Her question, spoken in an accent he loved hearing, invaded the quietness of the elevator and disturbed his already unsettled mind. "It's the next floor," he said, and before he could get the words totally out of his mouth, the elevator came to a stop and the door swooshed open.

Tightening his hand in hers, he walked off the elevator with her by his side while wondering if she had any idea that he was taking her to his penthouse. If she didn't know before, she knew now, he thought, when they stopped in front of a set of large double doors. He let go of her hand while he fished the key from his pocket.

"This is where you live when you are in New York?" she asked, her voice silky and inquisitive, and filled with more wonder than caution, reminding him of the trust she had placed in him.

"Yes, I brought you here to dance in private," he said, taking the lock off the door.

What he didn't say was that he had done so because he only wanted her to dance with with him and dance him and dance for for him. The thought of another man holding her in his arms was something he wasn't ready to accept. That was strange in itself since he'd never experienced being so possessive of any woman. His only reasoning for that was with a fiancee his emotional attachment could be expected to be different. him. The thought of another man holding her in his arms was something he wasn't ready to accept. That was strange in itself since he'd never experienced being so possessive of any woman. His only reasoning for that was with a fiancee his emotional attachment could be expected to be different.

He gazed over at her and decided to calm her fears just in case she was doing a good job of hiding them. "If for some reason you don't feel comfortable about being here alone with me, Jo, we can leave and go back."

She held his gaze for a moment as if to consider his words. And then without saying anything she reached out, turned the k.n.o.b and opened the door. Then, giving him another faint smile, she walked inside.

Chapter 3.

Johari stood in the middle of Monty's New York home and turned around, taking in the large and s.p.a.cious, beautifully decorated room-including all the exquisite paintings that hung on the wall, the marble flooring and the lovely Moroccan rug she was standing on. She didn't have to touch the furniture to know it had been hand-carved and built from the finest-quality materials. This home was a stunning representation of his taste as well as his wealth.

She turned to him. He had followed her inside his penthouse and was leaning against the closed door. He looked breathtakingly handsome and just looking at him almost made her forget the question she'd been about to ask. "You have other homes beside this one?"

"Yes," he said, moving away from the door to walk toward her. She even found his walk attractive-his strides were confident, s.e.xy and so vastly different than the hurried, lazy, untutored walk of the guys she'd met at the university. The guys who had been her age. She couldn't help wondering Monty's age and guessed it to be in the mid-thirties.

"I have another home in Los Angeles. I also have homes in Brazil, London and Dubai."

She winced at the last since it was too close to her home for comfort. The only thing separating Dubai from her homeland was the Persian Gulf. "Dubai?"

"Yes," he said, coming to a stop in front of her. "I purchased it more out of necessity than anything else since my company is involved in a lot of construction there."

She was well aware of all the construction that had now transformed Dubai from the sleepy port town to the most populous. It was the fastest growing city on the Arabian Peninsula and credited most of its growth to tourism, trade and real estate, but the biggest boom came from tourism.

The only other neighboring country that could claim such growth was Mowaiti, which was benefiting largely due to the revenues from petroleum and natural gas. She didn't want to think about Mowaiti since that country's prince was the man she was to marry.

Her curiosity was piqued, so she felt now was a good time to ask, "And what type of business are you in, Monty?"

"I'm a business negotiator, representing several wealthy Americans wanting to do business abroad. I visit the country, scope out the land, so to speak, and help them make decisions as to whether they should invest their capital in such ventures."

She nodded. "And Dubai? What interest do you have there?"

"A group of the men I represent are building a hotel there." His eyebrows arched upward and he said, "I thought you wanted to dance."

She wondered if that was his way of saying he had answered enough of her questions, as many as he intended in order to appease her curiosity. She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. "I do and you have a beautiful home."

"Thank you and I will take you to the balcony now."

She followed as he escorted her from the living room through several other s.p.a.cious rooms. Each one had wall-to-wall windows that provided a beautiful view of New York City's skyline. She couldn't help but admire the decor and when he opened a pair of French doors that led to a huge balcony, she almost lost her breath when she stepped out onto the mosaic tile floor.

There were several huge balconies surrounding the palace in Tahran where she'd lived, but what was so spectacular about this particular one was that it stretched out to include a lap pool. And just like Monty had said, there was a miniature dance floor that opened to a covered minicourt.

