He took a deep breath. “Keep searching. Please,” he added.
A low groan sounded through the phone. “Do you have any idea how many dark-haired, brown-eyed women live in New York and the surrounding area?”
“I have to find her, Jameel. I have to."
Silence greeted his hushed assertion.
“I’ll see if my contact can run the Department of Motor Vehicle and law enforcement records,” Jameel said.
“Why law enforcement?” Junayd asked.
“Because, if she can disappear like this and break a powerful politician’s arm like a twig, she probably learned that in prison.”
Junayd shook his head, his brow creasing at the thought of 'someone's lost conscience' being punished in prison, but he thanked his brother and disconnected the call.
“That will be all for the night,” he said with a weary nod to Issa and Hyder.
"Yes, sire," they responded.
When the doors opened, Junayd was the only one to enter the luxurious apartment. Deep in thought, he yanked off his tie, tossing it on the entrance table before shrugging off his coat and jacket. He didn’t bother to turn on any lights.
The frustration burned, but he was a patient man with a laser focus for the things that he wanted—and he wanted his raqisat alqamar. He had extended his stay in New York by almost a week in the hopes of finding her. He wondered if he was going crazy. It had been a brief meeting, only a few minutes.
He didn’t know anything about her except the color of her hair and her eyes… and her voice. Her voice haunted him, the husky amusement of it laced with curiosity, the grandstanding that had rung true all the same. That teenage girl would always remember her. So would the man who had thought himself untouchable.
Junayd walked over to the window and stared out at the glittering lights of New York City. There were literally millions of people. He was looking for a diamond in the Sahara. His stomach clenched at the thought of never seeing her again.
This is insane.
He turned and was about to stride over to the liquor bar when the movement of light from a flickering candle caught his attention. The decorative patio table that was normally on the balcony had been brought inside and was now in front of the window, covered in a pristine white tablecloth. A single place setting of fine china, a silver-covered dish, a goblet filled with red wine, and a basket of bread rolls caused him to stiffen with confusion. He breathed deeply. The familiar fragrance of garlic teased his tastebuds.
A whisper of movement alerted him that he wasn’t alone in the apartment. He slowly turned.
“I thought you’d never get home."
Junayd’s body immediately reacted with a roaring heat. He reached for the lamp and frowned when the light didn’t come on.
"I can’t guarantee how hot your dinner will be. I’m sure the art gallery didn’t have anything appetizing. You must be starving.”
He sensed her before he saw her, as if she were a force of nature that every cell of his body responded to. She stepped closer, and he saw that she was holding up a light bulb.
“I prefer the dark,” she said.
“How did you get in here?” he demanded.
He vaguely wondered if his mind had snapped from exhaustion and he was hallucinating. She stepped closer, and he briefly closed his eyes as her delicate scent teased his senses. She smelled of fresh air, wildflowers, and rain. He opened his eyes to find her standing inches from him.
“You should be careful what you wish for," she teased. "Why don’t you eat while we talk?”
He glanced at the table. “There is only one place setting. What about you? Dinner should be enjoyed by us both.”
She chuckled. “You took too long and I was too hungry to wait.”
He laughed in disbelief.
"Sorry," he replied dryly. "I didn't know we had a date."
He lifted his hand toward her face, wanting to pull down her scarf and reveal her features, but she stepped away.
Sinking down onto one of the chairs, she placed the lightbulb on the table next to her. He took his seat across from her, and she lifted the silver cover. She even filled his plate. He watched her every move, bewildered and elated.
She was wearing a black scarf tonight with tiny silver stars on it. All he could see were her eyes and forehead. She returned the cover and relaxed back in her chair.
“Eat while it's still warm. It’s your favorite dish.”
The vegetarian lasagna was something he couldn’t get at home. The palace chef, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t seem to duplicate the taste.
“How did you know?” he asked.
Her eyes were so expressive that he felt as if he were drowning in them.
She shook her head. “I’m not talking until you eat,” she gently replied.
A flash of emotion swept through him. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Anger that she was trying to manipulate him? Indignation that she felt she could order him to do something? Surprise that she cared that he had barely eaten all day when no one else seemed to notice?
Yet, she might follow through with her threat, possibly even leave if he didn’t. Finally, his hunger and the desire to please her overrode his pride and he lifted the fork to his lips. Her eyes followed the movement. The sexually charged moment caused him to clench his fist against his thigh as he swallowed.
“You have this delivered to you whenever you are in town and don’t have time to go out,” she murmured, her eyes slowly lifting from his lips to his eyes.
“What else do you know about me?” he wondered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You like gorgeous, tall, leggy blondes with fake boobs.”
That hit him like a punch in the gut. Junayd drained his wine glass. She rose and walked a few steps away from her seat. Her movements were quick and impulsive. He suspected that she had not meant to confess knowing that piece of information about him, but as she looked at the city lights, she continued, "When you give them jewelry, it's never a ring or diamonds."
She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes moving to his plate and back to his face. Junayd took another bite of the delicious meal. She returned to the table and refilled his wine glass.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She sank down onto her seat and played with the lightbulb, rolling it back and forth as if trying to decipher a major problem. He continued to eat, watching and waiting in silence for her answer. He lifted his napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth before lowering it to his lap.
“I’m nobody,” she finally replied, looking back at him.
“You're somebody to someone,” he replied.
Her eyes sparkled with humor again. “Smooth. I can see why the blondes like you.”
His eyes narrowed at the barely veiled insult. “You know my name. What is yours?”
“Midnight,” she replied. Her lips quirked as she waved a hand at the window and the darkness outside of it.
His mouth tightened with irritation. “And your last name is perchance Evening? Dawn? Afternoon?” he sarcastically inquired.
Low peals of laughter, muffled by the scarf covering her mouth, surrounded him like a sandstorm, churning inside him and whipping him until all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, jerk down her scarf, and kiss her. Shocked by the intense desire to have her submit to him, he instead picked up his wine glass and drained it again. Her chuckles slowly died, and she refilled his glass.