Action Adventure / The Demon Lover Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Food finally arrived. Cordon Bleu, a delicate pilaf and more artfully arranged vegetables, which the men woofed down, hardly talking, but all—even Nidal, seemed careful to use good manners.
Karim did mutter something about wishing for a “thick, juicy steak” and Nidal adamantly agreed.
“Well, my birthday’s next week—don’t forget, you promised to grill if nobody‘s shooting at us,” he reminded Karim.
Ekaterina—the Ukrainian girl, said with a heavy accent, “Oooh, so you are a Gemini—no wonder such the charmer!”
Oh no, thought Angel, Ruth Ann with a Russian twist.
Mustafa was of course a sensitive, artistic Pisces.
“Karim’s is November 18,” Nidal supplied because even though the blonde girl inquired, Karim looked detached from the conversation and didn’t answer.
“Dah—very intense, is the Scorpio. Reserved yes, but he is the man with passion, the man of mystery,” Ekaterina suddenly eyed Karim in a way that made Nidal a little pouty. But it lasted only moments.
Scorpio… Well that’s certainly no surprise, Angel thought. She darted a look at Karim out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be brooding again.
“So what about your birthday, Angel?” Nidal asked.
“August 25. I’m a Virgo,” she supplied. She didn’t add that Ruth Ann had charted her ascending sign in Cancer and moon in Pisces, etc. which made her too sweet, too analytical, too upright and proper, too much of a dreamer and way too sensitive and nurturing—according to Ruth Ann…
“Dah, it can be a good fit,” Ekaterina nodded. “The Virgin cannot be easily won over. He tries to overwhelm her like a flood, but she overcomes dark Pluto in the end with her gentleness—as earth absorbs what water has to give, and this in turn brings life,” she added confidently, but then said to Angel, “This one has fire and air signs too… Just be careful that he doesn’t consume you.”
Angel realized Karim was suddenly staring at the Ukrainian girl with a “dark Pluto” frown, but she couldn’t fathom what it meant. She tried herself not to think too much about what the girl had said. It seemed all a bit too mystical for Angel, who was the earth sign. Besides, Grandpa always said that stuff was a bunch of baloney. That destiny and fate were what you allowed them to be…
A first round of belly dancers came and went during dessert. Like the woman on T.V. this morning, they were scantily clad and Angel had to admit, some of the moves and muscle gyrations seemed impossibly difficult and must have required a lifetime of practice. Even Hassan seemed quite taken by the performance. Karim skipped dessert and watched the dancers with his arms folded over his chest, but he wasn’t scowling anymore. Mustafa was making moon-eyes at the pretty Arabic girl, but Nidal had already moved in with his arms around Ekaterina.
Yes, food worked every time with the men at home. Uncle John—because of his war experiences, could be moody at times, and while Grandpa was mostly always a peach, hunger did make him a bit snappish. The drink waiter came by again and whisk away Karim’s barely touched Rum and Coke and brought him another. He’d mostly been drinking water like Angel, but the new one he suddenly down to about halfway.
Coffee and Arak tea were served next. Hassan took one of the tiny cups of coffee that appeared almost syrupy it was so thick. He leaned back and lit a cigarette, but seemed careful to blow his smoke away from Angel.
Karim nudged her and inquired sweetly whether she’d like some ‘tea’, grinning when she declined a bit huffily. The rum and Coke seemed to have loosened him up a bit. He took another sip and put his arm around Angel again, pulling her against his side. His other hand rested in her lap, reaching up now and again to lightly stroke her hip.
In spite of the increasing beat of her heart, Angel was amazed again at how comfortable and safe she felt in his arms. Without really thinking about it, she leaned her head against his shoulder, but straightened in her chair when she noticed the waiters bringing out rolling carts with some type of ornate, tall objects with brass tops and round glass bases. They looked like something out of a scene from Arabian Nights, like magic lamps that could only have held a very skinny genie, but they also had some kind of long hoses with multiple mouthpieces.
“Sorry to ask questions again, but what are those?”
“Narghile’ or some call them hookah. They’re water pipes… Used for smoking,” Karim answered. As Men fired them up and some of the smoke began to blow their way, Angel realized a very pungent herbish smell was starting to permeate the air.
“What are they smoking?” she asked, but thought she already knew.
She could feel Karim’s answering laugh against her. “Just don’t breath too deeply.”
Taking the stage now was a voluptuous, older, but still very beautiful woman in a red sequined gown. She sang with a powerful voice that showed no hesitancy or strain at all with the roiling vibrato and undulations of the Arabic melody. In spite of herself, Angel was entranced. Hassan had stopped some his impatient shuffling too. Angel happened to glance toward the Ismaili table and noticed the dark-haired woman was watching them again. When she saw that Angel was looking back, she smiled at her again. “Who is that woman?”
