Wrapped in Pleasure (18 page)

He nodded, didn’t say anything for a few moments and then asked, “How long have you been in the States?”

“Two years.”

Johari knew Monty was an intelligent man who was well aware that for whatever reason, she was being vague and withholding certain information from him. She didn’t expect him to fully understand, but that didn’t matter as long as he accepted it. She studied his face, saw his curious expression but hoped he didn’t pry further. Already she had placed herself at risk by revealing a few details. There was no doubt in her mind that even at this moment men her brother had employed were diligently searching for her, determined to find her and take her home. They were probably embarrassed that she was able to elude them for so long. A few of her friends from Harvard had gotten word to her that they had been questioned already, some of them more than once.

He stood. “Ready to go?”

She lifted a brow. “Go where?”

The corners of his lips lifted in a smile. “To the dance floor, but not the same one Cel and Rod are using.”

She glanced around the club and then looked back at him. “Is there another dance floor?”

“Yes. It’s on a private balcony with a beautiful view of Central Park. Come on, I’ll take you there,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

Johari nervously gnawed her bottom lip as she studied his eyes for a second and then his outstretched hand. She met his gaze again and asked, “What if Cel comes back looking for me? She will get worried.”

“I’ll leave word with Keith as to where we will be.” He continued to hold her eyes and then he said in a soft, husky tone, “Trust me to take you dancing and bring you back when you are ready to return. All I want to do is to give you a few moments of enjoyment.”

Johari’s heart continued to pound in her chest and then she placed her hand in his, felt the strength of his larger one encompassing hers. There was something about his touch that sent heat through her, making her fully aware of him and all his masculine sexuality. The fingers gripping hers were long, firm and strong.

He gently pulled her out of her seat and, still holding tight to her hand, led her through the throng of people and straight to where his friend Keith was standing. “If Cel and Rod ask where we’ve gone, please let them know we’re up on the balcony.”

Keith nodded with a smile. “Sure thing, Monty.”

Still holding her hand, Monty led her out through a side door. She didn’t pull back in hesitation or offer any words of protest. He had told her where they were going and she trusted him to take her there and bring her back just as he said he would do.

The moment they stepped onto the elevator and the door closed on them Rasheed drew in a deep breath. He was not sure just how he felt about Johari trusting him so easily.

He frowned, thinking they had met just hours ago, so there was no way she could be absolutely certain that he was not someone intent on doing her harm. Yet here she stood beside him with her small hand still firmly held by his larger one.

She was staring straight ahead as the elevator moved slowly upward, but his gaze flickered downward to her outfit. He would bet the sum of all his investments that she had never dressed so provocatively before. His thoughts were drawn back to hours earlier when he had walked into that club
to find her actually dancing on the table. He could just imagine what Jamal’s reaction would have been if their places had been switched and he had witnessed his sister displaying such outlandish behavior. Didn’t she know that her family was honor-bound to let her fiancée know of her behavior while in this country? Her rebellious conduct was definitely not something that they could sweep under a Persian rug and easily dismiss.

And to think that this was the woman he was supposed to marry. The woman that he
would
marry.

The thought of that only made Rasheed sigh and shake his head. The sound made her glance up at him. She smiled faintly and he saw something he could very well do without seeing in her. Trust.

“Are we almost there, Monty?”

Her question, spoken in an accent he loved hearing, invaded the quietness of the elevator and disturbed his already unsettled mind. “It’s the next floor,” he said, and before he could get the words totally out of his mouth, the elevator came to a stop and the door swooshed open.

Tightening his hand in hers, he walked off the elevator with her by his side while wondering if she had any idea that he was taking her to his penthouse. If she didn’t know before, she knew now, he thought, when they stopped in front of a set of large double doors. He let go of her hand while he fished the key from his pocket.

“This is where you live when you are in New York?” she asked, her voice silky and inquisitive, and filled with more wonder than caution, reminding him of the trust she had placed in him.

“Yes, I brought you here to dance in private,” he said, taking the lock off the door.

