Qadir ran a tired hand over his eyes as he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him. He had been reading the same document for the past five minutes. He would not be able to tell his Secretary of Natural Resources a thing about what he was supposed to have read. His phone vibrated and he answered it with an irritated growl.
“I will call you once I have finished reading over the proposal,” he snapped.
“Well, since you said that so cheerfully, I might have to make you a more enticing offer,” Aimee teased.
He swiveled around in his chair and stood up, looking out over the cityscape. He gripped the phone tighter and breathed a silent prayer of relief. She was out there somewhere.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
Her amused laughter sounded like music to his ear. “How about starting with ‘Hi, Aimee. I’m so glad you called. Did you have a lovely day? How about I meet you for dinner? I know you must be starving.’”
His lips curved into a rueful smile. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and sighed.
“Hello, Aimee. I’m thrilled that you finally called me. I’m glad you did not kill yourself today. Where can I pick you up so I can take you to dinner?”
“I’ve got the perfect place,” she replied from behind him.
Qadir stiffened in surprise and turned toward the door of his office. Aimee was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. She disconnected the call, and they both lowered their cell phones.
Her hair was in a long braid over her right shoulder. She was wearing her old coat and a pair of blue jeans with a long rip across each thigh. Under the material, he could see she was wearing black leggings. Her jeans were tucked into a pair of knee-high brown boots, and she was looking at him with the soft, teasing expression that made his heart swell. He knew he was staring at her, but he didn’t care. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
He slowly walked around his desk. They met in the center of his office. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together as their lips connected.
Her hands were splayed across the back of his head and the tip of her tongue teased his. He groaned when she threaded her fingers through his hair.
“I missed you,” she confessed, pressing tiny kisses all over his face.
“Why didn’t you call sooner?”
She captured his lips again. Qadir turned and sat her on the edge of his desk so he could run his hands over her. She pulled him closer so his crotch was pressed firmly against hers.
“This office doesn’t by any chance come equipped with a bed, does it?” she breathlessly asked, tilting her head back so he could reach her neck.
“No. We’ll have to improvise,” he said, unfastening his trousers.
Thirty minutes later, Aimee gave herself a critical look in the bathroom mirror. Her lips were swollen, and she glowed. She felt like she could fly and her body hummed with contentment.
She grimaced as she pulled her sweater away from her tender breasts. She might need to wear a bra for some padded protection if Qadir kept giving them the attention he did. The thought made her smile. It was a price she was willing to pay.
The door opened, and in the mirror, she saw Qadir leaning against the doorframe. He might not have the soft, glowing aura around him, but he did look like a well-satisfied man. He held up her coat, and she slipped her arms into it. A shiver of delight and desire cascaded through her when he kissed her neck, just below her left ear, as he adjusted her collar.
“You are beautiful, habibi,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him.
She tilted her head and accepted his kiss. Lifting her hand, she caressed his cheek. She had fallen for him fast. The thought should have scared the hell out of her, but it didn’t. Considering her unusual upbringing, it was an emotion she never thought that she would experience. Still, like everything else in life, she embraced it as a treasure to be captured, admired, and enjoyed to the fullest, even knowing that she might have to let it go one day.
“I’m falling in love with you, Qadir.” She looked at his expression in the mirror when she said it.
The pleased smile on his lips made her heart skip a beat, but it was the expression in his eyes that made her relax in his embrace. He might not want to admit it yet, maybe he didn’t even realize it yet, but he was falling in love with her too.
“You should let me purchase you new clothes,” he said.
She laughed and shook her head. “I’ve got as many as my closet can hold. I’m starving. How about I take you out tonight? Well, you and your bodyguards,” she teased.
“When did you get a cell phone?”
Aimee twisted in his arms and kissed him. “Today. It is one of those disposable ones, but it works. I didn’t realize that since cell phones have taken over, there are very few public phone booths anymore—at least ones that work. Now, how about some food?”