“Its Majnoona, she’s a popular Egyptian singer.”
“No, the woman with that horrible Ismaili fellow… She keeps smiling at me.”
Karim followed her gaze. “That’s Michelle… She’s the Colonel’s resident Frenchie.” Karim’s reply was flippant, but Angel felt him tense a little.
Hassan got up from the table and excused himself.
French, huh? She thought of the tags on the dress she was wearing, the black underwear, and had a little moment of pique, but felt instantly ridiculous about it. What possible difference did it make? This is all an act, she reminded herself. Karim moved his hand up and began to stroke just below her breasts with his fingers. Heat radiated through her lower extremities—no where near where he was actually touching. His hand played lower, caressing her mid-section before circling the indention of her navel through the dress. It certainly felt all too real…
“Time for a little public display…” Karim murmured.
He took Angel by surprise by suddenly pulling her sideways onto his lap. She looked around, slightly embarrassed, but no one else but the dark-haired woman and Ismaili were looking at them now. Nidal was making out with Ekaterina and had his face buried in her neck. Mustafa was holding the petite little Mona’s hand and whispering something in her ear that was making her giggle and blush. Some couples had trickled out onto the dance floor, while others had gotten up and started milling around, laughing and talking, but in more private, whispered tones. Some of the men were still smoking the large pipes.
Nidal, with a big grin, started pulling his Ukrainian girl toward the dance floor. Evidently, a bullet wound and bruised ribs were no deterrent at all to the young fighter when the party was on.
The band switched to a young male singer with a sexy, mesmerizing voice. He started a slow, sensual ballad that began with drum beats, lilting moans and breathy sighs into the microphone.
With Karim’s arms encircling her, Angel kept one hand in her lap, but had no place to put her other arm comfortably except to drape it over his shoulder, her hand sliding around to the back of his neck. His hair brushed feather-soft against her skin and she fought the urge to run her fingers through it.
He met her eyes with a speculative look, then leaned down and pressed his lips between the swells of her breasts the dress pushed up invitingly, brushing his mouth softly over the top of each mound before starting a slow, heated trail over one bare shoulder, and up her throat. Angel tensed against the shiver of desire that coursed through her from the warm stirring of his breath on her bare skin, the heat radiating from wherever his mouth touched. His hand played through her hair, pushing it back from her cheek. The gentle graze of his lips against her ear caused a whole new wave of tingling as he whispered, “Angel, darling, stop fighting it. I want you. You want me… Let it happen.”
She willed herself not to look into his beautiful dark eyes, not to fall into the trap of his heated stare, but she could feel Karim’s gaze on her face as he lifted her hand from her lap, unclenched it and placed it under his suit jacket to lay flat against his chest. His hand covered hers, gently caressing as he moved her palm slowly across the upper portion of his body, then down over his diaphragm so that she could feel the rise and fall of his breath and the hard ripple of his muscles beneath the crisp linen of his shirt.
With a sigh that was more like a soft moan, Angel closed her eyes, then slowly opened them, only to find she that she could not resist the pull of his eyes. When she looked at him, she saw in his face a hunger that made her ache all the more with some strange need to touch him, meld into him, feel him touch her everywhere, all at once. His other arm still encircled her, fingers splayed across her flat stomach in a firm grasp, which he suddenly shifted to her hip, then to a light caress across her abdomen, fueling the fire that was already building in her.
Slowly, almost by increments, he removed the hand that had been holding hers against his chest. Captured by the heat in his steady gaze, she couldn’t have pulled away if she’d wanted to. She realized she didn’t want to. She knew she should be feeling more alarm right now but couldn’t seem to summon it. Nor could she summon any of the earlier anger she’d felt knowing that her body, her desires, were going to betray her again.
Eyes still locked with his, her hand moved over his chest of its own volition, feeling the quickening beat of his heart. Her other hand combed through the back of his hair, testing the thickness, the loose waves and curling tendrils, unwinding and twirling them like spools of dark silk through her exploring fingers.
He put a hand on her leg, bending it so that she was angled more toward him. His next move was mostly hidden from the eyes of others by the table cloth as he slid his hand upward, caressing along the back of her thigh, going beneath the dress. When his hand suddenly ran out of silk stocking and found bare skin, she heard a sharp catch of his breath. His muscles tensed beneath her fingers.
