Wrapped In Pleasure - Brenda Jackson [49]
Four of the men looked uneasy. Of course it was Thorn who took her threat in stride. “You’re welcome to mess things up with me and the woman I’m presently seeing. She’s the clingy type, and I’ve been trying to get rid of her for weeks.”
Delaney glared at him. “If your mood hasn’t run her off then nothing will.” She inhaled deeply, knowing her brothers were hopeless. They would never treat her like the adult she was. “Well, since you’re all here, you may as well help carry my stuff to the car.”
Chase lifted a brow. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You never said whose car those tire tracks belonged to,” Dare reminded her.
Delaney turned to go into the house, knowing her brothers would follow. She decided to tell them the truth since she knew they wouldn’t believe her, anyway. “The car belonged to a prince, a desert sheikh from the Middle East,” she tossed back over her shoulder.
She smiled when she heard Storm say to the others, “And she thinks we’re stupid enough to believe that.”
Chapter 11
Jamal gazed out of the window of the private plane as it landed at the Tahran airport. Any other time he would have thought it was good to be home, but tonight was an exception. His heart still ached for Delaney.
What was she doing? Was she thinking of him the way he was thinking of her?
“It is time to disembark, My Prince.”
He lifted his gaze and met Asalum’s concerned frown. Only someone as close to him as Asalum could know the pain he was feeling. He turned his head to look back out of the window, not saying anything for the longest time, then he said quietly, “I’m no longer filled with obsession, Asalum.”
Asalum nodded. “And what is it now, Your Highness?”
“Depression.”
Asalum shook his head. That much he had already concluded. The loss of the American woman was having a powerful effect on the prince.
Jamal slowly stood. He had noted the long, black limo parked on the runway. As usual his father had sent an entourage to welcome him home. With a grim set of his jaw he walked off the plane.
Within less than an hour’s time he arrived at the palace. Sitting high on a hill it looked like a magnificent fortress, commanding its own respect and admiration, and had served as home for the Yasir family for hundreds of years.
After going through the massive wrought-iron gate, the limo had barely come to stop when a beautiful, young dark-haired woman raced from the front of the house into the courtyard.
“Jamal Ari!”
Jamal smiled for the first time since leaving America and watched his sister come to a stop next to the car, anxious for him to get out. A few moments later he found himself standing next to the car and embracing his sister, Johari.
“It’s so good to have you home, Jamal Ari. I have so much to tell you,” she said excitedly, pulling him through the huge wooden door she had come out of.
Jamal shook his head. If anyone could pull him out of his despairing mood, it would be Johari.
Later that night Jamal heard a soft knock on his door. He had claimed complete exhaustion, and his father had agreed to put off their talks until the next morning. Jamal had escaped to his private apartment in the palace, the entire west wing that was his. Rebakkah, Asalum’s wife and the woman who had been his personal servant since birth, had brought him a tray of food a while ago that sat untouched on the table. He had no appetite to eat.
He opened the door to find his stepmother, Fatimah, standing there. A beautiful woman with golden-brown skin and long, black wavy hair that flowed to her waist, she had retained her petite figure even after giving birth to two children. It seemed she never aged and was just as radiant at forty-four as she had been when she had come into his and his father’s lives twenty-two years ago. He was not surprised to see her. Like Asalum, Fatimah knew him well and she knew when something was bothering him.
She stepped into his apartment and turned to face him. Concern was etched in her dark eyes.