What he didn’t say was that he had done so because he
only wanted her to dance
with
him and dance
for
him. The thought of another man holding her in his arms was something he wasn’t ready to accept. That was strange in itself since he’d never experienced being so possessive of any woman. His only reasoning for that was with a fiancée his emotional attachment could be expected to be different.

He gazed over at her and decided to calm her fears just in case she was doing a good job of hiding them. “If for some reason you don’t feel comfortable about being here alone with me, Jo, we can leave and go back.”

She held his gaze for a moment as if to consider his words. And then without saying anything she reached out, turned the knob and opened the door. Then, giving him another faint smile, she walked inside.

J
ohari stood in the middle of Monty’s New York home and turned around, taking in the large and spacious, beautifully decorated room—including all the exquisite paintings that hung on the wall, the marble flooring and the lovely Moroccan rug she was standing on. She didn’t have to touch the furniture to know it had been hand-carved and built from the finest-quality materials. This home was a stunning representation of his taste as well as his wealth.

She turned to him. He had followed her inside his penthouse and was leaning against the closed door. He looked breathtakingly handsome and just looking at him almost made her forget the question she’d been about to ask. “You have other homes beside this one?”

“Yes,” he said, moving away from the door to walk toward her. She even found his walk attractive—his strides were confident, sexy and so vastly different than the hurried, lazy, un
tutored walk of the guys she’d met at the university. The guys who had been her age. She couldn’t help wondering Monty’s age and guessed it to be in the mid-thirties.

“I have another home in Los Angeles. I also have homes in Brazil, London and Dubai.”

She winced at the last since it was too close to her home for comfort. The only thing separating Dubai from her homeland was the Persian Gulf. “Dubai?”

“Yes,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her. “I purchased it more out of necessity than anything else since my company is involved in a lot of construction there.”

She was well aware of all the construction that had now transformed Dubai from the sleepy port town to the most populous. It was the fastest growing city on the Arabian Peninsula and credited most of its growth to tourism, trade and real estate, but the biggest boom came from tourism.

The only other neighboring country that could claim such growth was Mowaiti, which was benefiting largely due to the revenues from petroleum and natural gas. She didn’t want to think about Mowaiti since that country’s prince was the man she was to marry.

Her curiosity was piqued, so she felt now was a good time to ask, “And what type of business are you in, Monty?”

“I’m a business negotiator, representing several wealthy Americans wanting to do business abroad. I visit the country, scope out the land, so to speak, and help them make decisions as to whether they should invest their capital in such ventures.”

She nodded. “And Dubai? What interest do you have there?”

“A group of the men I represent are building a hotel there.” His eyebrows arched upward and he said, “I thought you wanted to dance.”

She wondered if that was his way of saying he had answered enough of her questions, as many as he intended in order to appease her curiosity. She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “I do and you have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you and I will take you to the balcony now.”

She followed as he escorted her from the living room through several other spacious rooms. Each one had wall-to-wall windows that provided a beautiful view of New York City’s skyline. She couldn’t help but admire the decor and when he opened a pair of French doors that led to a huge balcony, she almost lost her breath when she stepped out onto the mosaic tile floor.

There were several huge balconies surrounding the palace in Tahran where she’d lived, but what was so spectacular about this particular one was that it stretched out to include a lap pool. And just like Monty had said, there was a miniature dance floor that opened to a covered minicourt.

She looked upward, to see the beautiful June sky and then leveled her gaze to see beyond in the distance the glistening waters of the Hudson River. City lights lining Central Park beckoned below. Every single element combined with a magnificent force to provide such a majestic and panoramic view.

She turned to Monty to find he was looking at her. Her skin felt heated from the intense look she saw in his eyes. But his piercing gaze did not scare her. She actually felt safe with him.

“It’s beautiful, Monty,” she said simply. Truthfully.

The smile that touched his lips stirred something within her stomach. “Thank you. Because I travel quite a bit, I don’t get to spend as much time here as I’d like.”

“And the dance floor? Is there a story behind it?”

