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‘Tommy.’
He didn’t so much bark out the name as growl it. And instantly the pain in the neck from the elevator appeared before her. His nose was sunburned and his eyes were slightly glazed. But he was lapdog-ready where his boss was concerned and he issued an instant apology.
‘Really sorry for what I said … and did … in the lift.’
‘Forget it,’ she said, looking away, looking for a clear path out.
But things were beginning to happen. Girls were coming forward, smiling and flirting. Heading right for the guys like homing devices. They were of all races. And all beautiful. Tall, cool, blonde. Hot Latino. Dusky, dramatic, dark. Pouty, elegant, ebony. And, yes, Celtic and pale. A smorgasbord. Were they all single? Really? Or had she arrived at a very different type of party?
Tommy didn’t hang around—he went straight back to the boys, swung his arms round two stunning girls and moved off, laughing as if this was the best Christmas Day ever.
She looked at Danny Ryan. Oh, no. He must think she was as easy as them. And—worse—he must be looking for that kind of girl. No way a guy like him was single by choice. None. Not a chance. The sands were still shifting. The waters were deep. And deadly. Time to swim for the shore.
‘I’ve got to go.’ She grabbed her bag tightly to her side, made to leave. Didn’t want to be there a moment longer.
‘Wait,’ he said, reaching out for her hand. ‘Why don’t you hang around a bit?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That’s not going to happen. This is not my kind of party.’
He looked around, frowned. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s not at all what I was expecting either.’
He focussed his piercing stare back on her. As if it would compel her to stay.
‘Why don’t we find somewhere a bit more—civilised?’
She tried to look away from those eyes—she really did. But they took some amount of staring—so many blues … not a trace of cloudy grey or mossy green … just blue and black and deep. You could easily lose hours of your life staring into eyes like those—just looking for a flaw. But she didn’t want to waste any more of her life. She wanted to get her life back. Back on track. Back to earning as much as she possibly could, so that she could start to clear some of Babs’s debts and then finally get on a plane and the longed-for flight home.
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll head home. I’m not really in the mood now.’
He swung another glance around, frowned a little more. Seemed to check out what his boys were getting up to.
She did the same and saw that they were getting past first base and straight to third without so much as a casual introduction. This wasn’t a singles party. This was a brothel!
‘Give me a minute—I need to check in with my boys. They don’t know what we’ve wandered into. Then we’ll go somewhere else to fix your mood.’
He pinned her in place with a confident nod and then called a couple of his guys over to chat. She could go—she should go. Nausea was beginning to form in her throat. She knew this kind of party went on—she wasn’t stupid. But she’d never been up close and personal to it. She’d never seen with her own eyes—girls who could be her or her friends—girls dressed for a club night. But the only club they were going to was one that paid their wages.
She didn’t want to judge, but if this was what she thought it was she really didn’t belong here. And she certainly didn’t want to be hooking up with any guy—no matter how gorgeous—at a place like this.
He was still rounding up his team—some of whom looked less than impressed that he was calling time on their fun. Some of the girls stared over at her. If looks could kill …
Definitely time to go. She pulled the strap of her bag tighter, squared her shoulders and headed to the door.
Suddenly there was a noise and the crowd of girls and guys in front of her melted away. She looked up to see the cause of the commotion. Uniformed men. Police. Oh, no—could this get any worse?
Danny Ryan appeared at her side. Grabbed her hand.
‘What’s happening? Why are the police here?’
‘Only one reason I can think of. And it’s not making me feel reassured. Come on.’
He sounded grim. Formidable. And something in her urged her to lean into the strength that he was channelling.
He moved fast towards the stairs. Her slingbacks slipped and clicked, keeping up with his lengthy strides.
‘I could be wrong, but I’d guess this is an unlicensed party and someone has forgotten to pay off the right person. That would explain why there’s more than fizz and canapés on offer.’
‘What? What do you mean? I knew there was something weird going on! I was told this was a singles party—I’m a kindergarten teacher. I can’t afford to get caught up in anything!’
‘None of us can, Georgia. None of us can.’
