Forbidden Passion (The Billionaire’s Club #11)

Chapter 1

"What do you mean?" Princess Ciara gasped, her eyes widening as she locked gazes with her older brother. "I can't stay in that hotel!"

Ramit al Qadar, Sheik of Ditar, reclined in his leather chair, a deliberate calm in his gaze as he observed his younger sister's reaction. "Why wouldn't you stay in The Lustor? It's one of the best hotels in Switzerland." He tilted his head, a subtle challenge in his expression. "Is there something about the hotel that you don't like? You've stayed there several times before."

A vivid image of a darkly handsome, obnoxiously arrogant face flashed through Ciara's mind, a ghost she vehemently banished. She wasn’t thinking about him! Not today!

With a slight lift of her chin, she replied, "No, the service at the hotel is impressive."

The air between brother and sister crackled with unspoken tension, each word weighed with unspoken resentment. Ciara struggled to rein in her temper, acknowledging Ramit's brilliance as a strategist. However, the mere thought of Sheik Falk bin Alon kindled her temper. Avoidance was mandatory!

Ramit’s eyes narrowed and Ciara wondered if he knew what she was thinking.

A split second later, miserable memories of her vicious nanny pinching her, slapping her thigh, or ordering the servants to take her food away when Ciara didn’t obey flashed through her head. It took her several moments to remind herself that her brother wasn’t that old biddy. Ramit wasn’t trying to bend Ciara to his will, he just wanted more information.

Ciara met her brother's gaze, noticing the subtle change in his gaze. Ramit was a master puzzle-solver, and she knew he sensed something beneath the surface. "So, what's the problem?" He took a leisurely sip of his coffee, studying her reactions over the porcelain rim. "If there's a legitimate reason you can't stay there, I'll call Falk and let him know there's an issue with his staff.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Would it bother Zayed if he were to discover that you were staying at a hotel that Falk owns? Is that the problem?”

Falk. The nonchalant mention of his name by her older brother sent her heart into an embarrassing and dangerous flutter.

She had no reaction at all to the mention of Zayed, her fiancé. The man was tall and handsome, but…no flutters. Was that why she hadn’t set a date for their wedding? She’d been betrothed to Zayed ten years ago when she’d been only seventeen. At the time, she’d been happy, even relieved, by the arrangement. The question of her future had been decided. As a member of the royal family, her future marriage had been a major stress-point for her.

That was before she’d met her brother’s other friend; Falk.

Ciara could feel her frustration rising as her brother kept pressing for an answer. She forced herself to keep a calm exterior, but her patience was wearing thin. "Ramit," she said through gritted teeth, her voice tight with barely concealed anger, "there's nothing wrong with the hotel." She paused, her words sharp and deliberate. "I just prefer to stay somewhere else for this conference."

He nodded slowly, rubbing his thumb against his chin. "You want to spend your money at other hotels. Sort of spreading the wealth? Perhaps bring attention to some of the lesser known resorts?"

Though not her original sentiment, the excuse sounded plausible. "Exactly." The drama of concealed emotions played out beneath the surface, a delicate dance between siblings simmering between herself and her brother.

Ciara looked away, wondering if she was hiding her anger well enough and calculating how much longer she’d have to sit here in her brother’s office. But a new sound brought her gaze right back to her older brother.

Had Ramit just stifled a chuckle? Was there some secret comedic issue she was missing?

Before Ciara could decipher the brotherly smirk, he leaned forward and pressed a button. Immediately, his personal assistant stepped into his office. “Yes, Your Highness?” Hamud inquired politely.

“Could you inform the travel office that Princess Ciara would like to change her hotel accommodations? She won’t be staying at The Lustor during her visit to Switzerland tomorrow.”

Hamud immediately bowed. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he replied, then turned and walked out of the office.

“You’ll call Falk and explain the reason why you’re changing hotels?” Ramit asked. “He’s one of my best friends and a close ally, so you’ll need to present your change in accommodations carefully so that he isn’t offended. I’ve heard that he will also be attending the economic conference tomorrow.”

Ciara stood, her relief almost overwhelming, as if a weight had lifted off her chest. "Absolutely," she said, her voice lighter now. "I’ll have my assistant call as soon as I get back to my office."

Ramit rose beside her, walking in sync with her steps. His familiar presence brought both comfort and irritation. "Not good enough, and you know it," he shot back, slinging his arm around her shoulders. The warmth of his teasing gesture clashed with the sudden pressure of his words. "You need to make the phone call personally."

Ciara inwardly groaned, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She'd sensed he was going to drop this diplomatic bomb. Of course, he would. Her inner rebel wanted to stomp its feet and scream at the injustice of it all. She wasn’t a puppet to be manipulated into handling every uncomfortable situation herself. And yet, despite the storm swirling inside, she couldn't deny the truth in his words. Deep down, she knew he had a point—it was a bitter pill she didn't want to swallow, but had to.

