Amir shook his head, trying to dispel any images of his parents kissing from his mind. It wasn’t that he was immature or even that he hated the idea of his parents in love. As far as royal couplings went, his parents were successful and actually loved each other. Still, there were only so many ways he wanted to think about his mother or father.
“But it’s not like that,” he rushed to assure her.
His mother shook her head. “Yes, that’s what I used to tell my sisters about your father. I swear the best ones always start out with that kind of passion. It’s all about the foreplay.”
“Mother, really!”
“I’m just saying,” she said, standing up from her sofa and coming over to kiss his cheek. “I can see through you, my son. I know exactly what you want from the reporter, and for once, I’m pleased. I think I see something there—a spark for more.”
She sashayed back out, leaving Amir to try and defend himself to an empty room.
***
When his reporter came to meet him at the gala, he barely recognized her. Granted, he already craved those sapphire-blue eyes and that honey-blond hair, but so far he’d only seen her in a smart business suit and with most of her hair up in an austere, tight bun. He’d merely given Mafir the directions to pick out a dress from one of the shops littered among the casino’s boutiques, so he had no idea what his manservant had picked out or what she’d be wearing. To see her was to have his breath stolen from his body. Her curves were accentuated in a way that would leave any man with eyeballs salivating. The blue silk clung to her hips and dipped low over her cleavage, and one side was cut into a revealing slit that teased the pale skin of her thigh above the knee. Her hair was down and curled into silky, flowing waves, while her makeup was heavier with smoky eyes that left her with a sultry siren look.
He was already hard just looking at her.
Stealing himself, he smiled at her and picked up her hand. There were cameras around—when you were a CEO and a royal there were always cameras—and he wanted to make her feel as comfortable as possible. Still, kissing her hand was a tease as much for him as it was for her. He wanted to do so much more to her, to feel those soft lips on his again.
“So,” he said, straightening back up and holding his elbow out to her. “You deserve a tour, Amanda. I think I’ve promised you one of the entire gallery. Would you like to take a sheikh up on his offer?”
She nodded, and for the first time, Amanda seemed hesitant. Maybe it was harder for her when she didn’t have a direct game plan, when she wasn’t there to grind into him. The hard-nosed reporter appeared to be the one role she was comfortable with playing. Amanda was less like the woman he’d known when she was being pampered, but that had its advantages too. Maybe he could get through some of her walls and see what had left her with such a massive chip on her shoulder.
“I’ve never been the date for royalty before, Sheikh Bahan,” she said, her lips twisting up in a smirk.
He shook his head as he led her to the more traditional and open wing of the gallery. “It’s Amir. If I’m calling you ‘Amanda,’ then you’re more than welcome to call me by my given name.”
“Well,” she said, continuing with him to the first of the main hall’s exhibit. The crowds were waiting for them to go through a bit first with his security in tow, before the rest of the guests would proceed in shifts to keep him from being overcrowded. “If I have insulted you, Amir, then I guess I can also call you by your first name.”
He lowered his voice a bit so that even his security team couldn’t overhear him. “I think, reporter, you definitely earned the right to call me anything you wanted when you had your tongue halfway down my throat.”
She winked back at him and didn’t drop her arm. “You might regret that offer someday. You never know what someone as creative as I am can come up with in order to get her point across.”
“Well, I shall endeavor to never give you a reason to insult me with words no one should overhear, Amanda.”
His reporter laughed, a sound that reminded him of tinkling bells. Then she looked up at the first piece in the collection. “These are gorgeous. I…I know I should say I’m very cultural and go to all the exhibits in DC, but I haven’t had the time for any of these things. Is this real?” she asked, pointing to the base relief of the winged gryphons.
“Yes, this hall is about the cultural heritage of Abu Dhabi, as well as the Middle East. We have pieces from antiquity here. The piece before you was carved back in Babylonian times and would predate the hanging gardens of Babylon—had they actually been more than myth.”
She reached out and then stopped before she actually touched it. “Sorry, this is definitely the ultimate look-but-don’t-touch place.”
“It’s hardly Disneyworld,” he said dryly. “But it’s more than that,” he said as they continued through the hallway. “These are the textiles traditional to Abu Dhabi. Some of these are similar to the patterns you’d see in the marketplace, which is something I can show you later this weekend if you like. Unless you have to be back to Washington soon?”
She arched her eyebrow but continued to smile. “Is this your way of saying that you want to try a second date?”
Amir shook his head and leaned low again, this time nibbling the corner of her ear, taking advantage of the private moment they had. “I’m saying, reporter, that I’d love to have you for as long as you’d let me. But that can come later.”
The skin of her neck flared pink, and he knew he’d already aroused her, had gotten to her as surely as her appearance tonight had gotten to him.
“We’ll see on that, Casanova,” she added, continuing down the exhibits.