“Oh hell yes, Angel,” he murmured, hand coming up and under the wispy panties. His eyes were now on fire. “Kiss me darling… You know you want to…”
The music played on, the young man’s voice now a seductive, rolling wave of sensual words she felt rather than understood. The swirling light, violet blues only now, played over Karim’s chiseled features. The pungent smoke from the pipes hung heavy in the air, swirling around them. She focused in on his inviting mouth, the very sensuous curve of his lips. His other hand on her back coaxed her gently toward him.
Compelled more by this strange, raging desire than her normal sensibilities, her hand drifted from his chest, moving slowly over the side of his dark-angel face, then into his hair. She wasn’t really consciously aware of pulling his head toward her—just knew the way his hard chest felt so delicious coming against hers. She could feel his deep, ragged breath when her lips touched his.
He caught another heavy breath against her mouth, murmured something like sweet baby as her lips moved over his, shyly at first, then with a passion she was unable to contain as his hand continued to stroke and explore under the dress. As if he couldn‘t hold back any longer, he suddenly removed his hand from the curve of her bottom and drew her upper body against him with both arms.
More like the Karim she knew, he kissed her as if his life depended on it. Angel’s hands moved in his hair, went to his shoulders, went under the jacket in exploration over his chest again, then wrapped herself tightly against him. She felt almost weak with need as he gently teased her lower lip with his teeth, then drew it partially into his mouth. She found herself kissing him back with all the mixed, pent-up emotion he‘d prompted in her—really—since she‘d first laid eyes on him in the airport lobby. His hands slid over the curve of her hips and waist, then moved to the sides of her breasts. She responded by pressing them more firmly against his hard chest.
“Mmmm, yes baby… that’s right. Angel darling, give me more of your tongue…”
His hand went up her thigh again, this time up the front of the dress. His tongue began to explore inside her mouth with probing insistence. Angel felt him rock up against her, the hard bulge pressing into the hollow between her bottom and the backs of her thighs. Her eyes flew open. She pulled back and stared at him.
Too much. Too fast… She had to stop and regain some control over her senses.
Remembering where she was, and why, she tried to break away from his sudden frown. His eyes were smoky, but rapidly going ebony black. Her breath came in short spurts she couldn’t seem to help. She felt like her head was spinning and dropped it for a moment against his shoulder. He mumbled something low and chiding that sounded like, “Damn, Angel,” but he removed the hand from under her dress and pulled her close, stroking the back of her hair. It was a gentleness she hadn’t been expecting. She raised her head, and but was sure she couldn’t look into his face. She tried staring at the top button of his shirt but found that his throbbing pulse point, the crisp dark hair peeking out from the white shirt, were still in her line of vision. The lingering scent of his aftershave, intermingled with his sexy all-man smell and the swirling clouds of hashish smoke from the pipes were working on her too. She felt the inevitable blush creeping up her throat. She needed to tell him—so badly… what? That she did want him, in fact, a little too desperately at this moment, but that it was all happening too quickly for her, and much too public.
She took a deep breath and whispered, “Karim, I—”
He seized her chin, arcing her face up so she had to look at him. She was surprised to see that—instead of the anger she’d been expecting—he had the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You said my name, baby. Say it again—it took you at least three syllables.”
Angel blushed again. Was he making fun of her Southern accent? But he was smiling, which lit his eyes, freeing them from the opaque black that always seemed so forbidding. He let go of her chin to push her hair back from her face, lingering to lightly caress her cheek.
“Say it again,” he commanded, the smile widening to expose perfect white teeth.
Oh my lord, he was so completely, heart-stoppingly gorgeous when he smiled. Angel blushed, but his lighter mood made him all the more irresistible. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. She sent him her own shy little smile before she cast her eyes downward.
Karim actually groaned a little. “Angel, baby, you’re laying me out on the floor here… Ahh, Sweet… so sweet.”
He buried his face against her throat, kissing with the same intensity he’d used on her mouth. Angel turned into his kisses, feeling the top of his head and the compelling brush of his soft hair again her cheek.
She’d honestly forgotten again that there was anyone else in the room but them, anyone else in the universe, but as her eyes strayed around, she froze. Karim must have felt her tense against him because he also looked up, watching her face with an unreadable expression as her gaze widened, darting about more frantically. There was a man and woman behind them who stood between their table and one of the round ones. They hadn’t even made it to the dance floor. They swayed to the music, but instead of his arms around her shoulder or waist, he had her dress hiked up over her hips. Another group of men had two girls in their midst. One was laughing, bending one of the girls over the table while the others hooted their approval. Two of them had their hands on the other girl.
Angel‘s mouth fell open. She couldn‘t help it. Her startled gaze flew to Karim’s face. She couldn’t even see Mustafa and Nidal anymore. They might have been within the group on the dance floor, which appeared like a sea of swaying, grinding bodies under the blue and white lights.
