Wrapped In Pleasure - Brenda Jackson [93]
“I said we’re here. At my place.”
She looked out the window and saw that they had arrived at Trump Towers. Surprisingly, the driver had already parked the car at the curb and was opening their door. All of that had happened while she had sat there staring at Monty like a woman who’d lost it.
She couldn’t help wondering if all women responded to him this way or whether it was her degree of inexperience that was bringing on these sorts of reactions.
Pushing all those thoughts from her mind, she climbed out the car still holding his hand. “I intend for you to have a marvelous time this evening, Jo.”
She glanced up into his eyes and her heart pounded. Her gaze shifted to the smile on his lips which looked devilishly sexy. She had a feeling Monty didn’t make promises he wouldn’t keep. And as much as she wanted to experience more exciting things, she had a feeling that his ideas of a marvelous time was something she might not be quite ready for.
Rasheed glanced over at Johari as he took a sip of his wine. They were seated across from each other at the dinner table and had been engaged in intense eye contact all night. It was as if they were saying with their eyes what their mouths refused to say. They wanted each other.
To be totally honest, he had a feeling Johari didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t want him to forget she was engaged to marry, yet he could read in her eyes a desire that could make his blood simmer.
She was a very beautiful and desirable woman, but he was discovering another side of her that she was slowly exposing to him. For years she had hidden behind the mask of being the perfect daughter of King Yasir and was never given the time or the chance to just be herself. For some reason he wanted to give her that time. Maybe then she would settle down and step into her role as his wife and accept the life they would share together.
“Of all the places you live, which one is your favorite, Monty?”
Her question pulled his thoughts back into focus mainly on her. He wished he could tell her Mowaiti was his favorite and that being around his people would always be special to him. But then over the years, in the United States, he had accumulated a number of friends he enjoyed visiting on occasion. And then there was his home on a secluded island between Brazil and Argentina near Rio de Janeiro.
“I commute to too many places to have what one could consider a favorite. However, I own a place in Brazil that I love to travel to and spend time there whenever I can.”
She did not need to know that Raul Santini, the man being tapped as Argentina’s next president, was a very good friend of his and a close friend of her brother, as well. As a teen Santini had also attended the private academy in France.
He leaned back in his chair. “Would you dance for me again tonight?”
He loved watching her move her lithe body and could vividly recall what seeing her on the dance floor—performing her mating dance—had done to him. Her eyes glimmered. “Are you sure that you want me to?”
“Yes, I am positive.”
She smiled brightly. “I love to dance.”
He figured as much, just as he assumed her dancing in public was probably frowned upon by her family. But he had no problem in her performing just for him. He watched as she pushed away from the table and he stood, as well. Taking his wineglass, he led her through his living room and then to the balcony.
The night air was warm, sensual; it pricked at the lust that had formed around his edges. The desire that was rousing his middle. Her scent added to the atmosphere and made him want her that much more.
He stood back and watched her slip out of her shoes before moving toward the console on the wall. The skirt she was wearing tonight was a little longer in length than her minidress so chances were he wouldn’t see as much thigh. But he believed what he didn’t see would tantalize just as much as what he did see.
When she indicated she was ready to begin, he flipped the switch for the music while taking another sip