The final corner of the main room included photographs by one of the best street artists in Abu Dhabi. His assistant and the curator had found the woman’s account, if one could believe it, on Instagram. But the candid photos that Shianna took of the streets throughout the city-state were breathtaking. Some were gorgeous sunsets in the desert, while others were live events from the Formula One racetrack that had started bringing in tourists to this area. The rest were more honest, hints of that fallen infrastructure that Amanda had alluded to, images of buildings abandoned in the center of the city, far from the glitzy tourism, and even one of children begging for food.
“I don’t understand?” she asked, frowning back up at him.
“There are the Degas and the Van Goghs and the Renaissance masters here. This wouldn’t be a gallery if there weren’t.”
“That much makes sense. I’d read that you acquired Da Vinci’s Lady with the Ermine as well.”
“I’ve always been fond of weasels, what can I say?” he replied with a wink. “No, I have this here as the main hall so that everyone who steps through here not only has to see my culture—my people—but also has to admit how beautiful and unique it is.”
“Sometimes you forget,” she admitted, looking back at the photo of the children. “You hear so much on the news and even I forget, uh…”
“The real faces behind all of this? That it’s not some blanket term for camels and Bedouins out of Lawrence of Arabia? I know. A significant portion of all the gallery profits is going directly to helping us raise money for the infrastructure. I’m working out deals with the luxury vendors and sellers for some cuts there as well. I never forget my people or the responsibility I’ve been born into.” He felt his facial muscles tighten. “When you’re the eldest brother, you always remember everything that’s expected of the family line, every single obligation.”
“Because the Bahan line runs through you. One day you’ll not only rule Abu Dhabi, but you’ll be responsible for the next generations of sheikhs.”
“Well,” he added, chuckling and feeling a bit lighter. “My brothers have many children and lovely wives. If, for some reason, I remain a childless fuck-up—”
She slapped his arm playfully. “You don’t really get called a fuck-up.”
“Mother
never says it, but she heaves and sighs when the newest tabloid comes out, while wishing that I’d do more than waste my time with the flavor of the month.”
Amanda’s face took on a tight, pinched expression, and he wondered if he’d said the completely wrong thing. “Yes, it must be hard to think of giving up the life of a playboy billionaire to start a family.”
“It’s scarier to think of the future of thousands on my shoulders, actually. Some days, I can admit it. I’ve had a lot of fun, and yet something does feel like it’s missing. I’ve never really thought of myself as a father figure, though. My brothers seemed to take to the whole thing like ducks to water, but I just don’t know if I’m the same way.”
“May I ask why?” she pressed, even as he slipped under the velvet rope in the far corner and led her to the exhibit that wasn’t ready for the public.
It was still being secured, the final pieces not yet fully acquired. It was ready enough for a sneak peek, but it wasn’t ready for public scrutiny. He was glad for that, because he wanted to continue having private time with Amanda, to be near her and her gorgeous body without scrutiny. Not that he cared. His reputation did precede him, and he never argued or pretended that it wasn’t true. Still, he knew that would help keep Amanda at ease, help her stay honest.
“I think,” he said, as he led her deeper into the exhibit hall, “that I was nurturing once. I had a sister I loved and I cared for.”
“That twin bond, right?”
“Yes, and then she got sick and I lost her. I don’t know if I have that left in me anymore. If you have a family, then you can lose one as well, and that scares me more than anything.”
She pulled away from him then. At first, he assumed he’d said something that had upset her or driven her off. But he hadn’t. She hugged him tightly instead.
“I’m sorry about your sister. That’s horrible for you to live through, but I don’t think it means you should give up on having a family of your own someday. I can’t imagine how much it hurt, but I bet you’d be good with children, if you’re already a dedicated uncle.”
It did sound selfish to still act like a child when he had his country’s future to think of. But, at the same time, he’d lost someone so dear to him. What if he had a child and it grew sick? What if he held a son of all things in his hands, only to have that snatched back from him by a twist of fate? It wasn’t as if this area was always the safest, even as a tourist capital for the UAE.
After his sister…
Loss loomed so high, so why not party and enjoy things with few strings attached, such as wining and dining a certain reporter?
“Still, it must be a lonely way to live, to never think that you can ever have anything that good again.”
“I have fun, and one day I’m sure Mother and Father will arrange a suitable political union.”
“That’s a romantic way to describe marriage.”
“It’s the way things are here,” he said. “Sometimes it’s all about politics and keeping the correct alliances together. When it’s about practicality, you can’t always experience passion.”
“So that’s why you get it with a starlet or a model or an heiress where you can?”
He shook his head and walked ahead of her. “I’m not that transparent, am I?”
“Extremely,” she replied, smirking back at him. “I’m not really an art person, but this work is so amazing. I guess the best I can say is that I had some cheesy Klimt and Monet reproduction posters in my college dorm, but there’s something in these that really appeal to me. Odd, because of all things I never really felt like an abstract fan.”
“You like a face to actually look like a face?”
“Something like that,” she said, pointing to a painting before her that looked like a swirling mass of reds, browns, and blacks. “It just seems to touch my soul.”
“This is a special section of the exhibit. I’ve traveled to DC and Maryland before. There’s a museum in Baltimore that shows art only from artists who suffer from mental illness or depression.”
