Page 45 of His Pretty Little Queen

I breathe out hard. "I don't know."

"Everything you ever wanted."

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

fawn

I readall about Dubai on the way. It was a barren wasteland once, and now it's a living organism, pulsing and flashing with colour and luxury.

As the sun rises, the streets seem to glitter in dashing lines of gold and red and orange—the veins of roadways. A moving sea of energy.

Above the streets—buildings like columns of wealth, their glass windows rolling in colour in the newly gathering dawn. Bright-blue man-made beaches, rivers, and estuaries, cut through the lavish cityscape. White sand on the banks. Fountains propel neon water into the air, reaching for the clouds.

In a desert.

Dubai.

The wealthy man's holiday destination, the corrupt man's escape, and to an orphan girl, it's Wonderland.

With my face basically squished to the cold window, I watch the plane land. We exit the conditioned environment of the jet, stepping into a stifling heat that seems to wrap around every inch of skin, immediately forcing sweat to the surface.

Henchman Jeeves and another henchman follow us across the tarmac, where I remain silent as we are ushered in a state of urgency to an awaiting black vehicle.

We set off, and the driver takes us through the overlapping channels of roadways. Clay's hand rests on my thigh the entire time, his thumb moving over my skin, sliding in the gathering beads of perspiration.

When the driver crosses a bridge, there is no mistaking our destination as on the small island before us stands one thing—an over-the-top hotel shaped like a sail.

We pull in and are escorted into the lobby. It all happens so fast; I only manage to register a moment of rich humidity, and then we pass through the entrance and into that perfectly fabricated temperature.

I turn to see Henchman Jeeves and Henchman No-name close behind.Are we avoiding someone? Everyone?The thought comes to me in an unwelcome wave. I'm forever going to be his dirty little secret. Will it always be this way? I imagine plastered across the news tomorrow morning: "Mayor Butcher and his young lover check into a hotel in Dubai."

My self-doubt stills as my sandals clip over the polished flooring, and I peer up at the golden columns in the lobby. "Woah," I mutter to myself.

Fucking hell.

This hotel certainly doesn't skirt the limits of decadent excess. No. It spills the fuck over such limits.

I try to keep up with the pace of the'yes'men and swooning women now filtering in and out of conversation with Clay. His smooth voice sails around, delivering greetings and demands.

I stop for a moment to gaze at a painting, but Clay grips my hand reassuringly, guiding me away. Smiling at his touch, I look down at his long fingers entwined with mine. "Are you hiding me?" I ask, but he only squeezes my hand in response, his attention on the elegant man who has appeared at his side.

"They have already arrived," the man says, falling into stride with us as we head towards the elevators. "We have secured both floors. We will have men on the lower level and the upper one. Your suite is ready with all the changes required for your stay. And Mr Butcher…" The man stops, forcing us to still. "Mr. Futtaim is eager to see you before you settle into your room. He's in the lounge."

Clay's gaze shifts to an area beyond the lobby and he nods in a respectful way. "Very well."

We slow our steps slightly as we enter a room draped in red and gold striped curtains. Scattered across the recessed lounge area, people sprawl out on plush sofas with golden carvings. The smell of incense circles the space, and it's so intense and delicious I imagine myself in a cartoon where smell can be seen in ribbons of colour slithering through the air.

Across the room, a bar glows behind a man sitting on one of the stools, his eyes fixed on us. Immediately, the butterflies in my stomach stir.

This man is powerful. Rich too. Such a statement is in the drips of gold on his long-sophisticated robe and the penetrative demand of his wide assessing eyes.

He smiles at Clay. It's friendly, but that doesn't gentrify the vibe of superiority he radiates.

"Greetings, Clay."

Clay's hand slips from mine. Without that anchor of what to do, I'm left not knowing how to behave…Should I offer them privacy? Or stand quietly? Shake his hand?

The striking, brown-skinned man stands and clasps both palms around Clay's firm shake. "So wonderful to have you here in Dubai. And to accommodate you again."

Source: www.allfreenovel.com