by Sophia Lynn
“Fire you? I don’t imagine any of your coworkers has brought in a client offering what I am.”
“That doesn’t matter to him.”
Aziz pursed his lips. “You should quit. Don’t hang onto this old carcass just because you are afraid.”
“Who said I was afraid?” Laine pushed past him to reach her desk.
“Why else would you work for a small man like that? Brandt himself does not do the work. He hires other people to do it for him, and he tries to make them small. You are much better than this place. Leave and don’t look back!”
Laine swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat. That was right. She was leaving. She had basically issued an ultimatum to her boss over taking this job in Bahrain. When had she decided? With a slow, irritated breath, she realized it must have been the moment that it became clear he would take this job from her without a second thought. Mr. Brandt would take everything from her that he could and turn around to her male coworkers with the praises and raises.
Still, making a huge life decision because she was pissed was hardly the action of the rational woman she prided herself on being. But she couldn't go to Mr. Brandt’s office now and take it back.
“Just so you understand,” Laine said. “I’m coming in an official capacity only. There will be times when I’ll need your input, and hopefully, you won’t be too busy flirting with other women to help me get this job done.”
“Ahh. You are jealous. Why not just say so?” Aziz laughed and moved to slip his arms around her waist. She moved away and crossed her arms imperiously. Aziz’s grin only grew wider. “Again, you make me work for what I want.”
Laine turned her head slowly as Aziz began to circle around her. He reached over to the window that faced the rest of the office and drew the blinds closed. Then, he lowered his hand to lock the door.
“We had our fun. But now I’m your employee. This is my career. It’s important to me!” Laine trailed off as Aziz unbuckled his belt. She remembered the energy between them only a few days before and how she missed his scent and his heat against her body.
“Your career is also very important to me. I don’t intend to damage it in any way,” Aziz assured her. “Or you. Unless you ask me to.”
When Aziz approached her again, his hands grabbed her hips and pushed her back against her desk. It rattled slightly, and Laine looked behind her at the papers and the frame with a picture of her father inside.
“You are angry,” Aziz whispered. “Show me your fire, tiger.”
Kissing Aziz hungrily, she turned the picture over and began to caress the back of his neck. His hands moved up and down her sides, and within moments, she was letting his big hands push up her skirt.
Her panties disappeared easily, and she restrained a gasp when she felt two large, rough fingers entering her. She bit her lip and arched her back as Aziz put his fingers to work, stroking and teasing in the most expert way, and causing her muscles to tighten and jump with anticipation for more.
Laine bowed her head over his shoulder and let his body muffle her panting. Aziz stroked the back of her hair and moved his hands to lift her easily. She pushed away the trinkets and picture frames that littered the edge of her desk before Aziz laid her back on a bed of files, drawings, and hastily scribbled notes. He loosened several buttons on the front of her blouse as he nibbled his way down her chest, then slipped one hand into her bra. His thumb teased over her waiting nipple, making it stand erect before his lips moved over it with gentle, open-mouthed kisses.
Laine’s head fell back and her lips opened in a silent cry. She looked at the skyline outside of her office as her breasts ached and her core throbbed with need. A soft shush and thump told her his pants had hit the floor.
“Aziz…please…”
“Hm…Is it not inappropriate?” he murmured against her flesh.
“Nothing about you is appropriate. It’s part of your charm,” Laine teased.
Aziz swirled his tongue around her areola and then gave her nipple a wet suck as he rubbed the other gently with his fingers.
“Fuck appropriate,” Laine gasped.
“Is that all you want?”
“Fuck me,” she begged.
Roughly, one of his hands gripped her hip, and the other lifted her knee up. Laine felt his hot thickness entering her. This time he pushed harder and faster but she opened up for him just the same as a flower starving for the light. She was slick in anticipation already—Aziz clearly knew how to make a woman’s body respond—and her fingers grasped at his shoulder, as if trying to pull him deeper inside of her.
The desk shook underneath her and little, needful noises escaped her lips in spite of her attempts to stay quiet. Before long, her body jerked and clenched as heat and pleasure bloomed against his hard length pressing into her soft flesh. Aziz stroked her face as she came and then furrowed his brow and locked his hips, thrusting deep inside her.
Laine’s eyelids fluttered. Spent, he leaned over her on the desk and brushed his nose over hers.
“You are coming with me,” Aziz said impishly.
“I am,” Laine vowed. She looked up into his hazel green eyes and let herself relax for a moment.
It would be too easy to get lost in them, and she couldn’t do it, not with a man like this, who could have his choice of practically any woman in the world. But oh, how fun it was, to want something like this adventure, which was no good for her and which she shouldn’t want. For the first time in a long time, Laine simply let herself want. It might be temporary, but she could take what Aziz was offering, for now.
Chapter Seven
Understanding that she would be going to what was essentially a palace and actually standing in the expansive foyer were two entirely different things. Even the outside of the palace, where Laine had marveled at the modern architectural touches blended with classic Middle Eastern style, had not prepared her to stare up at the ceiling and feel breathless from the sight. It hadn’t prepared her to see lush, flowering plants spilling out of pots all around them or mosaic designs climbing up every impossibly high surface. Laine knew she should follow Aziz, but she couldn’t take her eyes from the ornate windows letting the sun flood into the foyer.
