Rylee had been mortified to be found on top of Shelton as they made love, riding him like there was no tomorrow in their marital bed by none other than his wife! And to be informed that they were still married on top of that had been the icing on the cake. The remaining year of her residency had been excruciating. She’d had to work with the man side by side after he’d lied to her, and to constantly fight his advances. He’d tasted some of Rylee, and he wanted more. But she was made of strong stock and managed to keep him at bay as she continued with her studies. She was going to become a vet, no matter what.
Looking back on the experience now, Rylee supposed it had made her stronger. Yet by the same token, it had made her wary of smooth-talking men and false promises. And today, with all this talk of accompanying Jeremy to the very place where her drama with Shelton had played out, she reflected on her sexual inadequacies. She’d never been able to have an orgasm except by way of oral sex. If a man as suave, fine and accomplished as Shelton Gray couldn’t make her come alive in the bedroom, Jeremy certainly couldn’t do it either.
“We could make it a girl’s trip,” her best friend, Camryn Sanders, chimed in beside Rylee, breaking her from her thoughts. “You know, hit all the big parties. It would be a chance to wear a fabulous dress and a fancy hat.”
“When have you ever seen me in a fancy hat?” Rylee replied.
“Well … never,” Camryn admitted with a blush. “But it’s time to give it a try. I promise. And when have I ever steered you wrong?”
Rylee was more comfortable in jeans and a cowboy hat than she’d ever been playing dress-up like other girls. Hell, even tonight, she couldn’t wait to take off the spaghetti-strap dress and spiky sandals her sister-in-law, the top-selling pop singer and media best-dressed list favorite, Chynna James Hart, had insisted she wear. Camryn, on the other hand, although full-figured, was rocking a cocktail dress and stilettos along with impeccable makeup.
Rylee gave her friend’s ensemble an admiring look, although it wouldn’t be her own fashion choice.
“It would really mean a lot to me if you came along,” Jeremy said, squeezing Rylee’s shoulder.
Rylee looked down at his arm and then back across at her father, who she could see was silently pleading with her to say yes. “Okay. Okay, I’ll go.” What choice did she have? She’d been caged in not only by Jeremy and Camryn, but by wanting to please her father.
“You’ll see, it’ll be the time of our lives,” Camryn replied.
Rylee highly doubted it, but she would give it the old college try.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Chynna Hart asked Rylee when she saw her later that night, nursing a glass of Shiraz. “I thought you’d be happy for Noah and me.”
Rylee had been excited to hear her brother Noah and Chynna’s big announcement that evening — they were going to become parents, which Rylee knew was a big deal for Noah. He’d lost his first love and wife, Maya, and their unborn child in a tragic car accident three years ago. Noah had endured a lot of pain, and she was thankful he’d found love with Chynna. Rylee adored her.
“I am happy for you two,” Rylee said, squeezing Chynna’s hand. “But I’m surprised Daddy hasn’t filled everyone in on the news that I’ve agreed to go with Jeremy to Louisville.”
Chynna’s brow furrowed. She knew Rylee wasn’t interested in Jeremy in a romantic sense. “How did that happen?”
Rylee shrugged. “You know, the usual — Daddy and Jeremy ganging up on and me. And did I happen to mention that my BFF” — glass still in hand, Rylee pointed to Camryn — “added fuel to the fire by telling them how much fun we’d have.”
“You probably will,” Chynna offered. “I sure had a blast the first time I went to the Derby. The clothes, the parties. It’s all very sophisticated. Being invited to sing made me feel like I’d arrived.”
“Easy for you to say,” Rylee replied. “You don’t have someone following you around like a puppy dog.”
“He’s easy on the eyes. You could do worse.”
Rylee gave an exaggerated sigh. “Or I could do much better.”
“What are you looking for, Rylee?” Chynna asked. She’d only known her sister-in-law for a year, but there were still parts of Rylee that were a secret.
