Wrapped In Pleasure - Brenda Jackson [71]
“But what will happen if—”
Johari threw up her hands. “Please, Cel, no more questions. The only thing I want is for you to get dressed so we can go out tonight and get on the dance floor. Hurry. I only have two weeks before the walls come crashing down and I intend to live it up before that happens.”
Cel rolled her eyes as she eased off the bed. “You only have two weeks if your brother’s men don’t find you first. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when they do.”
Johari tossed her hair back from her shoulders and smiled. “Don’t worry. They won’t find me. I’ve done a very good job at covering my tracks.”
Rasheed walked into the Manhattan night club and found his future wife dancing on top of a table. He stopped dead in his tracks, not because of her outlandish behavior, but mainly because the woman had to be, without a doubt, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Young and vibrant, she had eyes the color of black pearls that could only be found in the Persian Gulf; skin that reminded him of the golden sands of the Sahara; lips that were perfectly shaped; and long black wavy hair that flowed past her shoulders. A pair of dangling earrings swung from her ears and a matching necklace hung around a graceful, beautiful throat.
As Rasheed intently studied Johari, he suddenly felt a tight lump in his throat, and decided there was something about her that had the ability to scramble his hormones and heighten his senses. And judging by all the men gazing at her with lust in their eyes, he knew he wasn’t the only one entranced by her beauty.
He hung back, near the club’s entrance. An instinct that had him ready to defend his fiancée’s honor if he had to roared within him but he forced it back. He also tried to rein in a degree of desire that he hadn’t felt in a long time, something that was working its way through his system. He had experienced a strong sexual attraction for a woman before, but not this quick, immediate and deep.
As far as he was concerned, she hadn’t needed to dance on a table to get attention. Her looks and her figure would have demanded it anyway. When the tempo of the music increased a beat, she moved in such a provocative way that he found himself holding his breath. She tossed her head back, came close to the edge of the table but knew when to maneuver a few steps backward, never losing her balance while still keeping up with the rapid beat of the music. Her dress was short, way too short, and showing way too much thigh with the movements she was making. He began wondering just what was under that dress. A bra? There was a slim chance. A slip? He doubted it. Panties? For the love of Allah, he hoped so. One sure thing about it, if her aim was to have fun then she was certainly enjoying herself. That much was showing on her face. It looked radiant. Simply glowing. And it was as beautiful as any one face could possibly be. Never had he met a woman whose features were so gut-stirringly striking.
Moving away from the door he glanced around, trying to find an empty table, and when he didn’t see one he headed for the bar. He took a seat at the same time the music came to an end, and noticed Johari was helped off the table by some anxious brute. A young Wall Street type who was probably looking for nothing more than a one-night stand.
Rasheed’s jaw clenched. Not on his watch and not with his fiancée.
The same protective instinct he had experienced earlier flared again within him and he forced it back down as he erased the frown on his face. As the youngest daughter of a king, Johari Yasir’s behavior should be befitting that of royalty—stately, decorous and dignified. With the outfit she was wearing, the dance she’d just performed, and the male attention she was getting, not to mention the way she tossed her head back, sending a mass of black wavy hair flying around her