She shook her head in disgust. She was losing it. The man had actually used the word mine. His ideas were archaic. She was Lioness Abameha Imani Karunzika, Zamibian Ambassador to Barrakesch. The thought of belonging to a man was nauseating. She was independent and knew her own mind.
She would never belong to a man, but if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be Prince Wasim of Barrakesch. She’d grown up around men like him who were used to having power and their authority unquestioned. She couldn’t thrive in a relationship like that. She’d suffocate under the limitations he was sure to impose.
A spattering of applause filled the air, and Imani turned to see that Wasim had finally arrived. He looked handsome in a dark three-piece suit with a pale pink tie. He wore his hair brushed back from his face and had tamed it into a semblance of order, though one lone curl managed to go rogue and fall to right above his left eyebrow. When he flashed a smile, lifting his hand in greeting to the attendees, she let loose a slow breath to calm her racing heart.
He found her in the crowd, and when their eyes met, she tipped her glass of ginger ale to him, and a minute smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Not a full smile, though—as if he wasn’t completely in the best of spirits. The vibrancy in his eyes was missing, and there was an emptiness there she wasn’t used to seeing. Then the crowd converged, and his attention was taken up by the people who surrounded him.
The night continued in the same vein it had started—conversations with potential partners, exchanging business cards, snacking and drinking, and more talking. After her two invitees left, Imani took a seat at a corner bistro table and watched the thinning crowd.
She checked her watch. She’d stick around for another half hour or so and then leave so she could get up early in the morning for the first day of the expo. She was scheduled to do a speech at the opening breakfast and wanted to get home in time to practice one more time and get plenty of rest for the event.
Wasim approached, stopping briefly to speak to two men from Saudi Arabia before finally making his way over to her. He set down his glass of water and stood beside the table, resting an arm on the flat surface. His cologne, with the underlying scent of oud, filled the space between them.
“Hiding?” The inviting sound of his dark, sinful voice washed over her.
“Taking a short break until I have to make my rounds before I leave for the night.”
Wasim nodded. He remained quiet for a while, then, “I owe you an apology for my behavior the other day, at the party at my house. I acted like an ass.”
“You acted like an ass? Unheard of.”
“Sarcasm is not a good look on you,” Wasim said dryly.
Imani bit her bottom lip, chuckling softly.
“I have no doubt you can take care of yourself. As for Mark, I’m not sorry I kicked him out. He had no business being there and not in that state.”
Imani nodded her agreement.
“What do you think about tonight? Not a bad turnout, considering this is the first time.”
He’d wanted to put on this event for a while and had been working on it for several years, so she knew he was glad that it had finally come to fruition. This was one of the many ways he hoped to move the country forward, and she envisioned him being able to do much more once he became king.
“I’m impressed. If tonight is anything to go by, you can safely make this an annual event.”
He nodded. “Agreed. I think it would be good to allocate slots for smaller firms the next time.”
“Maybe even offer some type of funding in the form of a scholarship for small businesses who might not be able to afford to come. It would also be nice to see more women-run companies in attendance in the future, too.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I was thinking the same thing. We could set aside a couple of scholarships specifically for those reasons. When I give my father a full report, I’ll mention that idea.”
This was Wasim’s personal project, but it was not unusual for the king to show his support by showing up to events, even if only for fifteen minutes or so. But since the announcement, he’d eliminated all public appearances.
“How has he been?”
“Not good,” Wasim answered, eyes bleak.
Before she could ask him anymore questions, an Australian businessman approached. Medium-height with flaxen hair and matching eyebrows, he was a slight-looking man with dark eyes, dressed casually in chinos and a polo shirt. Imani had talked to him earlier, and he acknowledged her with a smile, but extended a hand to Wasim.
“Prince Wasim, I was wondering if I could have a moment with you,” the man said with a nasal twang. “I want to talk to you about working with the royal family on a top-secret project, one that I think you’d be very interested in. I strongly believe a relationship between us could be mutually beneficial, but your chief of technology doesn’t think so. At least, he’s hesitant.”
“Tonight is for networking, not making final deals,” Wasim said, softening the chastisement with a smile. “If he seems hesitant, it’s because he doesn’t know you well yet.”
“Understood. I suppose a better question would be, how can my company get to the head of the line, so to speak?”
“What is the name of your company?”
The Australian gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry. Heath Palmer, of P & T Technologies. I’m in business with my brother-in-law. I’d love to tell you more about my idea and how we use tracking devices in security for the rich and famous around the world.” He extended a card.
Wasim turned over the card in his hand. “Have you sold many of these products?”
“Well…” Heath hedged, laughing again. “Right now we’re in the beta stage and offering the technology free of charge to a limited number of clients.”
“In exchange for free publicity through word-of-mouth,” Wasim deduced.
“Yes,” Heath admitted. “But I strongly believe you will love these. They can be placed in a piece of jewelry, the heel of a shoe, or sewn into the seam of a bag.” He seemed to hold his breath as he waited for Wasim’s response.
“Let’s go over here for a few minutes to chat.” Wasim turned to Imani. “When are you leaving?”
“In another thirty minutes or so.”
“Don’t leave before we get a chance to talk again.”
“Pardon my rudeness. Congratulations on your engagement,” Heath said, looking between them.
“Thank you,” they both replied, as Imani’s heart twisted a little painfully on the inside.
Wasim gave her another wry smile before leaving with the Australian.
Imani stared after him. Then she glanced at the glass of water he left behind. There was the faintest imprint of his lips at the rim, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts.
She shouldn’t have kissed him that night, because almost every day since then she’d had some variation on that thought—I shouldn’t have kissed him. Her cheeks heated as she quietly admitted that she wanted to place her mouth in that exact spot where he’d placed his. For a little taste, no matter how minor.
Imani abruptly stood and abandoned the table, going back to mingle among the crowd. Time was counting down, not only on King Khalid’s life, but on her stay in Barrakesch. Her stomach turned in distress. The whole ruse was a bad idea and she wished she’d never suggested it.