“I don’t know,” Rylee said, shrugging. She’d always felt she’d know Mr. Right when the moment came, would feel it someplace deep in her belly, but she’d yet to meet him. “What I do know is, Jeremy isn’t it.”
“C’mon, Rylee, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Camryn said on their limo ride to the private airport where Jeremy’s jet — actually his father’s jet — awaited to whisk them away. Rylee was sure Jeremy was using it as a ploy to show off. It was too bad she wasn’t interested in what he was selling.
“I won’t be a spoilsport,” Rylee replied. “I told you I would embrace the experience, and I will.” She’d agreed to go shopping with Camryn in Louisville and update her wardrobe from her usual fare of plaid shirt and jeans to something more sophisticated for the Derby.
Camryn rubbed her hands in anticipation. This trip would be a colorful respite from her job answering letters for her relationship advice column at a small daily newspaper. “This is going to be so much fun. I get to dress you up.”
Rylee rolled her eyes. She could imagine what she was in for and what Camryn would have her wearing for the myriad Derby events.
The limo came to a stop several minutes later, and the chauffeur came around to open the door for her and Camryn and assist them out. The jet waited on the tarmac.
“This is so awesome,” Camryn gushed as they climbed the exterior staircase. “I’ve never been on a private jet before.”
As for Rylee, it was only her second ride on one. Last year, Chynna had sent her jet to Tucson to pick up Noah and Rylee so they could fly out and meet her on a tour stop. There wouldn’t be much of those for a while because Chynna planned on taking sabbatical from singing to enjoy being a newlywed and a new mom.
Rylee would enjoy being an aunt, because she could have her fill of babies as much as she wanted with her niece or nephew and then hand them back to their parents. Oddly enough, she’d never thought about having kids herself. She had always assumed she’d be Aunt Rylee to Noah’s kids because her younger brother, Caleb, sure wasn’t having any unless he happened to knock someone up. It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids, she just wasn’t sure she’d ever meet Mr. Right. She’d certainly encountered her share of Mr. Wrongs.
“Thank you,” Rylee said, accepting the hand offered her by the chauffeur, and ascended the stairs.
Jeremy was waiting for them. She had to admit that Chynna was right — he was an attractive man. His hair was clipped short, and he had a broad nose, full lips and a goatee that suited him. He was casually dressed in jeans, a crisp white shirt and a casual linen blazer. “Ladies,” he said, rising to greet them. When he reached Rylee, he gave her a quick hug and a kiss and did the same to Camryn. “Have a seat.” He gestured beside him.
“Thank you, Jeremy,” Rylee said. “This is really lovely.”
“Anything for you,” Jeremy replied, holding her gaze. Undisguised adoration filled his eyes.
Rylee half-smiled to mask her distress.
“I’m so happy to have you on this trip, looking after Dreamer,” Jeremy said. “I know everyone thinks I’m crazy and that she’s a long shot to win the Derby, but I just have a feeling, ya know” — he patted his stomach — “that’s she’s meant for greatness. I sent her trainer, Hank, ahead of us with her to Louisville.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Rylee said. “Sometimes we have to listen to our gut, and usually it doesn’t steer us wrong. And I’m here to help with Dreamer and ensure you have a healthy horse come Derby day.”
“I know you will,” Jeremy said, patting her knee. “When your father told me you interned at Pembroke, I knew asking you to come was th
e right thing. Why did you leave Golden Oaks, if you don’t mind my asking, and go to Pembroke?”
Rylee shrugged. Speaking about her time in Louisville was her least favorite subject, but she knew Jeremy was just being sociable and even Camryn stopped reading the magazine she’d brought with her to hear the answer. Rylee had never even told Camryn what had happened between her and Dr. Gray. She’d been too embarrassed to say she’d been a sucker and fallen for a married man.
“Well …” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I just needed to get off the ranch, see another way of life. You know my father. He’d have been content if I stayed on the ranch and never left, but I wanted to explore the world and have new experiences. Not to mention Pembroke was world-renowned for their care of thoroughbreds and stallions.”