She looked upward, to see the beautiful June sky and then leveled her gaze to see beyond in the distance the glistening waters of the Hudson River. City lights lining Central Park beckoned below. Every single element combined with a magnificent force to provide such a majestic and panoramic view.

She turned to Monty to find he was looking at her. Her skin felt heated from the intense look she saw in his eyes. But his piercing gaze did not scare her. She actually felt safe with him.

"It's beautiful, Monty," she said simply. Truthfully.

The smile that touched his lips stirred something within her stomach. "Thank you. Because I travel quite a bit, I don't get to spend as much time here as I'd like."

"And the dance floor? Is there a story behind it?"

He shrugged. "I'm told that this place was once owned by a world-renowned ballerina who had the dance floor installed. I considered removing it several times but never got around to doing so. Now I'm glad I didn't."

He took a step toward her. "Enough about this place," he said, bestowing a charming smile on her once again; one that had her heart literally pounding in her chest. "I brought you here to dance, so excuse me while I put on some music. Anything in particular you'd like to dance to?"

She shook her head. "A mixture of tunes would be nice."

"All right."

He then excused himself to walk the few feet to where a console had been built into the wall. With the press of a b.u.t.ton the lights dimmed and music began playing. A fast song with an electrifying beat. Automatically Johari began tapping her feet as she felt the energy flow through her body. She loved dancing and unbeknownst to her parents, some of the young girls who lived on the grounds of the palace had taught her how to belly dance. And on more than one occasion she would join them when they rehea.r.s.ed for their upcoming performances for her parents.

She closed her eyes as she kicked off her shoes, thinking there was just something about dancing that she found totally exhilarating, mystifying. She imagined herself back in her homeland, surrounded by the jewel-colored walls in the palace while dancing. In a room that was her private sanctuary, where she would dance to the rhythm for hours on end.

Her movements went on and on, taking her dance from an art form to an expression, a mode of nonverbal communication that had a language all its own. The music flowed within her and she became one with it. This dance was different from the one she'd done earlier on the table. Even then she had held back, but now she was letting go, feeling free, enjoying her audience of one. Dancing her heart out. For one particular man.

Moments later the music stopped and the movements of her body along with it. She breathed in deeply before opening her eyes and looked across the room. He was there, standing in the shadows watching her. He had given her s.p.a.ce. He had let her dance. He had granted her a moment of bliss. She couldn't help but throw her head back and laugh, happy for the opportunity to unwind in a way she found so invigorating.

She held his gaze, while feeling emotions she had never felt before. She pulled in a deep, calming breath and whispered. "Thank you."

Rasheed thought he should be the one thanking her. He continued to stare at her. He had been totally mesmerized throughout her entire dance. At one point he thought that she would shimmy out of her clothes. Her movements had been precise, filled with sensuality, and had conjured up an unstoppable and unquenchable desire in his core. He knew it wasn't her intent, doubted that she was even aware that the dance she had just performed was a mating dance.

In motions he could define only as a combination of a belly dance, ballerina twirls, booty-shaking and hip-rolling moves, she had rendered him totally spellbound. Thanks to her short, s.e.xy dress he had seen a pair of creamy thighs, long luscious legs and a gorgeous pair of bare feet. She had perfect body structure and he detected strength as well as an elegant refinement in every bone in her body.

His heart had begun pounding in his chest at the intensity with which her dance touched him, stirred something primal and elemental deep within him. And he knew he would have answered the call if she had intentionally thrown it out there. Innocent or not. Her dance had had that sort of an effect on him.

He pushed a b.u.t.ton to play another song. This time he would slow things down a bit. And this time he would partic.i.p.ate.

With labored breathing, Rasheed moved toward her and when he got within a few feet, he offered her his hand. She glanced at it, inhaled deeply before moving forward, covering the distance separating them.

Her movement across the floor to him, even in bare feet, had been graceful, so much to the point he marveled at her smooth execution. The moment Johari took his hand, Rasheed gently pulled her into his arms. Her body seemed to know it belonged to him; it meshed with his so fluidly and with a precision that was so perfect, he automatically felt his gut tighten at the contact.

He wrapped his arms around her in an appropriate manner, fighting the urge to run his hands across the center of her back and even lower to cup her curvaceous backside.

The scent of her perfume hung in the air, tantalized his nostrils, and made him wonder about things that he shouldn't. It wasn't that he didn't have the right to think of them, because he did. He just preferred not doing so at the moment. It was taking all his willpower to keep his mind on the fact that she was not just any woman he wanted in his bed. She was the woman who had been chosen to share his name, take his seed into her body and bear his children.