Karim drew her against him again and whispered in her ear. “Its okay baby, I’m here and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you…”
Oh my God, she believed him. …Why did she believe him? She had no choice, really. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and buried her head against his chest, squeezing her eyes shut. From behind her, she heard the woman’s high pitched laugh and the man’s answer—an animal-like, groaning response.
Just trying to digest what it all meant—what they were doing, she was only vaguely conscious of Karim standing to his feet, still holding her in his arms for a moment as he scooted back the chair and set her gently on her feet.
He said matter-of-factly, “It’s just going to degenerate from here, Angel, might as well be warned… Do you want to dance?”
This took Angel completely by surprise. “Dance?”
She looked toward the crowded dance floor, her hand going to her chest as she attempted to digest his strange request.
He pulled her into his arms, and whispered, “Angel, we’re being watching, understand? We might as well make the best of it…”
Her eyes darted to the head table, where she saw indeed that the terror leader, sipping from a champagne glass, was staring over the glass in their direction with a reptilian gleam. His eyes locked with hers for a moment, showing heightened interest. Angel tore her gaze away and felt herself shiver, but Karim already had his hand on her arm. As he steered her around the table, she caught site of Sayyid, the man who’d kissed her hand in the lobby. She saw that he now had the top of his blonde escort’s dress pulled down, fondling her while he talked and smoked at another table with a group of men who didn‘t look Arabic. Two of the men looked more Eastern European—like Ekaterina—with light hair and eyes. They each had young oriental girls in their laps. A third man was small, dark and wore glasses. He had no woman near him. He reminded her of the Pakistani man who ran a small grocery and convenience store down the road from their church in Antioch. The store owner and his family was very congenial and kind—everyone in Antioch considered them part of the community—but this strange little man met her eyes with a cold, piercing glare that made Angel’s skin crawl. She quickly looked away.
Karim went around the crowd and stopped with her very near one of the couches along the wall. They were out of the throng, but not out of view of Ismaili and she fancied she could feel the terrorist leader’s eyes on them as Karim drew her against him and kissed her softly—almost like a gesture of comfort. The new song the young singer started with his breathless, sweet tenor voice featured a slow, haunting build up with some kind of mandolin-like instrument without frets being played by an older man—obviously a master. The sensual joining of the slow, but throbbing backbeat of a single drum, the strumming, and singer’s voice seem to pulse through her body from this close.
Karim was starting to move his body against hers. She looked up at him skeptically. “I really don’t dance…”
“Don’t then,” he said. “Just move with me.”
He lifted her lightly off her feet and spun her in a half turn so that she no longer faced the terror leader’s table or the other dancers, but the wall. She felt better about that until she saw that Mustafa and the little Arab girl were locked in a passionate embrace on the couch just a few feet away.
“Don’t look around darling, just at me. Just look into my eyes, Angel… Its just you and me…”
She did look into his eyes, and soon forgot her discomfort. Instead she felt a shiver of anticipation before his mouth came down on hers and he began to kiss her again. His tongue gently parted her lips, finding hers easily. His hands played down her waist to her hips, but not in a vulgar way. They were still pretty much standing still. She felt herself relax against his body. His mouth in her hair, trailing down her throat and over her shoulder soon became her only focus.
“Mmmm, Sexy baby…”
Karim breathed against her ear. He lightly skimmed her waist with both hands, almost encircling it with his long fingers. “Where did you get that tight little body? …You’re so tight, baby. Its driving me crazy, do you work out?”
Angel laughed softly, but knew she was blushing. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as he seized her gaze with his magnetic one. She gave a weak shrug. “I horseback ride pretty much every day back home, but its mostly farm work… Shoveling horse stalls… You might make fun of it, but the lifestyle is very natural and healthy.”
“I promise I won’t tease you about that again… You just feel… Mmmm, really good to me.” His breath stirred her hair. His hard body pressed against hers. He still wasn’t dancing, just more swaying to the hypnotic rhythm of the music and sliding her body against him. His feet barely moved.
Unsure how to react to what seemed to her more over-the-top flattery, she blushed again. “Well I hope I don’t look like some woman weightlifter,” she finally said, knowing the comment was a little inane. She knew it wasn‘t true, but she also knew she couldn’t be as wonderful as he implying that she was. The more practical side of her brain warned, Smooth Operator. There were women far more beautiful here than her. Like the woman seated with Ismaili.
Like the woman who grabbed his arm earlier as he passed. Certainly, these women knew more what to do with a man like him. Angel could only cling to his waist and try not melt in a puddle at his feet.