Dizziness washed over Laine, and in a moment, she found herself staring straight up at the ceiling in Aziz’s arms.
“Are you well?” Aziz sat her up.
“I just…got lightheaded,” she murmured. “You have a lovely home.”
Aziz combed her hair out of her eyes. “The heat, I think. It takes some getting used to. We’re not in New York anymore.”
“I got that the moment we stepped off your jet.” Laine took a deep breath and leaned back against Aziz’s chest. She’d tried to dress appropriately. The research she’d been able to do before their trip told her that Bahrain’s culture wouldn’t demand that she, a foreigner, remain covered from head to toe. Still, she hadn’t anticipated what it would feel like to walk around in 104-degree weather.
Aziz helped Laine back to her feet and kept his hand on her back. “You may find that skirts will keep you cooler than slacks, though I know you prefer them. I have arranged for some clothes to be waiting for you in your room.”
“You bought me clothes?” Laine took a deep breath and looked at the old paintings hung around the hallways.
“I had someone I trust select some items. You can decide which ones you like. It shouldn’t be a problem for you to be a bit more comfortable behind our walls, particularly in your room and your office. Out in public, I trust you will exercise good judgment.”
“I don’t plan on spending that much time adventuring around Bahrain, although I’m sure it’s very nice,” Laine said.
“But you must see our country! What’s the point of being in a beautiful, foreign place if you don’t take the time to immerse yourself?”
“The point, as far as I understood it, was to decorate this beautiful, foreign palace.” Laine paused to take in a huge antique vase that could probably be
displayed in the national museum. “This palace that doesn’t seem to need a decorator.”
“Oh, but it does. I’ve had the façade renovated to be more modern, but as you can see, the rest of the palace is practically a mausoleum!” Aziz threw a hand in the air.
Laine smiled. “It’s not that bad.”
“Bahrain has made a name for itself in the new millennium. We have a diverse population and a robust economy. We have two waterparks—in the desert! And we have many women in our parliament,” Aziz informed her. “It is proper that our economic leaders reflect the strengths of our people: Good, God, and progress.”
Laine watched Aziz’s expression grow intense and proud. It was a welcome change from the ostensibly carefree playboy. While she adored the playboy more than was good for her, seeing how much Aziz cared about his country made her heart flutter a little. It was also a nice change to see him out of his suits. He seemed a little more accessible in his patterned shirt, which had peach colored vines spreading out over a red background across his breast, and red over peach on his sleeves. When he was at work, something like this would be covered by a crisp suit.
Aziz led her to her room, which was easily the size of her entire apartment in New York, and vowed to her that from this day forth, he would not be present there unless he had her explicit invitation. That moment of chivalry seemed strange after they’d gotten sweaty together in a limo, her office, and a private jet, but it was in keeping with the tone of her time here so far.
Laine sat on a bed so large she couldn’t reach two ends of it even if she stretched herself from tip to toe. The duvet was lusciously silky to the touch, and a rich emerald green canopy hung over the bed and down the sides, the end tied back for the moment with wide sashes. It would be like sleeping in a sequestered tent.
Once she’d taken in the sheer enormity of her room, Laine turned her attention to the racks of clothing waiting for her. She had to admit that the ornate dresses, blowing slightly with the breeze of an air conditioning vent looked a lot more comfortable than the business wear that she had packed. Her luggage was already sitting meekly by the bed, delivered by some invisible staff member. The red upright she’d gotten on sale from a big box store held just enough for her daily routine for a week or so. She’d brought far more samples and materials for her work decorating the palace.
Laine ran her hands over the dresses and skirts that Aziz had provided. How had he known what she would like? Even though he’d introduced himself based on the dress she’d been wearing, she hadn’t imagined that he was that interested in women’s clothing. Perhaps one of the designers, or a personal assistant? Regardless, each was lovely, and seemed to be close to her size.
With a little smile, Laine selected a long dress that was purple on the sleeves and sides and faded to a pretty pink in the middle. She would shower, change, and wear this one to dinner. She could consider it a perk of the job, after all, and she needed to refresh herself, so that she could explore the palace properly and begin sketching and taking notes for her designs.
***
The palace seemed endless. Laine got lost twice wandering through room after room, trying to wrap her head around designing for a home this large. Should she give each room a separate theme? Should the themes progress from room to room? Should she try to infuse Aziz’s culture and family history, or should she steer clear of things she knew nothing about?
The task was daunting, both in its size and for the fact she was jeopardizing her career to be here. There really was no option but to do a magnificent job.
Eventually, one of the servants approached her and offered to show her to the dining room. Deciding that she should tackle the problem in the morning after a good night’s sleep—provided Aziz made good on his promise not to enter her room—Laine followed the servant as she reviewed her notes in her head.
The dining room, like all the rooms, was enormous. The table stretched so long that Laine imagined no fewer than fifty businessmen sitting around it and chatting about sales and import tariffs. Instead, only one person sat at the table, and when Laine drew closer, she realized that it wasn’t Aziz. It was a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, wearing a flowing scarf over her head, with a row of jewels sewn along the edge where her hairline would be.
