Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [30]
He was fully aware that his father considered him the favourite out of all of his sons, who now totalled eleven. He was the one who got away and made a huge success in America. He was the only one worth shit. And he was the one the King trusted to funnel his money into America in case he ever needed it.
Returning to Akramshar was always a jarring experience. Leaving the Western world and entering a city where men ruled supreme was quite primitive and yet strangely satisfying. Subservient women behaved the way all females should. But try telling the Americans that.
A black Mercedes met him at the airport and ferried him to his palace. Yes, he had a palace, on loan from the King. Sometimes he wondered how the stringy, social climbing New York hostesses would feel if they knew he was a Prince and lived in a palace. They would slit their skinny throats to get a piece of him.
Servants abounded, but Soraya was not there to greet him, as if he cared. The children were confined to their quarters – another plus.
Upon his arrival, he shed his clothes and enjoyed the comfort of the traditional male robe that all men wore. Most of the women in Akramshar were expected to be covered at all times, and rightly so. His mother had told him that under their burqas the women in the harem wore expensive clothes purchased in Rome and Milan, where King Emir sometimes took a select group of his wives for a long weekend. The King especially favoured lacy lingerie, and on these trips he encouraged his wives to spend, spend, spend.
Peggy had needed no encouragement to do exactly that. She’d amassed an impressive collection of jewellery during the years she’d spent in Akramshar, and several trunks full of designer clothes.
Armand tried not to think about his mother too much. Sidney Dunn had died a year previously, and it annoyed him that since then Peggy had become demanding – phoning him at all hours, claiming that she didn’t see enough of him, wondering why he’d never married and given her grandchildren. Since she had no contact with anyone in Akramshar, she knew nothing of his wife and children.
Armand was well aware of what a nightmare it would be if she ever found out that he already had a family. A nightmare he was not prepared to deal with. She would insist on being involved, and when Peggy insisted on something, there was no stopping her.
Fouad was the only person who knew about his family, and he trusted Fouad to keep his silence. Fouad would never betray him, it was in his blood to remain loyal.
After changing into his robe, he retired to a males-only terrace room, far away from Soraya and the children. A manservant immediately brought him a cup of strong black tea and a plate of sweet biscuits. Another servant asked if he required a massage.
Yes, a massage was exactly what he required.
He sipped his tea, then entered a side room where soft music played, and two young women helped him out of his robe and, when he was fully naked, onto a massage table.
These women were not whores, they were servants who treated him like the Prince he was. They trickled hot oil over his chest and stomach, moving slowly down to his groin area with their soothing hands. They wore white robes which after a while he instructed them to remove. They were young – but not too young to service him with their soft lips. He felt aroused, and lay still while they brought him to orgasm. He couldn’t be bothered to humiliate them.
After they were finished he required nothing except solitude and time to think about the prize he was about to acquire when he returned to America.
The Keys.
His hotel.
A place where he’d decided he would be forever content.
Chapter Eleven
Spending time with Sam was nice. Denver really appreciated