In answer to her weightlifter comment, Karim said almost scoldingly, “Decidedly not, baby—I just meant you feel firm—nice and tight in all the right places. Damn Angel, that was supposed to be a compliment.” He ran his hands over her waist again, then up her arms to her shoulders, which she knew in fact were maybe a bit too slender for her bust size—a problem buying bras, but her arms did have definition. “You’re perfect,” he murmured against her hair, as if this absolutely settled the issue.
The singer started another sensual ballad, but it had more of a first-love sweetness about it. It started with the tinkling of chimes that made her think of a light summer breeze ruffling her hair when she worked in the little garden near the porch at home. They had a collection of wind chimes that often made her pause to listen to their soft, rustling song.
The chorus had a string of “ya habibis” which she’d been hearing the men use. Karim called Nidal that sometimes. It seemed to be a term of affection.
“This is a very pretty song,” Angel said. “What is ya habibi?”
“Technically, it means something to the effect of ‘dear one’ or ‘loved one.’ More loosely, we also use it for My God, Oh baby, my dear friend, my very annoying young cousin, etc. In this song, this would be male to female so its ya habibti, and it take on more the connotation of a lover, my darling—as in Angel, ya habibti, enti motheera, betaa'di."
“And this means?”
“Loosely—it means, Angel, my darling, you’re so sexy-hot.” He was smiling again, but his eyes remained heated, intense, boring down into hers, like she should take what he was saying completely seriously.
She couldn’t help but give him a skeptical look. “Well, that’s quite the dissertation, Professor…”
“Yeah, I’ve got a lot more.”
His hands drifted to her hips, grinding just a bit too much as he pulled her lower body against his. Angel willed herself not panic, not to break from his gaze. She reached down as calmly as she could and pulled his hands back to her waist. This made him grin again, albeit sort of wickedly.
In his sweet, seductive voice, the singer crooned, “Ya habibti, Shu fi baynatna…”
“What is he singing? Can you tell me the words?” Angel asked, hoping to distract him.
It didn’t work. His eyes had gone all smoky-dark again—like the first time he’d told her, ‘I want you.’ His gaze never left her face as he swayed against her in time to the music and whispered,
“’Ya Habibti, Shu fi baynatna,
My darling, what is there between us?
Oyounek helween,
Your beautiful eyes…
Aam eghrah’ eb bahr oyounek,
I am drowning in the sea of your eyes…
Lazem fahmek ino nahna mnelba’ lebaad,
I must make you understand that we belong together.
Ya Habibti, Sara’teeli albi mnee,
My darling, you’ve stolen my heart away…
Ya Habibti, enti eli,
My darling, you are mine.’”
This time when he kissed her, it was slow, deep—almost as gentle and earnest as the singer’s voice.
“Angel, let’s go upstairs now,” he breathed.
Her gaze trailed away to the floor. “I really need to go, you know… to the ladies room,” she said.
Karim sighed. “Oh… yeah. Sorry baby—that was really thoughtless of me not to check with you sooner on that.”
He took her hand and started leading her past the dancers, Mustafa and Mona on the couch, and the band had started a new song. They entered a florescent-lit hallway and Angel realized Karim now had his gun out. She saw two doors at the end of the hall. Karim entered the one marked “Dames” with the gun leading, leaving Angel to stand at the door. His no-nonsense expression was a stark reminder of the dangers of complacency in this strange world she now found herself a part of. He checked out the two stalls, then dropped the gun.
“Okay.” He motioned for her to come. Angel took a couple of steps into the bathroom, then paused when she realized he wasn’t moving himself, as in, heading for the door.
She stood still and stared at him. When he still didn‘t budge, she shook her head, “Oh, no… No way. I’ll be perfectly safe with you standing outside.”
He looked uncertain, and she could see from his expression he was mainly concerned for her safety, but he’d checked everything out, and what could possibly happen with him right outside the door? She made up his mind for him. She took the chance on asserting herself and grabbed him by the arm, then turned him towards the door and gave a push. “Shoo now… Go on. I’ll be right out.”
He turned and gave her a delighted grin. “Shoo?”
Angel shrugged. Well, it was what she said to the chickens and pigs at home, and when she herded restless five year-olds out the door when school was out… Shoo-fly-pie was also the cornball name for an actually quite delicious Southern-style pie made with lots of molasses… He couldn’t possibly know this, right? So he must think her an absolute clod with her own native tongue… She heard his laughter as she eased the door shut.
Smarmy Mr. Linguistics expert, and he was an operator…Angel, ya Habibti… My foot…That was the Southern way of saying ‘b.s.’ Still, she felt butterflies in her stomach when she thought of his smoldering delivery… his smooth growling voice.