The woman rose as Laine approached, raked her eyes over Laine, and tilted her head to the side. “I thought that one would look lovely on you,” she said. “I told Aziz you would like it, and he would like you in it.”
Laine’s chest tightened as she found herself arrested by the young woman’s large green eyes. She was captivating, almost doll-like in her features. These were, in turn, enhanced by dark sweeping eyeliner and a well-contoured cheek, which didn’t need much enhancement to begin with. Laine might have burned in envy for those cheekbones even if they were bare. The woman’s long dress only enhanced her beauty and fell kindly over soft curves suggesting a lush figure hidden by modesty. Laine was both jealous and mesmerized.
“Oh,” she murmured. She was sure her cheeks were turning red under the woman’s approving scrutiny. Where was Aziz? “Thank you.”
The woman took another step toward Laine, parting her plump, mauve lips, and squeezed Laine’s shoulder affectionately. “I am sorry that Aziz will not be joining us for dinner tonight. He was called to the capital on business, and he’s been traveling so long that it could not be postponed. But I assured him that you and I could very well introduce ourselves.”
Her smile exuded warmth and a vibrancy of spirit.
And that was when Laine realized who this woman was.
“Are you Hadiya?” Laine asked. When the woman nodded, Laine grew warm again, but this time with embarrassment for having grown so jealous of Aziz’s little sister.
Hadiya took Laine by the arm and led her to a seat. “We’ll dine together. Our rooms are close. We don’t keep entirely separated from the men, but I told my brothers you would likely feel more comfortable in the house with a woman for company. Aziz is so silly, bringing women here on their own.”
“But you live here, don’t you?” Laine asked.
“Sometimes I do. Like our eldest brother Amin, I tend to spend more time in Manama.” Hadiya shrugged and touched Laine’s shoulder. “We are quite out of the way here in our family home.”
Hadiya lifted her other hand to signal the servant. They had a series of light dips with vegetables and pita bread to start, and a cool, refreshing drink from exquisite goblets. Hadiya opened Laine up easily, asking gentle questions about her work and her plans for her time there, without prying too deeply into Laine’s feelings about Aziz.
Laine had to wonder if Hadiya had been put up to this task more than once.
“Maybe you can give me some guidance about my designs as I go.” Laine licked a bit of some kind of spread that had been mixed with tahini from her fingers. “Aziz said that he wants something modern, but it feels like it would be a sin to just tear down all of this history and start fresh with—” Laine shrugged, “something post-modern or entirely Western.”
Hadiya tapped her index finger on the table. “You have to keep him balanced. It is a point of stubbornness with Aziz. He thinks he knows best; he thinks he knows what he wants…but he is not always right, and he changes his mind.”
Laine swallowed. Of course Aziz was fickle. A man that powerful could afford to be.
“Does he really want me to redecorate this whole palace?” Laine asked bluntly. “I’m not the first woman he’s bought here on a whim, am I?”
“Hardly.” Hadiya giggled. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t really want you to do this. He wouldn’t waste your time like that, and he did spend a good deal of time looking for a designer who he liked enough to bother with.”
“But he may decide afterward that he’d like something else better,” Laine surmised.
Hadiya placed her hand over Laine’s. “If so, I will tell him that he must keep your best work. If nothing else, the Amirmoez family values art.”
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Laine blushed and laughed softly. “You and Aziz are a lot alike.”
“This may be true. I don’t travel as much as he does, however.”
Laine didn’t doubt that there were other differences. But Hadiya’s energy made Laine realize she missed having Aziz here, and she was disappointed that he wouldn’t see her in this dress. Instead, he was in Manama, doing business deals and probably flirting with—and perhaps assaulting fountains with—other girls. It was a necessary reminder to Laine that she needed to keep her mind on work, even if she couldn’t stop letting Aziz distract her body.
Chapter Eight
The next few days Laine spent on her own or with Hadiya, developing a plan for the palace. Laine would’ve run her ideas by Aziz, but with each day of his absence, she grew more annoyed and less apologetic about moving forward with her plans. She was, after all, on a deadline. One that she’d made a huge deal about, and one that promised either great rewards or a spectacular firing.
Laine elected to make only light changes to rooms that Hadiya suggested would be used for business reasons. Even though Bahrain was more progressive than its neighboring countries, Laine suspected that many of Aziz’s business associates and government officials would appreciate a more traditional approach. Laine could highlight the cultural history more in those rooms, while keeping her editorial touches structural in nature. It would be a good compromise that Aziz could live with after she was gone. Although Hadiya had confirmed that Amin and the rest of the family lived in Manama most of the time, there were rooms they might use for business or simply for a visit. It would be awkward to have highly abstract or ‘provocative’ art of the kind that Aziz liked in rooms that potentially conservative CEOs or state officials would frequent.
Laine slipped into one of her comfortable painting outfits to test glue and paint against a wall. Half of her wallpaper samples had disintegrated in the heat before she could even open the boxes, and she needed to see how the surviving supplies would perform. She would certainly need to be flexible with both her concepts and materials.
