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I can’t believe he’s done that.
She felt like her cheeks were on fire. The food had been delicious, a mix of milk and dates as a sumptuous and decadent appetizer, a roasted lamb filled with nuts and aromatic spices, a white fish pepped up with onions, and, of course, a dessert that was already leaving her adjusting the belt around her waist. Umm Ali was a dessert so creamy that it seemed to put the average crème brûlée to shame, and it was littered with crunchy and meaty pine and pistachio nuts. Overall, the lunch had been amazing, both filled with food and some wine (okay, a lot of wine) as well as sparkling conversations. Amir shared mostly funny stories about his brothers and his nieces and nephews.
But now?
Now she knew exactly why he’d brought her out to Al Arish. The restaurant was amazing, sure, but it also had something else to offer and it had nothing to do with culinary lessons or a tour of the chef’s kitchen like she first assumed. Oh no. They had belly dancers. There was a ring of girls around the rug where they were sitting, and each of them was as beautiful as any model. They were lithe and thin with olive-hued skin and dark, cascading hair pulled into thick plaits down their backs. Each one wore the traditional harem-style pants in bright pastel colors, as well as thin bandoliers that barely covered everything appropriate on their chest. Their outfits were bedecked with bangles, and on their waists were jangly belts of coins and other metals that jingled every time they shimmied their undulating hips.
They were leaning over Amanda now, chittering back and forth in what she assumed had to be Arabic. One of the girls, who was dressed all in red and even had a veil on the lower half of her face, turned directly to Amir and spoke quickly with him. For a split second, Amanda tried to follow it, but then she realized that no matter how hard she tried to tune her ears into the conversation, she wasn’t going to understand.
Of course, based on his wicked smirk and the gesture of his hand toward her, she had a great idea exactly what he was saying.
Yeah right, buddy.
It was one thing to give into passion with him privately or even to have dinner with him, but there was something else about being here, at the front of the restaurant. Granted, there wasn’t a huge crowd for the lunch rush, but she knew who she was—and what she was—and more importantly, she knew who she wasn’t. She was the slightly rotund girl, the one who spent her time in the stacks of the library at college and was always hunched over her desk and researching a lead. She wasn’t like these women who were muscular and fit from years of dancing. She wasn’t some siren who could seduce men with a twist of her hips. There was no way she could dance and still appeal to Amir. Hell, the spell would be broken and he’d see her for the curvy reporter she actually was, not the irresistible woman he claimed she was to him.
But the dancers were nodding wildly after Amir finished speaking with them. The three dancers descended on Amanda like the furies, reaching out and gripping her arms tightly. Amanda tried to decline, to beg them off, but they were strong and determined and she found herself on her feet. The rest of the restaurant clapped, and one man with a thick beard far away wolf whistled to her. That made the blush spread even faster over her skin and her cheeks, making her feel like a flashing neon sign in front of everyone.
The women stood and started speaking to her, their accents thick in their English. The girl in red seemed to lead. She held up her hands and waved them delicately in front of her. Just doing that basic movement first. Finally, with all eyes on her, Amanda felt she had no choice but to start moving as well. At the beginning, she waved her hands halfheartedly, but then the raucous cheers kept echoing from around her. Looking away, she saw Amir’s amber eyes, smoldering with intensity, and she felt that heat in her belly again. She couldn’t help but fall into the power of that gaze.
He wanted to see her dance for him, and that called to something deep and primal within her. Amanda wanted to show him what a woman she was, how deeply motivated she was to explore more with him. As she began to move her arms more sensuously, she gave into the music playing throughout the restaurant and the cheers from the crowd. Then the girl in red nodded her approval and started making semicircles with her hips, and Amanda imitated her, thankful that her dress was demur and no one would see her slight paunch up close and personal. Yet, if these skinnier girls thought they knew how to move their hips, then she could show them something better.
The crowd cheered as she started to undulate her hips even faster and wave her hands. In her imagination, she daydreamed of dancing before her sheikh centuries ago, as if she were entertainment for the court, perhaps a different type of Scheherazade for his amusement. She caught his gaze again, that heat simmering in those amber depths and it called to her. Parting from the other women, she sauntered over to him and kept waggling her hips. Amanda moved her arms deliberately, beckoning to Amir.
He seemed to understand her message.
The sheikh pushed away a bit from the table but stayed seated on the rug. Amir grinned back at her and beckoned to her with a nod of his head, as if to tell her game on. S
he was ready, emboldened by the crowd’s cheers and reveling in the allure of her own curves for the first time in years. She started by dancing around him, letting her hands trail over his shoulders, delicately caressing him and promising him everything with her body.
She came to stand in front of him, and then shimmied against his body, against his strong chest that felt as immovable as iron in its strength. Perhaps she was drunk on too much wine or the good food, or maybe it was the energy from the cheering of the crowd egging her on, but she felt compelled to get even closer to Amir. She sat down on his lap and began a different type of dance. By now the girls were dancing their way to another table and the eyes of the crowd shifted with them.
Good. I want this corner all to myself.
She eased down over him and began to grind down, her body fitting easily on his lap. As she moved, her hips flexed with the power and strength she’d always had but never drawn on before. His erection was pressing through his robes and against her core. She was glad that both of them had worn things so loose. Through the billowing fabric, she could feel the heat of him, the way his member strained against his robes as she grinded more fiercely.
She suddenly wished they were alone so they could go all the way, but there was only so far they could progress before they needed a change. Or would be thrown out.
Amanda slowed her rhythm, loving the power she felt as he groaned in frustration. Then she kissed his lips and leaned over, nibbling on his ears and the left side of his throat.
“Later, Amir.”
He chuckled and whispered in her ear, his voice that sultry purr that made her womb clench. “I wouldn’t mind doing everything here. I can’t get arrested.”
Chuckling, she slipped back off his lap and slapped his shoulder. “No way, Amir, try again.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
***
Chapter Six
On the way to the palace, Amir noted that his reporter was leaning up against him. There was so much to her, so many layers that he didn’t yet understand. There was that chip on her shoulder, the way she’d been at first. Something had got her sent to Abu Dhabi, had left her alone on the Life and Style beat. She certainly treated questions for it like the Spanish Inquisition. Then there was the amorous side, the passion he’d felt at both the gallery and the restaurant. And yet, underneath all of it was a hesitance, a fear he could see in her eyes. When the girls had begun urging her to dance, she’d hesitated. He was watching her closely enough to see the glance she’d given her hips, the way she’d pinched a bit at her thigh.
His goddess legitimately didn’t know how fucking gorgeous she was. Granted, he’d often had his appetites run to the thinner girls, to those models before, but it had been so long since he’d had his hands on real (and not silicon-inspired) curves, that he had forgotten so much about what he’d been missing. Just gripping her at the gallery had been a revelation. Thinking about it again made him hard, and Amir shifted the fabric of his traditional robes to conceal that fact from her.
Not that she wouldn’t already be aware of how much she affected him. Her lap dance had been more than enthusiastic, and it had caused his excitement to come through. Again, that boldness in her attitude was creeping in. She was already a tiger at the press conference, but he could see even a slight change in how she carried herself, in the way her fingers intertwined with his and the way her thigh was pressed close to his own. There was a confidence that had sprung from her dance, from letting go, and he couldn’t wait to enjoy that at home.
Mafir pulled the limo up to the tall domes and spiraling minarets of the palace, the pale stone walls of the ancestral home. Excited for the evening he had planned for her, Amir slipped out of the car and walked to the other side to open the door for Amanda.
