1
The call came just a few hours before dawn. Rashid, the middle brother in the powerful Sharif Sheikh family, had only crawled into bed an hour before the phone started to ring.
And ring . . . and ring . . . and ring.
Finally, with a loud growl, he rolled over and picked it up. “You’d better be dying,” he hissed to his friend, Arvio. When the man started to slur, Rashid grunted. “Put Karam on the phone. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
A moment later, Karam came on the line. There had been a time when the three of them had been as thick as thieves, but when his family had begun struggling, Rashid had pulled away in order to focus on business pursuits. Karam and Arvio both took offense.
“Rashid,” Karam crowed. “We’re in need of some assistance.”
Sitting up, Rashid pushed the silk sheets off the bed. “What kind of assistance?” he asked warily.
“We seem to be stranded at the Al Qasr. Would you be able to come and get us?”
“It’s a hotel. Spend the night,” Rashid snapped. “Unless you’re getting kicked out again.” Karam and Arvio both came from prominent families, but they had a reputation for their partying ways, and often management wasn’t able to overlook their destructive behavior. Both Karam and Arvio’s families were on the verge of cutting them off, and the men—no doubt—didn’t want to call their own drivers to come get them.
For a moment, he considered telling them that they were on their own. Rashid had too many responsibilities to deal with their immature crap, but they had been friends for a long time, and he knew that he hadn’t been very supportive of them lately. What had started as friendship had begun to feel more like a babysitting job. He had responsibilities, even as the middle son, and they didn’t seem to understand that.
“I’ll come get you—but, Karam? This is the last time,” he muttered. He knew that he’d said that the last twenty times, but he was at the end of his rope. It was four in the morning, and he had a meeting to attend in the morning.
Rather than waking one of the drivers, he grabbed his keys and went to the garage himself. Picking a dark sedan—something that would be a bit more inconspicuous than the other cars—he hit the empty streets, reaching the luxury hotel in record time.
Nodding to the doorman, he took the steps two at a time and entered the lobby. The eyes of the night receptionist widened as the man recognized him. “Sheikh Sharif,” he gasped. “I must apologize. I did not realize that you were staying with us.”
“I’m not. I’m here for Karam and Arvio. I assume they’re in the penthouse suite?”
The receptionist looked as if he’d like to say more, and Rashid gritted his teeth. “I’m here to take them home. Don’t worry.”
Relief swept over the man’s face as he nodded.
Entering the elevator, Rashid looked forward to the tongue-lashing that he was going to give his friends.
On the top floor, the elevator opened to the hallway leading to the prestigious luxury suites. A peppy beat was causing the walls to vibrate, and Rashid sighed. It appeared that his two friends weren’t just drunk. They were having a party.
Fabulous.
He pounded on the door with bruising force and then crossed his arms, waiting.
Arvio swung the door open and grinned at him. “Hey! Rashid is here! Now the party really can begin.”
Glancing into the room, Rashid frowned. Arvio was stark naked, and there wasn’t anyone else in the room. “Get Karam and put some clothes on. You’re leaving.”
“Oh, we can’t leave yet,” Arvio whined. “Things are just starting to get good. Wait until you see the surprise we have for you.”
He skipped drunkenly through the common area and into one of the bedrooms.
Ready to throttl
e his friends, Rashid followed, only to stop dead at the sight before him. Karam, taking a break from his bedroom activities, languished by the window. It wasn’t the naughty scene before him that made Rashid panic but the two women in the bed.
He recognized them instantly because he’d met them only days ago when he’d attended with his father and brothers the international conference that was hosted in Dubai every year.
The bedmates weren’t hookers. They were the daughters of prestigious Italian and Polish diplomats.
Enraged, Rashid brought his fist around and hit Arvio squarely in the jaw. “What were you thinking?” he bellowed. “If their fathers find out, there will be hell to pay!”
The girls shrieked and covered themselves. “How are they going to find out unless you tell?” the gorgeous Italian asked, her voice slurring more with every word.
Rashid searched his memory for their names. The dark-haired Italian beauty was Valentina Ricci, and the Polish blonde bombshell was Ania Kowalski.
“The press have been following you ladies around all week. Do you really think they wouldn’t spot you with Dubai’s most notorious playboys?”