“I am your humble guest this evening.”
“You… humble?” She snorted.
“I can be,” he defended with a wicked look in his eyes.
“Let’s put that to the test,” she said.
An hour later, Aimee guided the entourage, including Qadir’s brother, Tarek, who she hadn’t been properly introduced to until now, toward a nondescript building in the not-so-nice section of Harlem. She had convinced a very reluctant Qadir and Tarek to trust her about not bringing their own vehicles. Instead, she made them call a ride-service. It took three cars to transport the group to the club.
“What is this place?” Tarek asked, looking up at the graffiti-covered building.
“It’s a legit place. Come on, you might actually enjoy it,” she teased.
Buddy, the black bouncer, grinned at her, then caught sight of her six well-dressed companions and scowled. Aimee smiled, and Buddy scrutinized each man, shaking his head.
“No heat inside. You’ll have to check in your weapons,” Buddy stated.
“I already warned them, Bud.”
“You okay, Wheels?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m gonna have a really great night. Is Idella here tonight?”
Buddy nodded. “Yeah.” He tilted his head toward the interior as he opened the door.
Aimee led the men inside. She sensed their startled reactions when they entered. They were expecting this place to be a rundown shithole. Instead, it was like stepping back in time to the glamorous 1920s.
The sound of a jazz band and a woman’s deep, sultry singing voice washed over them, sending a shiver down Aimee’s spine.
Idella opened the nightclub she called Colours five years ago, converting the old warehouse into a spectacular music symposium with the help of the community she had grown up with. Some of the best chefs in New York worked here, and the singers and musicians were unforgettable.
Idella had a dream of creating the next Greenwich Village for artists. Local musicians mixed with artists from around the world. Aimee guided the men over to the clerk who took their weapons, placing them in the lockers behind her and giving them a ticket. Tarek grumbled under his breath. Aimee patted his arm.
“It’s better than sitting in a cold car for hours. The food will make you feel better,” she promised.
“Ms. Aimee, if you and your party will follow me,” a waitress dressed in a 1920s Flapper dress politely suggested.
Aimee threaded her arm through Qadir’s and smiled at him. “Maybe we’ll actually get to dance this time,” she said.
She paused at the entrance, allowing the full effect of Idella’s creation to sink in. The interior of the building had been modernized with all the required safety codes, but artfully concealed to hide it. Chandeliers made from recycled glass by a local artist hung from the ceiling.
There were three levels inside. On the ground floor, there were dozens of tables that surrounded a massive dance floor. The second level was for fine dining, while the third level contained Idella’s personal residence, offices, and apartments for the traveling musicians.
They followed the waitress up the wide staircase to the second floor.
“Who is that?” Tarek asked, staring at the singer on the stage below them.
“That’s Idella. She owns this place.”
The waitress directed the bodyguards to a table covered with a pristine white tablecloth edged with silver and guided Aimee, Qadir, and Tarek to another. Flickering in the center of each table was a trio of tea-light candles ensconced in beautiful stained-glass candelabras.
The waitress handed them menus and recited the night’s house special before taking their drink orders. Aimee sighed and leaned her chin in her palm. She already knew what she wanted—the Lemon Chicken with the delicate sauce, side of pasta, and fresh vegetables. This was one of her favorite treats.
“I can see why you love it here,” Qadir said, placing his arm across the back of her chair.
Aimee nodded. “Idella has done so much for this community. She was gifted with an incredible voice, and she knows how to wield the power of it.”
“Idella… that is the Idella?” Tarek asked, his gaze locked on the tall, slender woman with chestnut-colored skin in a shimmering silver gown.
“Yes. Isn’t she amazing?” Aimee replied with a serene smile on her lips.
Aimee had surprised him again. He didn’t know why. She was an incredible woman with so many layers that he knew it would take him a lifetime to uncover them all. She had told him very little about her life, but the small glimpses he caught were tantalizing.
