“You make it sound like I have a harem.”
“Well, the amount of heiresses you have in your Rolodex should almost count,” his brother countered.
“Maybe the city that never sleeps doesn’t appeal to me like it does to you. I have little use for museum after museum and the art galleries.”
“Some of us didn’t sleep through the cultural classes at Oxford.”
“If it doesn’t help build our empire, then it’s not relevant,” Bahan said, waving his left hand dismissively as they both started to walk again. “I suppose I miss the delights that Yemen or even Europe can offer me.”
“Then maybe you could at least remove that stick from your ass, brother, and try something more while you’re here. There’s a club called The Wild Orchid, and I’ve been there a few times while I’ve been prepping our emporium. I highly recommend it.”
“Because the girls are actually worthy in comparison to minor European royalty?” he asked, yawning a bit. So far, he’d rarely found an American worth talking to. Their bluntness was not often something he found endearing, to say the least. “Or do you just have a certain taste for women on the bus from Queens?”
“I’m serious. It’s a great club. Just give it a shot. I swear the women there can change your life.”
***
There was a sofa on the second floor of the club. They’d been able to find it after an hour or more on the dance floor had left them both exhausted and sweaty. Bahan didn’t mind. He grinned down at his little Goldilocks before him and started stroking her shoulder, feeling the soft, creamy skin beneath his palm.
“Well, Jennifer, you’re definitely one of the better dance partners I’ve had over the years.”
The woman before him was ravishing. She was short and curvy, her hips and breasts filling out the fabric of her dress marvelously. Her golden hair was like an unruly mane that spilled over her shoulders and down her back while eyes as blue and clear as the Mediterranean blinked back at him through long, thick lashes. Everything about her was sensual, felt like a real woman. Fareed had often teased him for his preference for curves, but Bahan had never understood that rail-thin trend that was especially prevalent in the States. He always wanted to have something to hold on to in the night, something to make his grasp worthwhile. With Jennifer, he’d definitely found the soft curves he wanted to caress for the night and, perhaps, beyond.
She crinkled her nose, an almost rabbit-like motion, and laughed. “That might be a more flattering bit of praise if I knew how many women you’d danced with. Is it as many as the women you’ve slept with?”
“Duly noted,” he said, grinning despite himself at the ice in her tone. “I’ve had a busy and, shall we say, entertaining life. I make no secret of that. But I’ve rarely met a woman who could move like you on the dance floor,” he said, letting his hand dip lower, tracing patterns only he knew across her arm and then over her abdomen. The dress wasn’t made of silk or satin, but it still felt smooth and cool against his hand. Something else he loved about her tonight. “Were you ever a dancer?”
“Not really. I did some ballet as a kid but broke ranks with my mom by the time I was eleven. I did love to club a lot in college. That always helped keep me sane. I’d be working on a huge project or stressed about midterms, but I could always come out on the floor at the local clubs, dance for hours, and let all of my fears just flit away. I think that was what made the difference. I could actually be free. I never let loose enough. My sister likes to joke that I’m just…”
“Tense. I think our siblings would like each other,” he said, smiling back at her. “Or they might be the same person. But maybe that comes with being the older sibling. I just assume you are.”
“I am. Are you psychic now too?” she asked, her blue eyes darkening.
“No, but I know that for so many families, the younger siblings have the luxury to explore themselves or be the flighty or artsy ones. With us, we’re about responsibility. Someone has to protect the others, has to make sure the family business endures.”
“And what is your family business?” she asked, arching an eyebrow up at him.
“Malls, for lack of a better word,” he said. “At least that’s usually what you Americans reduce them to. They’re actually emporiums or spaces where the best designers can share their wares.”
“Well that would make teenage me excited. There was nothing I loved more than wasting time at the food court.”
He snorted, as if her comment had mortally wounded him. “Oh, we’re not some lowest-common-denominator attraction with a movie theater and a pretzel vendor.”
“Shame,” she said, winking at him and running one, well-manicured finger down his chest. He felt the stiffness already growing in his groin as the excess blood flowed there. “You don’t know the magic of capitalism until you’ve had a double cinnamon treat from Auntie Anne’s.”
“I suppose I don’t,” he replied, about to ask her if she’d like to come back to his hotel room. Instead, he was interrupted by a girl with a blond bob and sparkly barrettes in her hair, as well as a brunette in a little black dress coming up to both of them.
Wait, not exactly just a stroll. Is the blonde too drunk? She’s leaning so heavily on the brunette.
It was like a switch was flipped in Jennifer’s brain. She was up and standing ramrod straight, as if she were a general about to send troops into the fray. Rushin
g over to the blonde, she reached out and felt her forehead.
“God, Sydney, what did you drink? You promised me you wouldn’t! Mom’s going to be so mad and I’m pretty pissed too.”
Sydney, who he assumed was her younger sister, wobbled on her feet and shook her head. “I didn’t. I swear I’ve been drinking club soda all night, but I just feel so tired. I don’t know what it is and my back hurts a lot. I just…I hate to be that girl, but can we go home, sis?”
The younger girl started to shiver and Bahan wished he hadn’t put his suit jacket and coat both in the check. She was shuddering so much it scared him. Thankful he’d worn an undershirt, he unbuttoned his Oxford shirt and handed it to Jennifer.