Calling Falk personally shouldn't be a big deal, right? It was just a professional courtesy, nothing more. After all, she wasn’t engaged to the guy. She chuckled dryly to herself at the absurd thought. No, what she felt for Falk was far from affection. In fact, she could only describe her feelings toward him as "hate." Yes, that was the word—Ciara despised him with a passion so intense it could rival a thousand fiery suns. The very idea of making a polite phone call to Falk felt like cosmic cruelty, as if the universe was having a laugh at her expense. If given the chance, she'd rather toss the man into a pool of piranhas—or maybe a pack of hyenas! She smiled wickedly at the mental image, feeling a brief surge of satisfaction.

Of course, she didn't actually want him hurt, much less dead. She wasn't cruel, just... deeply irritated by his existence. Her growing hatred for the man was irrational, she knew that, but it was real. Which was exactly why she had no desire to stay in the hotel Falk owned. And why she absolutely loathed the idea of making this call.

But Ciara, the reigning champion of the avoidance Olympics, knew she had to face this head-on. She'd already won the battle of the hotel—dodging the luxurious trap of Falk’s five-star establishment felt like a small triumph. All that was left now was this one final hurdle: a conversation she’d rather avoid, but couldn't. She just had to talk to him, keep her emotions under control, and, most importantly, not reveal her internal victory dance at escaping his hotel for the weekend.

As she strolled back to her office, the sense of calm she’d clung to wavered. Once inside, she sank into her desk chair and stared down at her phone as if it were some sort of sentient being, capable of understanding the tumultuous swirl of emotions inside her. Falk. The name alone made her pulse quicken, though not from any sense of anticipation. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a deep breath as if channeling her inner zen master. Bracing herself, she reached for her phone, knowing that no amount of meditation could truly prepare her for this.

Finally, with a sigh of resignation, Ciara picked up her phone and punched in the dreaded number, annoyed at how she'd unwittingly committed it to memory. She had purposefully avoided saving the man’s number as a contact. Something about that felt too intimate, too permanent—like she was somehow inviting Falk into her life in a way that went beyond their forced professional interactions.

"Not today, Satan," she muttered under her breath.

Before pressing the call button, Ciara glanced around her office, seeking refuge in the cool blues and creamy yellows that had always brought her peace. Normally, these colors enveloped her in a sense of calm, helping her find balance in the chaos of her work. But today, not even the soothing hues could touch the knot of tension in her chest. She knew exactly why. Whenever she had to speak with Falk, something unsettling always stirred within her—something she could only describe as a twisted combination of nervous fluttering, deep irritation, and simmering resentment. It was a cocktail of emotions she hated admitting even existed, much less acknowledging every time his name came up.

She stared down at her phone, feeling the familiar weight of dread settle over her. With a sharp breath, she forced herself to focus, stiffening her resolve. Inhaling deeply, she held the breath for a moment, letting it expand through her chest. Slowly, she released it, trying to exhale her tension along with it.

And then, without allowing herself any more time to think or hesitate, she tapped the button.

The call was answered almost immediately, and the speed of it caught her off guard. Her heart betrayed her with a sudden flutter, an unwelcome sensation she couldn’t explain—didn’t want to explain. Why on earth did hearing his voice, even just the brief greeting, make her pulse quicken? Irritation flooded her in response, making her cheeks flush with heat.

Damn him, she thought. This was just business. Nothing more. But no matter how much she reminded herself of that fact, the unsettled feeling lingered, swirling under the surface like a storm she couldn’t quite outrun.

“Ciara? What’s wrong?” the man’s deep, commanding voice asked after just one ring.

Ciara couldn’t stop the jerk of her heart when he answered his own phone. And why did she feel all trembly and nervous at the sound of that deep voice? It wasn’t a sexy voice, she thought firmly. And that thought was a lie! His voice was sexy. She heard that voice in her dreams. Dreams that left her…breathless and wanting something that was always just out of her reach.

“Ciara?” he prompted again.

She jerked back to the present, her mouth opening for a moment. Pressing a finger to her forehead, Ciara finally pulled herself together, banishing the memories of those bothersome dreams. “Yes. Um…Falk?”

“Ciara, are you okay?”

Why did the immediate concern in his voice make her body quiver? She didn’t even like the man!

“Yes. Yes, of course I’m fine,” she replied, spinning around in her office chair so that she was looking out at the small courtyard she could see through her office window.

“Good. Good.” The relief in his voice sent another one of those unwanted jolts of happiness. A sensation that she tamped down immediately.

“What are you wearing today?”

Automatically, she glanced down at her peach colored sheath dress and matching shoes. The outfit was one of her favorites, but she caught herself and huffed a bit. “My outfit is immaterial to this conversation,” she told him, cringing at how prim she sounded.

