Paris.”

  They saw Paris.

  They saw the Louvre, a high-speed walk-through tour. They ate lunch in a café tucked on a sunny corner. Samir took her through a shopping district that was nothing but an endless row of boutiques. She couldn’t stop in front of one without Samir insisting they go inside. They sent five bags back to the suite before Clem, laughing, told him he had to stop.

  “Why? We’re in Paris.”

  “Because. It’s—it’s so much.”

  Samir’s eyes twinkled in the Paris sunlight. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” Clem insisted. How was she going to feel in three months when this all came to an end? Would she leave all these lovely things behind in Omirabad?

  As if Samir could read her thoughts, he lifted a hand to her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Live in the moment, Clementine.”

  So she did.

  By nightfall, Clem’s feet ached, but her soul had never been so happy. Samir took her to L’Oiseau Blanc for dinner, where they sat beneath huge arched windows and looked out at the Eiffel Tower, lit up for the night.

  Clem sipped her wine and looked at her husband across the table. “You know, as marriages and honeymoons go…”

  Samir raised his eyebrows. “How do you rate this?”

  “You’ve done a surprisingly good job.”

  He reached for her hand and gallantly kissed her knuckles. “How many husbands have you had, Clementine?”

  “You’re my first.” And last. His hand on hers…it fit.

  By the end of the evening, he had his arm around her shoulders. In the back seat of the car, Clementine moved closer until her body pressed up against his.

  “Thank you,” she said again, though it wasn’t nearly adequate.

  “Kiss me,” said Samir.

  8

  The kiss sent a shock wave rippling through Clem. She could taste the wine from dinner on Samir’s tongue, along with the sunlight from the day and the exquisite happiness of being with him. It was nothing like the chaste kiss he’d given her earlier in the morning, and she realized immediately that he’d been holding back.

  He’d been holding way back.

  “All day as I’ve walked beside you,” he said, low and husky into her ear. “I wanted to do this.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Samir was an excellent kisser, sure and confident and a little dominating. He slid one hand up under her chin, his grip feather light, and she shivered in his grasp.

  “You like that,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?”

  “I wanted you to see Paris,” he said, bending to press a kiss to the exposed line of her neck. “Not the inside of a bedroom.”

  “But it’s…” He dragged his lips down to her collarbone. “It’s the nicest bedroom I’ve ever been in.”

  Clem wasn’t sure how, but they hardly saw a soul as they went through the lobby and up the elevator and finally, finally, shut the door behind them.

  Samir went to his knees, his hands sliding up her thighs, and on instinct she twined her fingers into his hair. “Oh, what—what are you—”

  He looked up at her, his face framed by the blue of her dress. “Say the word, and we can go to our separate rooms.”

  She understood immediately. “Please, Samir. Don’t stop.”

  He did not stop as he tugged her panties down and off. He did not stop as he shoved her dress up into her hands. And he didn’t stop as he spread her legs and dove between them, devouring her as if his life depended on it.

  Clem let out a half-groan, half cry. “This is what I missed? This is what I missed?”

  Then Samir was standing, gathering her into his arms, and taking her to the bedroom. “I missed it, too. We’ll have to make up for it.”

  He stood her by the bed and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a sky-blue pool. Clem turned to face him at the sound of his zipper. Somehow, he’d already taken off his shirt, and the pants were the last barrier between them.

  His abs in the dim light of the bedroom turned her into an animal, and with a growl she threw her arms around his neck, taking another kiss for her own. She tasted herself on his lips. Oh, it was so wrong, so dirty…and so delicious. Clem fell—no, Samir had pushed her back onto the bed. He stood upright and looked at her, eyes raking over every inch of her skin.

  “I have to have you,” he said, and she heard his need in every word.

  She had to have him. Paris had woken her up. It had cured her hangover. It had made every nerve come alive, and for the first time, she saw how torturous and lovely the day had been. Breathing in Samir all day, touching him only when it was appropriate, letting him lead her by the arm but never, never pressing him up against the wall and kissing him the way she wanted to…

  Why had she been holding back? Why had they both been holding back? It wasn’t Vegas, and it wasn’t Omirabad. Here in Paris, nothing had to be decided. The only thing that needed doing was to join their bodies, and Clem was achingly empty.

  Samir’s hands on her thighs suggested she spread them wide, and she did. His fingers between her legs made her gasp, and the low growl from Samir at the slickness he found there made her feel like she was pleasantly, ever so pleasantly, on fire.

  He climbed between her legs, his mouth covering hers, and she had a flash of memory—those strong hips between hers and the powerful lips drawing little moans from hers. She had missed that. But it was returned to her now.

  Samir eased himself into place, the head of his cock at her opening, and she found herself drowning in his dark eyes.

  “Nothing else matters except today,” she said urgently, not knowing quite why. “Please. Please.”

  “I’ve felt so greedy,” he said, and then he lowered his lips to her neck and thrust inside in a stroke that shook the bed.

  It felt good to be taken. It felt good, in the middle of all this uncertainty and surprise, to know that Samir was in control, and god, was he ever in control. He set the rhythm and angled his hips so that every stroke gave her clit a graze of contact until she was wild, writhing, bucking against him. His hands on her hipbones coaxed her into place, and then he pressed her over the edge into an orgasm so strong her vision went dark at the edges.

  Samir panted against her, and she dug her fingernails into his back, holding on for dear life as he pulsed his own release into her. Clem had a flash of worry—no condom—but she was on the pill, and this was Paris. It was Paris, and she wanted every inch of him now.

  She still wanted him after they’d rolled apart, catching their breath. Desire still arced between her legs.

  Samir sensed it.

  “I haven’t fallen asleep,” he said.

  “Neither have I,” she answered.

  “Do you want me to go back to my own room?” He reached over to the bedside table and switched off the lamp. “Honest question, Clementine. If you do, I’ll go right this moment and let you get some rest.”

  In answer, she straddled him, pushing him back down to the pillows with her hands firmly on his chest. “Stay here,” she commanded, and in the moonlight coming through the window, she saw his smile flash across his face. “Don’t go.”

  9

  It was different, waking up with her in the Paris hotel room. So different. For one thing, he wasn’t madly hungover and searching for his own memories. For another, Clementine looked so happy.

  He wanted to stay in Paris forever, which was a foreign feeling for Samir. Whenever he left Omirabad he found himself anxious to get back—to make sure that everything was proceeding according to plan. But he didn’t want to make Clementine leave. If Rashid hadn’t sounded so insistent on the phone, he might’ve considered it.

  So he had to watch her take one last deep breath of the gorgeous Paris morning before they stepped into the jet.

  “It takes the sting away a little bit,” Clementine said as they settled into their seats.

  “What does?”

  “Flying away on a private jet.” She smiled, letting out a tiny huff of a sigh. “It was wonderful, Samir. Beyond my wildest dreams.”

  He put his arm around her and drew her close, dropping a quick kiss on her temple. “We’ll visit again.”

  “We will,” said Clementine, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. She watched the city fall away beneath them as they took off. During the flight to Omirabad she seemed to shrink into herself, getting quieter and quieter the closer they got.

  Samir understood. He wanted to ease her into life as a member of the royal family, but in the air, with his phone turned off, he couldn’t gauge from conversations or messages how his family would react. And part of him didn’t want to turn the phone on. It was easier to let his mind linger back in their hotel room. The bed had been thoroughly tangled and mussed. Clementine had laughed when she saw it in the light of day.