He couldn't argue with the fact that she was a puzzle, one he didn't necessarily need to figure out since he understood her motive in doing what she'd done. He had rebelled once or twice in his lifetime. But although he might understand her actions, it didn't necessarily mean he agreed with them. The reason he saw her as a puzzle was because there were so many things about her that should not be affecting him, yet they were and he needed to know why.

Such as, why did the thought of tasting her lips, feasting on them in a way that would brand them totally his, fill him with such emotion and intensity? Why did inhaling her perfume want to make him strip her naked, and why did the feel of her in his arms tempt him to do more than just dance with her?

With his chin resting on the crown of her head, he closed his eyes as their bodies began swaying in time to the music. The slow beat of the song was vastly different from the fast-paced one of earlier. But this rhythm was what he needed right now. He needed to know how well they fit together, how so much blatant, raw sensuality floated from within her while at the same time she was shrouded with such an angelical air.

He couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face at the thought of her having even one strand of an angelic hair on her head, especially after that hip-shaking, body-rolling dance she'd done. And her determination to have fun at any cost, even at the risk of angering her family and a fiance, would also put her angelic status at risk.

Rasheed opened his eyes at the same moment that he drew in a ragged breath. Her cheek was resting against his chest and it felt warm, at home, and so right. Knowing if they remained in this same spot too much longer there would be no way he could control his desire for her, he increased their movements when the tempo of the music picked up somewhat. He pulled away from her slightly to waltz her around the dance floor when the rhythm smoothly advanced.

She laughed at the unexpected move and he savored the sound of her laughter in a way that obliterated all thoughts from his mind except one. And when the music made another transition, one that returned to the ultraslow beat of before, he tightened his hold on her hand and pulled her back to him, back into his arms, close to his body.

She gasped when she detected his aroused state but there was no way he would apologize for it. No, he was fighting everything within him to stay in control of the situation where she not only looked but also felt utterly compelling.

His gaze drifted downward to her mouth and those lips that he longed to taste. They had the ability to make him lose his breath just from looking at them and were sending a rush of heated desire through every part of his body. And when the music finally drifted to an end, a surge of sensuous sensations shattered within him and it was too late to even consider stopping what he was about to do.

He lowered his mouth to hers, fully convinced that, as her fiance, he had every right to do so. And when his lips touched hers, when he felt how they quivered beneath his, when he was introduced to her taste and sensed her innocence, he no longer saw it as a right but as a privilege.

Rasheed wanted to believe that his longer-than-usual drought without s.e.x was the reason he was latching onto her mouth like a man starving to taste the sweetness of her lips, to mate hungrily with her tongue, brand it, introduce his to hers. But he knew the moment he inserted his tongue into her mouth, immediately caught hold of hers and began sucking gently, that he would claim whatever excuse was out there. And when he heard a moan from deep in her throat, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer to absorb her warmth, accept her sensuality and make known-as much as he could and only to himself-that she was his. Totally. Irrevocably. Absolutely.

And his tongue, the one that was licking and tasting every corner of her mouth in heated bliss and slow, deliberate exploration, was boldly staking a claim at the same time as it was giving her an introduction. It was hers, the only male tongue that would ever go inside her mouth, and he wanted her to get used to it. Its daringness, its heat and its texture. His tongue could be rather tender at times, raunchy and brash at others. And on its really naughty days his tongue, she would discover, could steal the very breath from her body and make her whimper with a need that only he would be able to satisfy. And more often than not, his tongue had a mind of its own. A mind to please with an intent to deliver.

Knowing he could stand there and kiss her all night, ply her lips until her mouth was tender, he forced himself to pull back, pull away. The disappointment on her face when he did so was simply priceless.

She was gazing up at him with astonishment and then he watched as she drew in a ragged breath as the magnitude and the power of what they'd just shared threatened to overcome her. When she began shivering he reached out and pulled her closer into his arms.

This was the woman he had looked upon marrying with disdain, and with a degree of regret that made him inconsolable. When his father had summoned him to the palace and said he wanted him to be wedded by his fortieth birthday, which meant he would have to take her as a wife by the end of the year, it seemed he would finally become the ultimate sacrifice for Mowaiti.