They landed at the bottom of the long twist of marble and stepped out onto the wide wraparound terrace—complete with plunge pool—stuck on the side of the building, hundreds of feet in the air. Bodies lazed and lounged, still oblivious of the raid upstairs. Bronzed limbs in every conceivable pose.
She looked away. Didn’t want to see any more of what was clearly happening all around her. The unfurling commotion was rapidly turning into a living nightmare. Panic was setting in. She had commitments. She had Babs—her life-saver, who had sacrificed everything to bring her up, to give her a good home and was relying on her and her tax-free salary just to make ends meet. She couldn’t possibly jeopardise that!
‘But you don’t understand—I can’t get into trouble here. I could lose my job. I could get arrested.’
‘I’ve no intention of letting anyone get arrested. Or lose their job.’ He sounded half distracted. ‘Here—this way. I’ve got the perfect place to wait it out.’
They moved now on plush velvet carpet. Her heels sank and she stumbled a little, trying to keep up. He turned, shot her an intense steadying look, and then scooped her close to his side. She heard the rumble of the commotion now above them.
‘What about your team?’
‘I’ve told them what to do and say if they get into trouble. They’ll be fine as long as they remember.’ He paused for another second, gave her another calming look. ‘You’ll be fine too.’
She could only hope so. She’d been warned when she’d arrived in Dubai—they all had—not to get into any trouble. Especially with the police. She worked for an international school with hugely high standards and any fun was to be had within strict boundaries.
But who would believe she was innocent? That she had come to this party thinking she might find a date? She looked just like those girls—with a tight dress and too much make-up. If she got taken to the police station she’d have to tell them where she lived. Then they’d know she worked at the international school. And that would be it. She’d be sent home in disgrace. Or worse. Jailed.
They were out in the hallway again. Same golden light, same bubbling fountain. But one floor down.
A solid door—mother-of-pearl. He slid a key and pulled it open. A private elevator, all glass and brass.
‘In here.’
She wavered. For a moment it felt as if she was on the cusp of the hugest decision of her life.
‘Is this safe? Is it going to be all right?’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Look, you’ll be fine. I know enough people here to get things sorted. I think we’ll be fine up here—away from the main action—until things settle.’
He cocked one eyebrow. “Okay?”
She nodded and followed him—decision made.
Inside, with the doors closed, up it zoomed, flying up the outer edge of the building. They had to be at the very top now—in a penthouse.
Finally the doors opened and, yes, sure enough …
Wow! This was a Honeymoon, Presidential, Penthouse—and then some. An entire picture wall of glass to her right, the perfect array of furniture to lounge upon and view it from to her left—all overhung with a deep, high balcony and lit by enormous silk-shaded lamps. Glimpses of stairs leading to a rooftop terrace, of other rooms—opulent, magnificent, utterly unparalleled. A grand piano here, a twenty-seat table there. Art on the walls that she definitely recognised. She felt as if even the air was weightier, worthier.
He led her inside.
‘Is this okay while we wait?’ He moved in through the space, perfectly at home.
She trailed behind him, wary of this luxury, unease twisting at her gut. She was not the type of girl who ever got into trouble. Not at school. Not at college. Not at home. Never. She knew right from wrong. And the only wrong thing she’d ever done was to believe in her fairytale engagement.
‘Hey. It’s all right.’ Danny stopped. Walked back to face her. Looked right at her and ran his hands up and down her arms.
She gazed up at him, desperately trying to keep it together. ‘I can’t afford to get into trouble. I need my job. It’s all I have.’
He nodded and she felt strangely reassured. She had no reason to trust him, but her instincts told her she was better off in this majestic wonderland with him than back at that party arguing her point alone. And it wasn’t only the fact that he radiated composure. There was no denying the unmistakable sensual tension he was building as he soothed and stroked her arms.
His eyes dropped to her mouth. She licked her lips.
But he shook his head, sucked in a breath through his teeth and led her to the low-seated area. ‘Why don’t you sit here? I’m going to make a couple of calls.’
His voice was low, lilting and calming. But his energy was tense. And she felt it. Oh, yes.