He shrugged. “I’m told that this place was once owned by a world-renowned ballerina who had the dance floor installed.
I considered removing it several times but never got around to doing so. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”

He took a step toward her. “Enough about this place,” he said, bestowing a charming smile on her once again; one that had her heart literally pounding in her chest. “I brought you here to dance, so excuse me while I put on some music. Anything in particular you’d like to dance to?”

She shook her head. “A mixture of tunes would be nice.”

“All right.”

He then excused himself to walk the few feet to where a console had been built into the wall. With the press of a button the lights dimmed and music began playing. A fast song with an electrifying beat. Automatically Johari began tapping her feet as she felt the energy flow through her body. She loved dancing and unbeknownst to her parents, some of the young girls who lived on the grounds of the palace had taught her how to belly dance. And on more than one occasion she would join them when they rehearsed for their upcoming performances for her parents.

She closed her eyes as she kicked off her shoes, thinking there was just something about dancing that she found totally exhilarating, mystifying. She imagined herself back in her homeland, surrounded by the jewel-colored walls in the palace while dancing. In a room that was her private sanctuary, where she would dance to the rhythm for hours on end.

Her movements went on and on, taking her dance from an art form to an expression, a mode of nonverbal communication that had a language all its own. The music flowed within her and she became one with it. This dance was different from the one she’d done earlier on the table. Even then she had held back, but now she was letting go, feeling free, enjoying her audience of one. Dancing her heart out. For one particular man.

Moments later the music stopped and the movements of her body along with it. She breathed in deeply before opening her eyes and looked across the room. He was there, standing in the shadows watching her. He had given her space. He had let her dance. He had granted her a moment of bliss. She couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh, happy for the opportunity to unwind in a way she found so invigorating.

She held his gaze, while feeling emotions she had never felt before. She pulled in a deep, calming breath and whispered. “Thank you.”

Rasheed thought he should be the one thanking her. He continued to stare at her. He had been totally mesmerized throughout her entire dance. At one point he thought that she would shimmy out of her clothes. Her movements had been precise, filled with sensuality, and had conjured up an unstoppable and unquenchable desire in his core. He knew it wasn’t her intent, doubted that she was even aware that the dance she had just performed was a mating dance.

In motions he could define only as a combination of a belly dance, ballerina twirls, booty-shaking and hip-rolling moves, she had rendered him totally spellbound. Thanks to her short, sexy dress he had seen a pair of creamy thighs, long luscious legs and a gorgeous pair of bare feet. She had perfect body structure and he detected strength as well as an elegant refinement in every bone in her body.

His heart had begun pounding in his chest at the intensity with which her dance touched him, stirred something primal and elemental deep within him. And he knew he would have answered the call if she had intentionally thrown it out there. Innocent or not. Her dance had had that sort of an effect on him.

He pushed a button to play another song. This time he
would slow things down a bit. And this time he would participate.

With labored breathing, Rasheed moved toward her and when he got within a few feet, he offered her his hand. She glanced at it, inhaled deeply before moving forward, covering the distance separating them.

Her movement across the floor to him, even in bare feet, had been graceful, so much to the point he marveled at her smooth execution. The moment Johari took his hand, Rasheed gently pulled her into his arms. Her body seemed to know it belonged to him; it meshed with his so fluidly and with a precision that was so perfect, he automatically felt his gut tighten at the contact.

He wrapped his arms around her in an appropriate manner, fighting the urge to run his hands across the center of her back and even lower to cup her curvaceous backside.

The scent of her perfume hung in the air, tantalized his nostrils, and made him wonder about things that he shouldn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the right to think of them, because he did. He just preferred not doing so at the moment. It was taking all his willpower to keep his mind on the fact that she was not just any woman he wanted in his bed. She was the woman who had been chosen to share his name, take his seed into her body and bear his children.

He couldn’t argue with the fact that she was a puzzle, one he didn’t necessarily need to figure out since he understood her motive in doing what she’d done. He had rebelled once or twice in his lifetime. But although he might understand her actions, it didn’t necessarily mean he agreed with them. The reason he saw her as a puzzle was because there were so many things about her that should not be affecting him, yet they were and he needed to know why.

