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When his reporter came to meet him at the gala, he barely recognized her. Granted, he already craved those sapphire-blue eyes and that honey-blond hair, but so far he’d only seen her in a smart business suit and with most of her hair up in an austere, tight bun. He’d merely given Mafir the directions to pick out a dress from one of the shops littered among the casino’s boutiques, so he had no idea what his manservant had picked out or what she’d be wearing. To see her was to have his breath stolen from his body. Her curves were accentuated in a way that would leave any man with eyeballs salivating. The blue silk clung to her hips and dipped low over her cleavage, and one side was cut into a revealing slit that teased the pale skin of her thigh above the knee. Her hair was down and curled into silky, flowing waves, while her makeup was heavier with smoky eyes that left her with a sultry siren look.
He was already hard just looking at her.
Stealing himself, he smiled at her and picked up her hand. There were cameras around—when you were a CEO and a royal there were always cameras—and he wanted to make her feel as comfortable as possible. Still, kissing her hand was a tease as much for him as it was for her. He wanted to do so much more to her, to feel those soft lips on his again.
“So,” he said, straightening back up and holding his elbow out to her. “You deserve a tour, Amanda. I think I’ve promised you one of the entire gallery. Would you like to take a sheikh up on his offer?”
She nodded, and for the first time, Amanda seemed hesitant. Maybe it was harder for her when she didn’t have a direct game plan, when she wasn’t there to grind into him. The hard-nosed reporter appeared to be the one role she was comfortable with playing. Amanda was less like the woman he’d known when she was being pampered, but that had its advantages too. Maybe he could get through some of her walls and see what had left her with such a massive chip on her shoulder.
“I’ve never been the date for royalty before, Sheikh Bahan,” she said, her lips twisting up in a smirk.
He shook his head as he led her to the more traditional and open wing of the gallery. “It’s Amir. If I’m calling you ‘Amanda,’ then you’re more than welcome to call me by my given name.”
“Well,” she said, continuing with him to the first of the main hall’s exhibit. The crowds were waiting for them to go through a bit first with his security in tow, before the rest of the guests would proceed in shifts to keep him from being overcrowded. “If I have insulted you, Amir, then I guess I can also call you by your first name.”
He lowered his voice a bit so that even his security team couldn’t overhear him. “I think, reporter, you definitely earned the right to call me anything you wanted when you had your tongue halfway down my throat.”
She winked back at him and didn’t drop her arm. “You might regret that offer someday. You never know what someone as creative as I am can come up with in order to get her point across.”
“Well, I shall endeavor to never give you a reason to insult me with words no one should overhear, Amanda.”
His reporter laughed, a sound that reminded him of tinkling bells. Then she looked up at the first piece in the collection. “These are gorgeous. I…I know I should say I’m very cultural and go to all the exhibits in DC, but I haven’t had the time for any of these things. Is this real?” she asked, pointing to the base relief of the winged gryphons.
“Yes, this hall is about the cultural heritage of Abu Dhabi, as well as the Middle East. We have pieces from antiquity here. The piece before you was carved back in Babylonian times and would predate the hanging gardens of Babylon—had they actually been more than myth.”
She reached out and then stopped before she actually touched it. “Sorry, this is definitely the ultimate look-but-don’t-touch place.”
“It’s hardly Disneyworld,” he said dryly. “But it’s more than that,” he said as they continued through the hallway. “These are the textiles traditional to Abu Dhabi. Some of these are similar to the patterns you’d see in the marketplace, which is something I can show you later this weekend if you like. Unless you have to be back to Washington soon?”
She arched her eyebrow but continued to smile. “Is this your way of saying that you want to try a second date?”
Amir shook his head and leaned low again, this time nibbling the corner of her ear, taking advantage of the private moment they had. “I’m saying, reporter, that I’d love to have you for as long as you’d let me. But that can come later.”
The skin of her neck flared pink, and he knew he’d already aroused her, had gotten to her as surely as her appearance tonight had gotten to him.
“We’ll see on that, Casanova,” she added, continuing down the exhibits.
The final corner of the main room included photographs by one of the best street artists in Abu Dhabi. His assistant and the curator had found the woman’s account, if one could believe it, on Instagram. But the candid photos that Shianna took of the streets throughout the city-state were breathtaking. Some were gorgeous sunsets in the desert, while others were live events from the Formula One racetrack that had started bringing in tourists to this area. The rest were more honest, hints of that fallen infrastructure that Amanda had alluded to, images of buildings abandoned in the center of the city, far from the glitzy tourism, and even one of children begging for food.
“I don’t understand?” she asked, frowning back up at him.
“There are the Degas and the Van Goghs and the Renaissance masters here. This wouldn’t be a gallery if there weren’t.”
“That much makes sense. I’d read that you acquired Da Vinci’s Lady with the Ermine as well.”
“I’ve always been fond of weasels, what can I say?” he replied with a wink. “No, I have this here as the main hall so that everyone who steps through here not only has to see my culture—my people—but also has to admit how beautiful and unique it is.”
“Sometimes you forget,” she admitted, looking back at the photo of the children. “You hear so much on the news and even I forget, uh…”
“The real faces behind all of this? That it’s not some blanket term for camels and Bedouins out of Lawrence of Arabia? I know. A significant portion of all the gallery profits is going directly to helping us raise money for the infrastructure. I’m working out deals with the luxury vendors and sellers for some cuts there as well. I never forget my people or the responsibility I’ve been born into.” He felt his facial muscles tighten. “When you’re the eldest brother, you always remember everything that’s expected of the family line, every single obligation.”
“Because the Bahan line runs through you. One day you’ll not only rule Abu Dhabi, but you’ll be responsible for the next generations of sheikhs.”
“Well,” he added, chuckling and feeling a bit lighter. “My brothers have many children and lovely wives. If, for some reason, I remain a childless fuck-up—”
She slapped his arm playfully. “You don’t really get called a fuck-up.”
“Mother