He was a man who had been single a long time. He was set in his ways and he enjoyed women. Experienced women. And the very thought that he would have to marry a woman who was young, inexperienced and didn't possess any of the skills and apt.i.tudes on the ways to please a man had nearly driven him into a depressed state.

His life, as he'd known it, was taking a turn for what he considered the worse. He had left the country to visit Whispering Pines, the huge ranch in Texas owned by his good friend and occasional business partner, Jake Madaris. Rasheed had needed the time alone to accept the changes that would take place in his life and had stayed in seclusion at Whispering Pines for a little more than a week.

He glanced down at Johari and pulled in a deep breath, not certain as to what to say now. This was not supposed to be happening to a man of his stature, distinction and eminence. His reaction to a fiancee, one who had been promised to him for twenty-four years, baffled him. He was well aware that some men thought highly of their wives, some even fancied themselves in love, but he knew such a thing wasn't possible for him.

He had no intention of ever truly settling down with one woman or falling in love with one for that matter. Such a thing was not even a consideration. He enjoyed his mistresses immensely. He liked the attention they gave him, the pleasure they delivered to him. He was hard-pressed to believe one woman was capable of replacing all of that...no matter how sweet her lips tasted.

What he needed to do, and what he would do, was to focus mainly on seducing Johari to his will. She would discover that he was a force to be reckoned with, and a defiant, rebellious, wild and reckless wife was one that he would not tolerate.

He shifted his attention back to her when she slowly pushed out of his arms, tilted her head back and looked at him. He saw the considering frown settle first on her forehead before slowly moving down her face then to her lips. Lips he had just thoroughly kissed. Intimately claimed.

"We should not have done that, Monty."

Her words, spoken in a soft, panic-filled voice, gave him pause. "And why not?" He wondered if she had failed to notice that although she had taken a step back, his arms remained wrapped around her waist in a very possessive hold.

She stared at the b.u.t.tons on his jacket before lifting her gaze back to him. "Because I am promised to another."

His brow lifted in mock surprise. "You're engaged?"

"Yes."

He freed one hand from around her waist to lift her hand. After glancing at it, he looked back at her. "No ring?"

"In my country such a thing isn't needed."

"Maybe it should be," he decided to say. "In this country unless a woman wears some visible sign of a man's intent, she is not off-limits."

"But that is not how things are where I am from."

"And where are you from, Jo? You never did say," he countered.

She shivered again just seconds before saying, "And I can't say. It matters not."

Her eyes once again returned to the b.u.t.tons on his jacket, but this time he reached and lifted her chin so their eyes could meet. "Keep your secrets, just as long as you know that no matter how much you might regret kissing me, I don't regret kissing you."

He then checked his watch. "Come on," he said, taking her hand and holding it firmly. "I need to get you back to Club Chandler before Cel summons the NYPD."

Chapter 4.

"Have breakfast with me in the morning, Jo."

Johari glanced over at Monty. He was standing with his back against the wall in the elevator that was returning them to Club Chandler.

"I don't think that is wise," she said in a low voice. She wondered if he'd been able to tell that the kiss they had shared moments ago had been her first. She also wondered if all men kissed that way-with an ability to demolish a woman's senses, make them want to explode from the heat of pa.s.sion. Her mouth still tingled from his intense kiss, and she could swear their lips had produced fiery sparks.

"If you're nervous about being alone with me, then let's invite Cel to dine with us."

His words pulled her thoughts back in and she shook her head. "That's not it, Monty. If I were nervous about being alone with you I wouldn't be alone with you now. And as far as Cel being invited, that's not possible because she is flying out in the morning."

He lifted a brow. "She's leaving New York?"

Too late Johari wondered if she'd said too much and figured if she had there was no way to retract it. "Yes. She's meeting her boyfriend in Florida to go on a cruise to the Bahamas."

"So you will be here in this city alone?"

Johari swallowed. She could say that she wouldn't be alone, that her fiance would be flying into the city to join her. But for some reason she couldn't bring herself to do that. "Yes, I will be alone."

"So will I. Is there any reason we can't spend tomorrow together?"

A rush of sensations tore through her veins. She could think of several reasons and the way her body was reacting to his very presence was one of them, definitely topping the list. "I told you that I'm promised to someone."

"Yes, but I would think we can spend time together as just friends. Besides," he said, drawing out of the shadows where he was leaning against the panel wall to come stand before her, "I would hate for you to miss out on experiencing more excitement before returning home. I have the ability to take you not only around this city but anywhere else you'd like to go in the world."