He stood beside her as she sat down warily, felt firm stuffed silk cushions against her back. From a tiny Aladdin’s lamp on the table at her side a drift of scented oil wound around her, languorous and loose. Opposite, ivory orchids in golden pots along the window wall sat like daubs of paint on a canvas of blue, marred only by the gleam and thrust of yet another iconic superstructure rearing up out of the Gulf.
He let go of her hand but trailed his touch up her arm and gently under her chin. She tilted her head to look at him. He locked that gaze on her again. So strong. Unyielding.
He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing or why. Touched a finger to her lips, nodded slightly, and then turned. Took a pace away and swiped out his phone.
‘Sarwar? Hey. It’s Danny. Look, I need a favour …’
CHAPTER TWO
RISK. AND THE management thereof. Normally one of his strong suits. Normally something he took a lot of pride in being very, very good at. The kind of deals he made required it. And although he’d had all of five minutes’ formal training—in other words read some stuff on the net—he’d become so well respected for the completely researched, planned and executed-within-a-hair’s-breadth decisions he made that his view was sought on projects well outside his own corporate boundaries.
So what on earth was he doing, tucked in the penthouse of the Al-Jafar, having bailed out of a highly dodgy party with an utterly gorgeous redhead who had caused chaos since he’d first slapped eyes on her?
Just getting out of her car she had been impressive. She probably didn’t even know that one guy had kerbed his coupé in the parking bay at the entrance as he watched her swing into the hotel. And that another guy had been slapped out of his daydream by his wife as he’d stared open-mouthed at her walking through the lobby. Danny had truly never seen a woman walk with such an unconscious sense of her own sexual allure.
And Tommy in the lift … If it hadn’t been so crass it would have been funny. It was as if the guy had been in a trance. His eyes had roamed all over the lovely Georgia, standing right there, her perfect breasts outlined in easily the sexiest piece of clothing he had ever seen. Okay, it was up to her neck and down to her knees—Dubai-appropriate—but nothing short of a tent could cover a body like that.
Tommy hadn’t even known he’d touched her—or so he’d said when he’d given him ‘the talk’ back in the lift. This was not a town where you stepped out of line in public. You just couldn’t risk it. Even when the eye candy was as sweet as their little lift companion. Even he’d had to fight to keep his eyes respectfully at eye rather than chest level.
But now they had a situation to deal with. And one he’d never imagined when he’d accepted the invitation to come here. He’d thought his views on this kind of thing were well enough known for his business partners to leave out sweeteners like these. Still, this one had been set up by a new guy in town who probably assumed all red-blooded males liked to pay their way. Not him. No way. Never had and never would.
But how the lovely Georgia had ended up there was another thing. She’d looked shocked when they’d arrived. Standing in the middle of all that madness like Joan of Arc. A particularly sexy Joan of Arc, but definitely in a different class from the girls who were offering themselves for rent. She had an air about her … dignity. Now, even with cops prowling all over the place and the fallout that was highly likely, she looked poised as a princess sitting on that sofa.
But he would find out more about her later—he had to focus on damage limitation right now. He clicked off the phone. Sarwar would smooth things. As the General Commander of Police he usually could. He was a handy ally to have—that was for sure. His only other concern was the press—the Dubai snappers were getting a bit invasive and he really didn’t want any photos flying over satellites to his mother’s news feed. He’d spent ten solid years here, building up his reputation, making her proud of him again—the last thing he wanted was for her to have any doubts at all.
After all, he’d built half of this town. Had made getting on here a personal challenge. His engineering skills had got him so far. But his corporate head had netted him contract upon contract and ally upon ally. There weren’t a lot of Westerners who held as much sway as he did. He had some very close friends. Emirati friends. And he’d be damned if he was going to let anything shake his well-crafted reputation now.
He looked over to where Georgia was still sitting on the edge of the sofa, worry painted all over her beautiful face. She was right to be concerned about this. If she was as genuine as he thought she was then she could afford the reputational damage even less than he.
He walked back towards her and she stood up. Her fists were clenched in tight little twists.