His deep, husky laughter made her want to smack him. Of course, he was more than a thousand miles away, so she wasn’t going to get her wish. Not at the moment, at least.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call then?” he asked and Ciara could picture him leaning back in a leather chair, as big as her brother’s. Maybe he even propped his feet up on the desk, smiling like some sort of dangerous Cheshire cat.

“I was calling to let you know that I won’t be staying at your hotel in Switzerland for the conference.”

There was a long pause, then he asked, “Is that so?”

She gritted her teeth, wishing that he could see her glare of fury. “I stayed there last time I was in Switzerland.”

Another long pause and Ciara pictured Falk rubbing his chin with his long fingers, contemplating her words. “Were the accommodations not up to your expectations?”

“No!” she gasped, not wanting him to think that the staff at the hotel were lacking in any way. “I mean, yes. The staff and the room were perfect. Your hotel is wonderful. It’s just that…?”

Did he just laugh? Was he laughing at her? Ciara narrowed her eyes, but the flowers in the courtyard weren’t intimidated.

“You’re afraid you might run into me,” he finished for her. “Like last time.”

Ciara swallowed, neither confirming nor denying his accusation. She closed her eyes and clenched the phone more tightly. “Falk, my speech is going to be about wealth inequalities. So staying at your hotel sends the wrong message.”

There was another long pause and she wished that someone would invent a way to reach through the phone lines so that she could throttle the man.

Silence? He had no reaction to her statement?

Ciara fidgeted, tugging the hem of her peach dress over her thighs. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she continued, “Well, that’s all. I just wanted you to know. Personally. From me.” Good grief, that was a completely lame excuse. It sounded as if she were lying. Probably because she was lying.

“I understand, Ciara,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “I’m still looking forward to seeing you at the conference. Would you allow me to take you out for dinner after your speech?”

Dinner? Just the two of them? Ciara trembled at the thought of dining with this man. Sitting across the table with him and seeing him smile, maybe laughing at something she said, and debating issues with him?

“No. No, thank you for the invitation, but I have a very full schedule.”

She didn’t, but he couldn’t know that. She was literally flying into St. Gallen, Switzerland, doing her speech, then listening to the other speakers before flying out two days later. Normally, she scheduled meetings with clients or arranged to meet colleagues. But Ciara hadn’t done any of that for this conference.

“Of course you do,” he replied smoothly. “Well, I look forward to hearing your words of wisdom. Thank you for personally calling me to let me know your plans. I appreciate your consideration.”

Why did he have to make that statement sound like something…more intimate? Or perhaps, it wasn't merely the words themselves, but the almost-sexual cadence hidden within, a dark melody that struck a sensual chord within her, sending a delicious shiver of awareness down her spine.

Ciara licked her lips, trying to remember what she was doing. Phone call. Getting out of being close to the man that riled her…temper. “Right. Well, I will see you…soon, then.”

And she ended the call. For a long moment, she didn’t move. She couldn’t face the pile of issues on her desk for several minutes.

Finally, she turned and looked around. Why did her office look so…normal? She’d just had a conversation with Sheik Falk and…and what?

Ciara sighed and shook her head. “You’re losing your mind!’ she whispered to herself.

“Your Highness,” Jessy interrupted, stepping into her office, “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve booked a suite at The Rochester Hotel in St. Gallen.” She glanced down at her notebook. “It’s not as large as the suite at The Lustor, but there will be enough room for you and your bodyguards. There wasn’t a room for me, so I reserved a separate room for myself, if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine,” Ciara replied, smiling with relief. “Thank you for helping with the new arrangements last minute.”

Jessy nodded. “I’ve also printed out your speech and made reservations for dinner with your friends who are flying in the next day.”

“Perfect!” she sighed. “That sounds wonderful.” The attendees to the conference were flying in on Thursday night. She would fly in on Friday morning and would do her speech that afternoon. She’d have all night to recover, which, because of the anticipated stress levels, would include an enormous ice cream sundae with chocolate and caramel syrup and an extra big dose of whipped cream. It was the same dessert she treated herself to every time she had a big speech.

Ciara wasn’t like her brother. Ramit handled the stress of his job by working out in a gym for two hours daily. Ciara enjoyed her morning exercise routines, but she wasn’t a gym nut like her brother.

Or like Falk. Yeah, she didn’t understand men like Falk and how they could just work out for hours on end. She grew bored with running after forty-five minutes. And weight lifting? Yeah, she did it. But only for twenty minutes or so.

The image of Falk and his muscles popped into her mind.

Goodness, she wondered what he looked like without any clothes on. Were his thigh muscles as buff as his arms and shoulders? She certainly hoped so.

As soon as that thought finished, she blinked, startled by the strength of her desire.

“Good grief!” she whispered, then spun around and began sifting through the latest reports on her desk.