“The AVAM,” she said. “Now I know why this seems so familiar. They had an exhibit for their anniversary year and we don’t usually cover Baltimore, but it was interesting enough that they sent me, back when I hadn’t yet hit Metro. It’s not the same but it has the same…”
“Sense of chaos—that same need to just break out of everything,” he finished.
He circled back around her and reached out, stroking her hair back from her face, enjoying the silky texture of her curls and the sweet smell of her perfume—of those gardenias hanging lightly on the air.
“Sometimes, I think chaos is all we have,” he said, before kissing her.
***
Part of her wanted to scream that this was crazy, but on the other hand, part of her had wanted this since their first meeting in the office. After making out on the balcony, her body had burned for his. It helped that his security was standing outside the door of the exhibit hall like consiglieres for their don. No one was going to just wander into the recesses of the hall to oversee this.
Maybe he was right about some things. Commitments got messy; they led to pain and loss. And maybe Margery was right too, and she had been so focused on her work for too long. Maybe for just a night she could truly let herself go. It was just them in this room and nothing else.
His kisses continued and she felt his tongue tangling with her own, exploring her mouth. She let her hands stray over him. He was still in his tuxedo coat and formal shirt, so she couldn’t get a view of his body, but she’d seen the way clothes hung on him, the breadth of his shoulders and his slim, tapered waist.
Her fingers ran up his chest, feeling the muscles underneath her grip, before moving down over his abs and his belly button, down to the bulge that had been noticeable to her since they’d entered this part of the exhibit.
Reaching out, she cupped his hardness and massaged it through the fabric of his tuxedo pants. His manhood was thick and rigid against her hand, and it responded with an interested jerk. That spurred her on. Her hand continued its frantic stroking, feeling every ridge of his hardness. He moaned above her, a purr that seemed to reverberate through his entire chest, belying his satisfaction.
But that wasn’t enough for him, and she was glad for it.
Even as she stroked him, her hand encircling his manhood as best she could through the clothes between them, his hands were lifting her up and holding her firmly against a wall. He traced his fingers over the soft skin of her thigh, sliding them upward before pushing the cloth around the slit of the dress aside.
Amanda hissed when she felt his fingers probe further, stroking at the soft swell of her hips. His hands were smooth and well-manicured, a testament to the life of an aristocrat who was pampered and powerful in every way. She’d never had hands so fine touching her, tempting her. Then he eased to the edge of her thong, pushing aside the edge just enough to run his fingers through the curls at the apex of her thighs. She mewled as he caressed her and shivered against his body, surrendering to his touch.
“Please,” she said, her voice a whisper, desperate and wanting.
Now, both of his hands were at her waist, and with one hard tug her panties were ripped away. Amir pulled them back and brought them to his nose. “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you? I can smell your sweet nectar on every inch,” he said, his voice low and sultry. Then he grinned and shoved her panties in his pants pocket. “I think I’ll be keeping those for later.”
Frankly, Amanda didn’t care what he did. Her pearl was pulsing with her desire, and if he didn’t touch her womanhood soon, she’d never be able to bear it.
“Amir, please, I need you now,” she said, and this time she didn’t even recognize her voice. Her tone was throatier than she’d ever heard it before.
“I love to oblige, reporter,” he said, reaching his hands back to her body and lovingly skimming his fingers over her thighs one last time. “Spre
ad your legs for me, Amanda, and I’ll give you all the pleasure you can handle.”
She obliged, her body reacting now as higher thought had truly shut down in her brain. Wrapping her legs loosely around his waist, she let out a moan as his fingers caressed her most sensitive and secret lips. Her stomach flared with heat and her pearl pulsed even harder, so much so that she could barely concentrate enough to hold on to him. Then, when it felt she could no longer stand the teasing, Amir parted her petals and stretched his thumb to her rosebud, to that sensitive bundle of nerves that was waiting for him. His press was soft at first—circles that elicited a sizzle from her core, like a gentle thrum of electricity snaking out through her body. But, of course, her lover wasn’t going to stop there. His thumb’s pressure increased, tight and strong against her pleasure button, and then she was no longer just filled with hums of electricity.
It was like being caught in a thunderstorm, with bolts of lightning arching around her. The ambient electricity crackled around her, but had not yet surged through her completely. She was waiting for a strike.
Then Amir plunged two, thick fingers deep inside of her and his thumb moved into overdrive, pressing fast counterclockwise circles against her pearl. In and out, in and out, his fingers reached the depth of her core, until it was finally too much. She came then, the lightning finally striking her, lighting her whole body up in ecstasy.
When it was all over, she was left panting heavily before collapsing against his chest. Eventually, she came back to herself and looked up at him. “That was amazing.”
“That was only the beginning, Amanda,” he said, his low voice a promise and a threat at the same time. “I have to finish making the rounds for the next hour or so, but after that, I want to help you get away, to show you some of Abu Dhabi as I know it.” Grinning, he lowered the volume of his voice to a whisper. “I’m going to make you come so hard all weekend that you’ll forget your own name.”
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