“They sure are,” Jeremy added.
“As long as she has a strong jockey and a good trainer, Dreamer will do great,” Rylee assured.
“Enough about horses,” Camryn said, “as I have little to add to this conversation. Tell us about all the parties.”
Thankfully, Camryn’s animated interest about Derby fashion and fetes had kept the flight from Tucson to Kentucky from being a bore, and Rylee arrived hopeful that her week in Louisville would be better than her last experience.
A limousine greeted them at the airport and whisked them to the historic Brown Hotel, which was less than fifteen minutes from Louisville’s International Airport. A uniformed bellman opened the doors, and luxury and grandeur greeted and overwhelmed Rylee as she walked on the marble floors. She was a hick by no means, as Golden Oaks was an established and well-respected dude ranch, but she felt like a fish out of water wearing her cowboy boots.
“This is fabulous,” Camryn gushed, squeezing her arm.
“You’re telling me.” Rylee admired the ornate two-story lobby, with its hand-painted ceilings, decorative crown mouldings, golden chandeliers, fine china and opulent paintings.
“I can’t believe we’ll be staying in a place like this,” her friend said with open-mouthed glee.
“We’re just as good as any of these fine people,” Rylee whispered, trying to help Camryn regain her composure. She’d noticed several onlookers staring in their direction. She suspected not many people of color frequented the establishment, and she didn’t want a spotlight on them. “C’mon,” she said, tugging Camryn’s arm, and together they met Jeremy at the front desk.
The attendant was handing Jeremy their room key cards when they arrived.
“Ladies,” Jeremy said, handing each of them a key card, “your rooms are on the ninth floor. Unfortunately, we are on different floors since I booked my room several months ago, but I won’t be far if you need me.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Rylee said, “but thanks again.” She quickly tugged Camryn’s arm and began down the hall.
“Dinner at seven at the English Grill?” Jeremy called out after them.
Rylee turned back around long enough to say, “Sure! See you then.”
“You really aren’t interested in him, are you?” Camryn said when they stepped onto the elevator. “He’s not all bad you know. He has a good heart.”
“I know that, Camryn, really I do,” Rylee said. “It’s just that I’m not attracted to Jeremy in that way. And the more he tries, the more I retreat.”
Camryn shrugged. “I wish I had a man that fine with money in the bank that was interested in me and willing to take me and my best friend to Louisville in the hopes he could charm the pants off me.”
“Then you should go after him,” Rylee encouraged.
“No can do. As much as I love you, girl, I don’t want your sloppy seconds. And more importantly, it’s against girlfriend code. I can’t hook up with one of your men any more than you could hook up with one of mine.”
Rylee leaned over and hugged Camryn. “And that’s why I love you, because you’re the best BFF ever!”
“You can say that again!”
Amar al’ Mahmud arrived at the Brown Hotel several moments later and jumped out of the limousine, not waiting for the driver to open the door for him. Most of the business world and his colleagues knew Mahmud as Amar Bishop, self-made media tycoon with interests online and in publishing and television.
Amar looked around the hotel, assessing its décor.
“Will this do, sir?” Sharif Khoury, Amar’s assistant, asked.
“This will do just fine.”
Amar walked inside the hotel with a regal bearing that imitated that of his father, Sheikh Abdul al’ Mahmud, King of Nasir, a small country outside of Dubai. His carriage and height were probably all that Amar would willingly agree that he’d taken from his father. As for his clothing, it was all Amar. He was immaculately dressed in a charcoal Armani suit made of the finest materials, and he wore Ferragamo shoes.
Amar took a phone call while Sharif checked them into the Muhammad Ali Suite that he’d prearranged to have for his boss for the week. Only the best would do.