As Angel went into the stall, she heard the door to the outside fly back open, followed by a rush of light high heel clicks on the marble floor and hysterical giggling. She heard two female voices.
“Oh my God, he’s right outside the door! Did you see the way he smiled at us? He‘s so fucking hot!” This woman had only a slight accent Angel thought could be Arabic, but it wasn‘t like the ones she‘d heard so far.
“Is true, yes, but everybody want the good fucking with Karim. You might need to take a number.” This one had a heavy accent that seemed oriental.
“Sharmoota, I’ve had him a couple of times. Big cock and knows how to use it!” More knowing laughter and tittering.
“Fast and hard, oooh, he like to pound that pussy, now that’s a man… I show him last time how I can take him all in my mouth. He know my specialty…”
“Well, let’s hope he ditches the little American soon. Did you see the way he looks at her? Everybody’s talking about it…”
“Yes, but we know how his wanting is to spread all that hot stuff around. He can do two of us at a time better than the rest of these zebbs know how to ass-fuck.”
Angel’s ears didn’t just burn at their coarseness—it was more like conflagration of anger that spread through her entire her body. She flushed and flung the door open with a bang against the wall that caused both women—who were primping in the mirror over vanity sink—to hurl around.
“Angel?” She heard Karim’s voice outside the door. “Do I need to come in there?”
“No!” she yelled emphatically back. For heaven’s sake…
The oriental girl tossed a brittle smile toward Angel. The other girl, who looked sort of Arabic, but was tall and had green eyes, crossed her arms over her chest in a pouty manner and didn’t bother to disguise her hostility.
“Excuse me,” Angel murmured, angling herself between them so she could use the sink. She didn’t dare look in the mirror, knowing her face would be livid and beet-red.
The two women made no effort to hide that they were checking her out.
“Amerikan kahpe, amcik agizli,” the green-eyed one said to Angel as she was drying her hands.
“Sorry? I didn’t understand?” Angel sensed the comment wasn’t friendly.
Both women laughed.
“You think she suck Karim’s big zebb with those lips? No wonder he trail her like she’s a dog in heat…”
Angel didn’t stay around for the women’s next round of insults. She barreled through the door with enough force that Karim had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit before it also slammed against the wall.
“Damn, Angel… what the hell baby?”
Karim tried to grab her hand as she bolted past him, but missed her on the first try. He overtook her easily in just a few strides and locked a hand down on her arm, reining her to a halt. She whirled around to face him, but before he could shove his gun back inside his jacket and seize her other arm, she brought that hand up to her hip. She tossed her hair back from her face, and fixed him with a glare that was all white-hot sparks and blue flame. Jesus Christ, one high heel was actually tapping out her agitation on the marble floor… His little bristling kitten had transformed into a angry lioness.
Goddamn, but she was fucking beautiful when she was mad…Karim felt an actual slam of heat to his groin. It immediately radiated to everywhere, every nerve ending in his body felt the singe.
“Angel, what the hell’s wrong with you?“ He jerked her in a little closer to him. She attempted to hold her ground, but stumbled one step forward. He gave her credit for not falling off her shoes this time, even if she did have to grab his arm to steady herself.
“I’m fine,” she snapped. He saw that she was trembling and attempted to pull her into his arms. She blew him off with another searing glance. “Don’t even…”
The two women came out of the bathroom, still laughing. When they saw Karim and Angel and their obvious confrontational postures, they slowed their pace, loping like runway models and throwing Angel smirks as they passed. Karim’s eyes cut in their direction with a glare so menacing they lost their smug smiles, come-hither walks and hurried away.
Okay. Now he got it.
They’d said something to Angel—probably about him, maybe even about fucking him, because he was certain he had—and now she was hopping mad. He tried to remember if he’d looked at the two whores when they came up. He’d been laughing to himself at Angel’s latest endearingly hokey comment, and they’d smiled. Maybe he’d looked at them distractedly—maybe still smiling—but his mind had been on Angel. She was like a breath of fresh air, and he’d been gulping it in like a drowning man. Now he might need a life preserver.
Drowning in the sea of Angel’s eyes… Did the band have to play that song? Too close to home…
She still had her hand on her hip, but her head was turned like she couldn’t bare to look at him. He tried again to draw her closer to him.
“Ah, now Angel—come on baby, those girls are sharmoota, just some whores… You are—”
“Essentially, your whore too.” She finished his sentence, but not in the words he would have remotely used to try and express his thoughts for her right now. Corn silk hair bounced and cascaded enticingly over her breasts and shoulders as she whipped her head around and fixed him again with an ice princess stare that would have done justice to the Goddess Freyja of legend, whose spell had to be broken by fire—and whose power was known to be in the depths of her gentle eyes and her luxurious golden hair.
