Page 40 of Unfolding Kiara

He smiled kindly at the towering man who was busy whispering something to the lady in his arms, her cheeks flushing red. “Even as the Prince of Azmia, his paintings have made over two billion dollars for the fundraisers, so I believe it will go well.”

Khalid Al-Latif was not only the Prince of Azmia, the country that bleeds gold, but he was also the brother of Sultan of Azmia. His paintings are inspired by grief, death, and a sad notion of life which my mother always found intriguing even though he was barely twenty at that time. I had seen his artwork for the gala; every painting had a child in an abstract form, blended beautifully with sharp, contrasting colors that made your eyes hazy if you kept looking at it. I knew from the start that most of the donation would be collected because of his paintings.

Mr. Stone asked, “Would you like to dance with me?”

I grinned at him and held his hand, “Of course, Mr. Stone. I wouldn’t dream of declining your request.”

He chuckled, the sound raspy and throaty as he led me to the middle of the floor where other couples were dancing and swaying to the soft music. We swayed together for a while, talking about the other initiatives for the children all around the world.

“Mr. Stone, may I please borrow my fiancée for a dance?” Jake appeared beside me, smiling at the old man.

“Of course, Jacob. Take care of her, she’s an angel.” He squeezed my hand when my cheeks flushed at his compliment. He patted Jake’s shoulder and walked to his husband, who was well known for his luxurious fashion brand.

Jake stepped closer, wrapping his arms around me, and raised his eyebrow. “Flirting with Mr. Stone, are we?”

I let out a soft laugh, “Don’t tell me you got jealous of him.”

He shook his head, swaying me and pressing me much closer to his body. “You should see how men are staring at you right now. I needed to step in and let them know that you are marrying me.”

My hands tightened around his. “I am one lucky woman,” I smiled up at him.

“I am a lucky man to have you,” he whispered, his eyes glinting with adoration. He kissed my knuckles softly, “I love you, Kiara Sharma.”

“And I love you, Jake O’Neal.”

Before he could reply, our dance partners changed, and he was whisked away by another woman. I smiled at him and was about to walk off the stage as I didn’t see anyone when someone held my palm, sweeping me back on the dance floor, twirling me around.

My breath hitched in my throat at the touch of his cold, firm hold when all the lights turned off. The only source of light was the huge glowing chandelier above us. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the strange sensation, my nose wafting with musky woodsy and cinnamon cologne. I couldn’t place it, but I knew there was something familiar about it.

Something familiar about this person.

With the drifting shadows of the light across his face, I marked his sharp features gazing up at him. His wavy onyx hair was slicked to perfection, but it seemed he had raked his hand through it a lot tonight, tousling it in the process. No matter, it suited his fierce face well. High cheekbones, pointed manly nose, slight stubble peppering his sharp jaw and his dark eyes glinting under the lights as he looked straight back at me.

His eyes. A small smile appeared on my lips when I stared up at them. They didn’t know which color they wanted to be, at one moment they were dark blue like the ocean or moss green like a forest. They were beautiful.

Hewas beautiful.

A shudder ran through my body when those dark, feral eyes raked over my body, his cold yet gentle palm sliding down my bare back, touching me skin to skin. I instinctively arched up to him because of his touch, my front pressing up against the smooth fabric of his shirt, and I sighed at the feeling of his muscles stiffening. He hummed, the sound rumbling from his throat making me shiver. His hand dipped down my dress to stay at my lower hip. My hand tightened around his other palm, and I looked away from his piercing, probing eyes.

It felt as if he could read me. Could see through me.

My eyes trailed down to his broad shoulders swathed in a black suit which didn’t help hiding his muscles. He was wearing a crisp black shirt underneath the suit, and the top few buttons of his shirt were open, revealing a hint of tan skin. Blood warmed my cheeks, and I looked away from his body, trying to keep up with his graceful dancing.

Who are you?My mind wondered.Do I know you? I feel like I have known you all my life and not at all.

This strange, handsome man took me by surprise as he twirled me around, almost forcefully, but caught me in his arms. I gasped and searched for his eyes as my palms flattened on his shirt, feeling his wild heartbeat. I could feel him gazing down at me, searching for something.

“Who are you?”

We both asked the same question. His voice was a rich timbre, much deeper than I predicted. My mouth went dry when I trailed my hand up his neck to cup his jaw. He didn’t mind because he was doing the same. We had stopped dancing and were standing in the corner, away from the glowing lights of the chandelier, in the dark where his palm cupped my cheek, making me look at him, demanding his attention. His touch was soft but firm, warming my cheek and neck.

I felt hot and cold when I blinked up at him. “I feel like I know you.”

I know you by my heart.

His arm around my waist tightened, and I bit my lip when my breasts pressed up against his shirt. I shouldn’t be here, standing in the dark corner, leaning up on a handsome stranger. I was about to push him away when his hand lowered to my neck, his finger brushing up on the crook of my neck, feeling my increasing pulse as I felt his heartbeat.

“I have known you for my entire life,” he muttered darkly, his voice rich and smoky, “Haven’t I? I am not so sure anymore.”

---