Wrapped In Pleasure - Brenda Jackson [76]
“But he conveniently didn’t say what type of business he was in. And he didn’t give us his last name.”
“Nor did we give him ours,” Johari reminded her friend.
Cel reached over and shook Johari’s shoulder to get her attention from looking out the window. “I’ve been living in his country a lot longer than you have, Jo, and I—”
“You are too suspicious of everyone.”
“I just want to be cautious,” Cel said.
“And I just want to have fun,” Johari implored.
Cel didn’t say anything for a moment, and then she opened her purse, pulled out her pair of designer sunglasses and slipped them over her eyes, smiled and said, “Okay, Cyndi Lauper, I get it. The girl just wants to have fun.”
At Johari’s confused look, Cel gave her a hug and said, “I’ll explain it to you later.”
“Thanks for taking care of this for me, Keith. And remember, tonight I am Monty to everyone.”
Rasheed clicked off his cell phone after talking to the manager of Club Chandler. He then punched in numbers to make another call. A few moments later a male voice came on the line. “Hello.”
“I have located your sister, Jamal.”
“Praise Allah. Where was she?”
“In New York City, but don’t ask me what she was doing when I found her,” Rasheed said, shaking his head, remembering. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
There was only a slight pause before Jamal responded. “I’ll let my parents know she’s been found. Thanks, Monty.”
Rasheed then proceeded to make several more phone calls. Fifteen minutes later he was placing his cell phone back in his jacket as his limo moved through the streets of New York, competing with the yellow cabs for the right of way. Unknown to Johari and Celine, one of his men was following their cab in case they decided to change their minds about meeting him at the club. Rasheed had no intention of letting his future wife go missing again.
Whenever Johari spoke, although she had fairly good English, she still carried a Mideastern accent. He liked the sound of her voice. There was something about it that made everything primitive within him respond to it.
When they had walked out of the club to hail their cab, he hadn’t missed noticing just how tall, stately and elegant Johari was. Without really trying she had somewhat of a refined air about her, a certain sophistication that was paired with a sensuality so gripping he still was at a loss as to why the magnitude of it affected him so much.
“All is well, Your Highness?”
Ishaq’s question interrupted his thoughts. Ishaq’s grandfather, Swalar, had served Rasheed as his valet since Rasheed’s thirteenth birthday. At the age of seventy, Swalar had retired and his grandson had taken his place almost four years ago. Just like his grandfather, Ishaq was loyal and was employed as both Rasheed’s valet and bodyguard.
“Yes, Ishaq, all is well. However, when you and I are in the company of Johari Yasir I want you to skip the Your Highness and refer to me only as Monty.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Will we be remaining in this country for long?”
Rasheed leaned back against the leather cushions of the car seat and then said, “I’m not sure. I’ll have an idea of just how long after tonight.”
“Monty Madaris! It’s good seeing you again.”
“Thanks, Keith, and let me introduce my special guests.” Rasheed proceeded to introduce Johari and Celine as merely Jo and Cel.
He glanced around the huge private club. For a Wednesday night there was a huge crowd. Most were celebrities. There were also some wealthy businesspeople and notable creative types from the artistic community. But all were there only by special invitation. The media was not allowed, which afforded an even higher level of comfort and privacy.
“There’s a table over there with a beautiful view of the city at night,” he said, leading the way and acknowledging the many greetings he received while doing so.
“I can’t believe this place,” Celine said excitedly. “I could have sworn I saw Hugh Jackman sitting over there.”
Rasheed smiled.