‘I checked in with a friend. It’s going to be okay. We just need to sit it out for a while.’
‘Who’s your friend? How does he know what’s going on?’
‘Just a contact. But don’t worry—a contact with a lot of influence. So, as I say, his advice is to wait it out while they sweep the place. Seems they’re taking a bit of a firmer line with that type of party. Someone’s decided to stop turning a blind eye.’
‘Shame he didn’t tell you that before you came.’ It was sharply said.
‘It is, yes—but since I never normally attend these sorts of events he wouldn’t have known to warn me.’
Seemed he had already been judged and sentenced. Normally he wouldn’t give a damn about anyone’s opinion of him—other than his folks back home, of course—but for some reason he really wanted to underline the point with her that paying for sex was not his thing.
‘I like to treat my boys when they’ve worked hard—and I got an invite to this party from a business contact. I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known what was going on.’ She hesitated. Definitely still wary and more than a little bit cautious. Why did he feel the need to soothe her? But he did. Even with her snippy little tones he wanted to enfold her in his arms and smooth away her worries.
He took another step towards her. ‘I’m glad I did, though, because our paths might not have crossed otherwise.’
She swallowed. His eye fell to the length of her neck, the sheen of her pale skin, the rise of her chest as she breathed. She looked from him to the door, listening. But this was the ultra-luxury penthouse, his home from home, and they were far enough away from the main action that no sounds would penetrate. Sarwar had said all the girls were going to be taken in. But he doubted that they would all go quietly. Better to be well away from that particular action.
‘How long do you think we’ll need to wait?’
‘We can leave any time you like. I guarantee you’ll not get into any difficulties with the police. I just think it politic not to catch the eye of the media or flaunt the position and the influence I have—so, unless you’ve got something more pressing to do, why don’t we enjoy the view? Salvage what we can out of our Friday night?’
He trailed his gaze over her again. Heavy-lidded dark green eyes, clear and vital. Perfect smooth skin with a shimmer of freckles through the make-up. Wide, full mouth … slightly open. He loved her lips. Sensual lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off how plump they looked—wondered how rich and sweet they’d taste. And that thick, soft dark red hair that framed her perfect face … Not to mention the rest of her. She was a beauty. A sensual, beautiful woman.
‘How about a drink? What do you say, Georgia?’
He smiled at her—couldn’t help it. She wore her thoughts on her face, unfiltered. She liked him. But she was still too wary to relax. He’d give her a little time, a little encouragement. It would be worth it. It wasn’t every day that a girl like this fell into his path, albeit unwillingly. For once he might chase. It had been so, so long since he had.
He went over to the bar.
‘Wine? Cocktail? I can do you a mean martini.’
She sat rooted to the couch and only turned her head to watch him. Again that princess posture. ‘A glass of white wine would be fine. Thanks.’
He lifted two bottles from the chiller. Compared them. Chose a fruity dry Italian that had a light effervescence over a mellow Australian. It would be good to lift her spirits a little. Get rid of some of her tension.
He twisted, poured and extended a glass towards her. Finally she moved—pushing herself up off the low couch and meeting him in the middle of the giant glass wall. He tipped his glass against hers, tried to give her a reassuring smile. Her eyes roamed over his face. Landed on his mouth. Lingered there. So she liked what she saw. Good.
‘You want to go up onto the roof terrace? See if we can hear the oil flow?’
She smiled. Just a little.
‘I’m okay in here, thanks. Humidity is not my hair’s best friend. Anyway, I’m sure your conversation will flow better than any oil.’
‘Yeah, well, hopefully we’ll be out of here before it runs out. Or before Dubai runs out of crazy ideas to net every last tourist on the planet. I’d hate to miss anything.’ He nodded back to the seating area. ‘Are you all right there? Look safe enough for your hair?’
A tiny smile. ‘Deal.’
She nudged her glass against his. She was definitely beginning to warm up. He walked behind her to the sofa, noting her sky-high shoulders settle down a little.
‘Will we start with the obligatory ex-pat back story?’