Svipdag in the story didn’t get any pussy either—at least not until he learned to use the fire to melt her icy heart. Fanciful bullshit… Reality: No pussy again tonight. He could feel it…Unless he could re-ignite the flame…
“Karim? You said something about going upstairs?” She eyed him coolly, honey-voice tinged around the edges with icy disdain.
He pulled her against him, and even though she stiffened, he couldn’t help giving a light kiss to the top of her head and pilfering a bit through her hair. One gold strand had dipped into the irresistible cleft between her breasts, which heaved a little with her anger. He pulled it free, studying the gleaming strand—the way it shimmered even in the florescent hall light—before tucking it behind her ear.
“Angel,” he began the best way he knew how. “Look honey, those girls are just whores—”
Her eyes flashed blue flame again. “Oh! You really are a piece of work! Do you know that? You know, whores are people too, you arrogant polecat… Smarmy Lothario…”
Karim stared at her in amazement. He tried, but he just couldn’t keep the blistering smile off his face. Talking about mixing metaphors—had she just called him… a polecat? …And in the same sentence referenced “Lothario,” a character from literature who had become an eponym for flagrant womanizing… He had to laugh—just couldn’t help himself. She was delightful…Whores are people too? He’d ponder that one later…
Angel must have put every ounce of horse-shit shoveling strength behind the shove she gave to his chest. Taken off-guard, Karim actually took a stumbling half-step backward.
She broke free and spun on the heel she’d been tapping, starting at brisk, angry pace down the hall. The sweet swing of her awe-inspiring ass—completely deserving of eloquent treatment in a sappy Arab pop song, even an epic poem—reminded Karim of why he was going to have to get a handle on it… Shut her down with force if that’s what it took to get her under control. She’d already stepped out under the swirling blue lights before he could seize her roughly from behind.
“Goddamn it Angel, I said no more than a foot away, remember? Now calm your little ass down!” He caught a better grip on her arm and lightly shook her. Unfazed, she kept walking, pushing through dance floor crowd, not even giving a second pause to the couch couples, some of whom were already in various stages of undress and public humping. Thank God still-a-virgin Mustafa had moved on, and Nidal preferred more privacy.
“I said enough now.” Karim reeled her in by the one arm, pulling her body against his a little harder than he’d intended. He heard her gasp and felt bad for it, but quickly locked his arms around her. Even then, she continued to struggle. “Enough, damn it Angel!”
They’d cleared the dancers and were now roughly standing in the center of the room. Karim could feel the attention heighten around them. Heads began to turn. Ismaili and those at the head table would have an uncluttered view of the action.
Karim glared down on her in warning, and to his surprise, she still glared back.
“Where is the door?” She demanded, trying to search around him to where the main entrance was blocked from her view by his height and the span of his shoulders. “I want to go upstairs now. You can come back down here to your party…”
She still struggled, but his grip prevented anything more dramatic than a few unproductive wiggles. He could see her eyes were starting to shimmer with moisture, but would bet the stakes in a poker game that she wouldn’t cry.
“You want to get the hell out of here? Then you’d better calm down. I’ll let you loose and we can go over and say good night to the Colonel, then we can go,” he explained tersely.
“I don’t want to say good night to that awful man!” she hissed.
“Angel, keep your voice down and your opinions to yourself. People are staring. Now I’m going to let go—just hold your arm, and let’s go pay our respects and we can leave, okay? I want to get out of here as badly as you…”
“Yes, I’ll bet you do… Respects? These people are a bunch of perverts, and you are a degenerate—”
“I know, degenerate, insufferable asshole—I get it.” He said without humor. He was starting to feel angry with her now. She usually had the good sense to give an inch or two when she knew it was hopeless.
He tested her by slowly easing his crushing hold and allowing her to break body contact. She didn’t exactly challenge the grip he kept on her arm, but started forward motion again in the lead, giving the allusion that she was dragging him along, rather than the other way around.
It was bound to happen. She must have caught site of Ismaili’s sinister, scar-faced grin of welcome and cut suddenly in the opposite direction, back toward the door. Karim managed to keep his hold on her, attempting to jerk her back toward him so he could propel her to where they needed to go first. Angel stumbled and one of her shoes twisted off and slid a few feet across the floor. Karim wasted no further energy trying to reason with her, just turned and scooped her up off her feet. She seemed too stunned for the moment to struggle. She did wrap her arms around his neck as if she feared he might drop her. Not a chance… He was so wound, agitated, and horny by now that she might as well have been weightless. The scent of strawberries wafting to him from her hair didn’t help.