Amar finished his call and noticed several onlookers staring at him. He should have been used to it by now, but he wasn’t. He knew they were puzzling over his facial features —
dark eyes, bushy eyebrows, a broad nose and full lips — trying to figure out his heritage. Is he African-American, Mediterranean or of Arab descent? He was all of them. His mother, Camilla Bishop, an African-American professor of American Studies, had met and fallen in love with his father while he’d been in the U.S on a mission to become more cultured in the American way of life. His father had certainly done that when he’d met Camilla, sired Amar and begun an affair that would last nearly a decade, even after he’d married a suitable mate.
Amar nodded at several patrons as he walked over to Sharif. “Is the room ready?” If they couldn’t figure out his heritage, they could most definitely ascertain Sharif’s because he had the same olive-tone complexion and smooth jet-black hair of most men of Arabic descent, though he wore American clothing of a pullover and trousers.
“Yes, sir. Follow me.” Sharif motioned for the bellman to follow him with their luggage.
They took the elevator in silence to the room, and when they arrived, Sharif instructed the bellman on where to put Amar’s belongings while he surveyed the suite.
Amar appreciated Sharif’s attention to detail, but he hadn’t always been at his side. Before, Amar had been all alone, content with his solitary lifestyle, but that had not suited his father, the Sheikh. He’d wanted eyes on Amar. His father had agreed to leave Amar be, if he agreed to have someone, i.e., Sharif, to look after him properly as benefitting the son of noble blood. Amar didn’t see why, since everyone in Nasir considered him a bastard and only tolerated his presence during the summers when he was permitted to visit their precious kingdom. But eventually, he’d consented if only to get the Sheikh off his back.
The Muhammad Ali Suite was exactly what Amar had come to expect after cultivating a life of luxury the last five years after his company took off. The one-bedroom accommodations were masculine and richly decorated and nearly the size of an apartment. Memorabilia from Ali’s heyday, including photos and boxing gloves, were sprinkled throughout the room. It had a king-sized poster bed and a marble Jacuzzi tub which Amar intended to take full advantage of with one of the ladies he would meet this weekend. It even had a dining room with hardwood floors, a wet bar and comfortable living area. It would suit his needs very well.
“If there isn’t anything else, Amar, I’ll get settled in my room,” Sharif stated.
“That’ll be all for now. Thank you, Sharif.”
“You’re welcome.” As Sharif closed the door, it still surprised him that Amar actually thanked those under his employ, unlike some other important people of Nasir.
Now alone, Amar sunk into the plush couch and looked down at his iPhone. There were two missed calls from his father. What does he want now? Wasn’
t it enough that he’d agreed to watch over his horse during the Derby this week? Horses were about the one thing he and his father shared a love of. Otherwise, Amar would have no use for the man who he blamed for his mother’s death.
After all they’d been through together, the Sheikh couldn’t even be bothered to attend his mother’s funeral. Sure, he’d seen to it that all her medical bills were paid, but that wasn’t what had killed her at fifty-four. Truth be told, it was losing his father. Even though she remarried for a short time when he was older, Amar doubted she’d ever really forgotten his father. He remembered how she’d always been on hand whenever the Sheikh visited the U.S. for a quickie with his mother, his favorite mistress — the mistress his father couldn’t be seen with in public for fear of his reputation.
Reputation, family and honor were everything in Nasir. It’s why his father, Abdul, had married Saffron, because Abdul’s father had prearranged the marriage long ago. It sounded so prehistoric to Amar, but that was the way of the world over there. And it would be that way with his younger half-brother, Khalid, next in line in the royal succession. In the eyes of Nasir, Khalid was the rightful heir to the throne because his mother was of noble descent, even though Amar was the oldest son and by all accounts should be King. But Amar didn’t want their old ways and traditions — he scoffed at them. He was happy the duties fell to Khalid. He wanted to live his life on his own terms.
And Amar had done just that. Born and raised in the U.S., he had freedoms Khalid and Khalid’s younger brother, Tariq, would never have, while still going to the best colleges and boarding schools that money could buy. He supposed that was Abdul’s way of showing his love — by throwing his money at him.
Harts of Arizona Series Page 37