He eased himself down beside her, put his glass down, stretched out his arms. He’d keep alcohol off the menu until he was off the premises and had an apology in his back pocket for being given that party invitation. He still couldn’t believe he’d been caught up in something like this. He practically had the keys to this city—and thank God the pass to this penthouse, his weekend lair. Because now—when his deal with the Sheikh was at a critical stage—he would allow no one and nothing to get in his way.
He waited until she’d settled herself. Great posture. Great legs. She sipped her wine and watched him.
‘Okay. I’ll go first. My name’s Daniel Leo Ryan. I’m thirty-four years old. I have one younger sister, Frankie. And one older brother, Mark. Italian mother, Irish father, regulation number of aunts and uncles. We hail from County Meath, outside Dublin, Ireland. The family breeds horses. I make buildings.’
That was enough to be going on with. The less savoury details could come later—or not at all.
‘So do you ride? Or race?’
‘I was put on a horse before I could walk. We all were. It’s non-negotiable in our family. Riding, grooming, mucking out. Very little time left for anything else. My brother is involved in the family business. Parents too. Frankie does her own thing—like me.’ Though he was never sure what that was from one month to the next. ‘And you, Georgia? You’re definitely English. No mistaking that. London?’
She smiled at him. Finally. Properly. And it was glorious. A big toothy grin and it suited her.
‘Yes. East End. Cockney. Born and raised in a pub called The Tavern. My full name is Georgia Anne Blue. I’m twenty-six. My mum passed away not long after I was born and my sister Babs—Barbara, but no one calls her that—she’s eighteen years older than me—well, she brought me up. Rented out the pub until she was old enough to take it on herself. Put her whole life on hold for me. Never even had a proper boyfriend until I went to college.’
He nodded. That was a family dynamic he couldn’t begin to imagine. There would be no place for sibling rivalry there—no competition, no fierce jealousy. No judging, comparing, winning. Just a tiny family, pulling together.
‘What a huge sacrifice. You must be very close?’
She nodded, toyed with her glass a little.
‘Totally. I owe her everything. She runs that pub like a dream, but there was no way she was going to allow me to settle for that. I was going to college—end of story.’
He nodded—could sympathise with that. Engineering was not exactly a skill that sat well with breeding thoroughbreds. Law, accountancy, business admin—those were the preferred courses, the ones to which his siblings and cousins had all been directed and obediently fallen into. But obedience had never been his strong suit.
‘And was it Babs who suggested teaching?’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. She just wanted me to choose something that would make me happy. I’m quite sporty—I like football and I coach it after school. But I’d never be able to make a living from it.’
He smiled. She smiled. He liked her. Liked how genuine she seemed. Refreshing. He had met so many women out here who were living a fast-paced life. All about the glitz and the glamour. But while she had those in spades she also had depth—and humility. Yes, definitely refreshing.
‘Anyway, my first job was as a nanny, but the family wanted me to live in and I got homesick even though it was only across town. And then Babs encouraged me to aim a bit higher and I looked into teaching in a nursery. And eight years later—here I am!’
‘Here you are. But you’ve not been here long, right? You’ve got absolutely no trace of sun on your skin.’ She had beautiful skin. As if she bathed in cream.
‘I’m really careful in the sun. It’s a … There’s a family issue with sun damage.’
Back to fiddling with her glass.
She looked up at the door as if she’d heard a noise but it was still quiet. He checked his phone. Sarwar had promised to call back when the raid was over and the coast was clear. Nothing.
‘So what brought you out here if it wasn’t the promise of third-degree burns?’
She didn’t move but he sensed her tension return.
‘The short version,’ she began after a few moments, ‘is that I came out here to be with somebody and it didn’t work out.’
He thought about that for a moment. It would have needed to be someone special to uproot her if she got homesick even in her own home town. Should he probe?
‘I’m happy to listen to the long version—if you want. No worries if you don’t.’
She crossed her legs. He could have sworn it was absently, unknowingly, but it gave him the best image of womanhood he’d had in a long time. The way the split in her dress sliced him a view of her toned thigh … She was hotter than the desert in July. He pulled at his collar. Was the air-con even working?