“My… shoe,” she whispered.
With a sigh, Karim, walked the few steps with her draped over his arms like a pretty, big-eyed doll. He knelt down, balancing her on one knee as he picked up the shoe and slid it back on Angel’s slender foot. His accompanying groan when he rose up was not even remotely about the lifting of her feather-weight again. And to think—he’d always heard death by drowning was supposed to be the peaceful way to go…
He waited until they were directly in front of Ismaili before he dared set Angel down on her feet. Her eyes still had a dangerous glimmer to them and her breathing hadn’t fully calmed. Tearing his gaze away from Angel, he turned his attention to Yismaili, glad for the gift of outward calm even when he was raging inside-or like now, when everything just felt tied up in knots…
Golden Silk cords with a sprig of baby’s breath…
Lord Oafkir could barely contain his mirth as his black eyes flickered over Karim, then lingered on Angel with a glint of pleasure. Her hand came back on her hip, but she did have instinct enough to drop her eyes toward the floor. Only the expert could get away unscathed from a stare-down match with the Terror Lord, depending on his mood. Karim was well-aware that Ismaili seeming good humor at present could change from moment-to-moment like quicksilver.
“We’re heading upstairs,” Karim informed him, trying to keep to things cut-and-dry. Got to get Angel the hell out of here… Every male eye in the vicinity was on her. Ian, he could see, had shoved the little Korean girl off his lap and she now stood obediently behind his chair, with her eyes cast down. The English wasn‘t the only one—he could see some of the other men sizing him up, wondering if they’d fought him before whether they could kick his ass this time around. Not a good sign. He made a show of pulling the Glock from his jacket and shoving it within easy reach behind his belt.
He pulled Angel up against him and kissed her ear while he waited for Ismaili to stop laughing. She turned into him and buried her head against his shoulder. Angel subdued now? Not likely. Her body still felt stiff and unyielding in his arms. But her tits were pushed squarely against his chest, her arms clinging to his waist. Good acting, Angel…
After taking another sip from his champagne glass, Ismaili was finally recovered enough to speak. “Now that, my Beautiful One, was certainly your most stellar performance to date... The shoe thing—like Cinderella and her handsome prince…“ Ismaili did the flutter thing with his hand over his heart. He turned his attention to Angel. “Such a lovely little flower, but she does have a rebellious streak. Such as I’ve heard, are the American women…” he sighed wistfully, as if Angel were his problem instead of Karim’s. He added, with almost fatherly concern, “I do see you may need to beat her, but remember what I said—don’t leave anything permanent that will decrease her value.”
“Yes, well, I think at this point, I’d rather beat her in private,” Karim said, the accompanying lascivious grin coming easily as he reached down and gave Angel’s ass a little squeeze. She slid a leg in between his. Ten minutes ago, he would have been thrilled, but now, he detected a warning in her action that prompted a sudden urge to protect his business. Still grinning at Ismaili, he clamped down on her leg with both of his—just in case.
“I have a few more bottles of this Diadema Diamente, “$21,200 a bottle—courtesy of our Russian guests. Sure you don’t want stay and amuse us more with your little filly?”
“You know I also prefer to do my riding in private,” Karim brought his hand from her butt to her hair, intertwining and gently tugging her head back. She met his eyes with a deep azure glare before his mouth came down on hers for one last bit of public display. When he lingered too long with his plundering lips she stepped down just hard enough on his foot with a pointed heel and wrenched her mouth free.
Laughter from the men cut through the tension that had been building.
“You have my leave, Habibi,” the Terror Lord dismissed Karim with a wave of the ruby ring. Karim was already getting a renewed iron grip on Angel’s arm and was turning her toward the door.
“Karim!” Ismaili called after them, and Karim knew he had no choice but to pause. He turned to see that the Terror Lord was holding his champagne glass out toward him like a toast. “Fuck the little American like we Arabs will one day fuck them and the world, and don‘t forget the symbolism…To Arab Unity, Ya Habibi!”
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but the new one he suddenly down to about halfway—this phrase does not make sense, needs to be clarified
Interesting portrait for Angel of a world she doesn’t know. The Russian girl talking about astrology—Angel’s Virgo versus Karim’s Scorpio. Then we have the image of Ruthann and Angel remembering the elements of the chart she had done on her. Then her Grandfather’s dismissing it all as nonsense, but it is clear that the chemistry of the Zodiac signs is having an effect on both Angel and Karim.
I am unclear as to why Karim is so forward at this point with Angel. If the intent is seduction, or is it to subtly humiliate her. He is awaking in Angel sexual feelings, making her a woman in a sense she was not aware of. She is falling for it, but what are Karim’s intentions?
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