Such as, why did the thought of tasting her lips, feasting on
them in a way that would brand them totally his, fill him with such emotion and intensity? Why did inhaling her perfume want to make him strip her naked, and why did the feel of her in his arms tempt him to do more than just dance with her?

With his chin resting on the crown of her head, he closed his eyes as their bodies began swaying in time to the music. The slow beat of the song was vastly different from the fast-paced one of earlier. But this rhythm was what he needed right now. He needed to know how well they fit together, how so much blatant, raw sensuality floated from within her while at the same time she was shrouded with such an angelical air.

He couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face at the thought of her having even one strand of an angelic hair on her head, especially after that hip-shaking, body-rolling dance she’d done. And her determination to have fun at any cost, even at the risk of angering her family and a fiancé, would also put her angelic status at risk.

Rasheed opened his eyes at the same moment that he drew in a ragged breath. Her cheek was resting against his chest and it felt warm, at home, and so right. Knowing if they remained in this same spot too much longer there would be no way he could control his desire for her, he increased their movements when the tempo of the music picked up somewhat. He pulled away from her slightly to waltz her around the dance floor when the rhythm smoothly advanced.

She laughed at the unexpected move and he savored the sound of her laughter in a way that obliterated all thoughts from his mind except one. And when the music made another transition, one that returned to the ultraslow beat of before, he tightened his hold on her hand and pulled her back to him, back into his arms, close to his body.

She gasped when she detected his aroused state but there was no way he would apologize for it. No, he was fighting
everything within him to stay in control of the situation where she not only looked but also felt utterly compelling.

His gaze drifted downward to her mouth and those lips that he longed to taste. They had the ability to make him lose his breath just from looking at them and were sending a rush of heated desire through every part of his body. And when the music finally drifted to an end, a surge of sensuous sensations shattered within him and it was too late to even consider stopping what he was about to do.

He lowered his mouth to hers, fully convinced that, as her fiancé, he had every right to do so. And when his lips touched hers, when he felt how they quivered beneath his, when he was introduced to her taste and sensed her innocence, he no longer saw it as a right but as a privilege.

Rasheed wanted to believe that his longer-than-usual drought without sex was the reason he was latching onto her mouth like a man starving to taste the sweetness of her lips, to mate hungrily with her tongue, brand it, introduce his to hers. But he knew the moment he inserted his tongue into her mouth, immediately caught hold of hers and began sucking gently, that he would claim whatever excuse was out there. And when he heard a moan from deep in her throat, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer to absorb her warmth, accept her sensuality and make known—as much as he could and only to himself—that she was his. Totally. Irrevocably. Absolutely.

And his tongue, the one that was licking and tasting every corner of her mouth in heated bliss and slow, deliberate exploration, was boldly staking a claim at the same time as it was giving her an introduction. It was hers, the only male tongue that would ever go inside her mouth, and he wanted her to get used to it. Its daringness, its heat and its texture. His tongue could be rather tender at times, raunchy and brash at others. And on its really naughty days his tongue, she
would discover, could steal the very breath from her body and make her whimper with a need that only he would be able to satisfy. And more often than not, his tongue had a mind of its own. A mind to please with an intent to deliver.

Knowing he could stand there and kiss her all night, ply her lips until her mouth was tender, he forced himself to pull back, pull away. The disappointment on her face when he did so was simply priceless.

She was gazing up at him with astonishment and then he watched as she drew in a ragged breath as the magnitude and the power of what they’d just shared threatened to overcome her. When she began shivering he reached out and pulled her closer into his arms.

This was the woman he had looked upon marrying with disdain, and with a degree of regret that made him inconsolable. When his father had summoned him to the palace and said he wanted him to be wedded by his fortieth birthday, which meant he would have to take her as a wife by the end of the year, it seemed he would finally become the ultimate sacrifice for Mowaiti.