The meal, performances, and service were outstanding. A different band had taken over the stage and was playing a series of slow, romantic songs. They walked down the stairs to the dance floor. Qadir held her close to him, savoring the feel of her in his arms.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he murmured near her ear. “There are matters at home that I must take care of. I want you to come with me.”
She stiffened. They turned in a tight circle, moving with the other dancers, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders before deliberately relaxing against him.
“I can’t, but thank you. How long will you be gone?”
“If you do not go with me, a week at the most. Why can’t you go?”
She rubbed her cheek against him. “I have responsibilities here. I’ll be here when you get back,” she promised.
“You don’t have to work, Aimee,” he said.
She leaned back and placed her fingers against his lips. “Don’t spoil what we have, Qadir.”
Frustration burned inside him, but he was afraid that if he pushed his elusive bird too hard, she would disappear. He cupped her hand and twirled her around. When the song ended, she led him in a different direction than their table. He glanced back and saw his brother talking to the lovely and talented Idella.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I want to show you something,” she said.
They stepped into an old freight elevator and exited on the third floor. Aimee led him along the corridor. Looking over the hallway’s railing to the club below, Qadir was once again impressed with the night club. The band had taken a break and a group of thespians were performing a short skit.
The diversity in the audience was clear, spanning from some of the wealthiest patrons in the world to a variety of local residents. The club was a bridge where all came to be entertained. He was astonished that he had never heard of the club before. He started walking again when Aimee gently tugged on his hand.
They passed through a door and up a series of stairs to the roof. At the top, a glass atrium filled with plants, furniture, and water features overlooked the neighborhood. Aimee released his hand and walked over to appreciate the horizon.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.
Qadir looked at the glow of the city and made a vague, noncommittal sound as he stepped close behind her. She leaned back against his chest, and he enfolded her in his arms.
“The city is its own kind of desert, I suppose, though its beauty doesn’t call to me. All the same, this is a wonderful oasis, Aimee. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled, warmed all the way through that he liked her surprise date.
“Tell me more about you. Tell me about your life. I want to know everything.”
Aimee paused. Well, she thought, might as well start from the beginning. She smiled ruefully.
“Yolanda, my adopted mom, found me behind a dumpster when I was a few hours old,” she began.
Qadir started at the news. Shock and horror held him still.
Aimee chuckled sadly. “Yolanda was my mom, my mentor, and had a heart of gold. Luckily for me, winter came late twenty-one years ago, and Yolanda happened down that alley at just the right moment.”
“What day?” he asked.
“November 1st, Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead.” Aimee grinned.
“Yolanda said that I must have had ancestors watching over me. She believed in those things—as well as a bunch of other superstitions. No one ever questioned how a young black woman came to have a white daughter.”
She looked down at their joined hands and rubbed her thumb against his darker skin. “I don’t think I ever fully appreciated all the things she did for me. The first five years, she moved from place to place, staying one step ahead of child services. She told me that they didn’t know nothing about raising a baby. They would have stuck me in some home where the people would have tried to box in my free spirit instead of letting me fly.
“I never attended a proper school. Technically, I didn’t exist. There was no birth certificate. She took me to local clinics when I needed my shots or was sick. It wasn’t until I went through her things after she died that I discovered she used her daughter’s information to get what I needed.”
“What happened to her daughter?” he asked.
“Social Services took her before Yolanda ever got to see her. Yolanda was raised in the system. She fell in love with a young gang member who was murdered in a drive-by shooting. Shortly after his death, she discovered she was pregnant with his child. She was sixteen when she had her daughter, Aimee Raine Wheels. After she turned eighteen, she tried to get custody of her daughter. She had been working, going to school, and she rented a small apartment. She did everything right, only to discover that her daughter had been killed when she was six months old. It was the foster mother’s boyfriend who did it. Yolanda went a little crazy until she found me. She swore that she would protect me and teach me everything I needed to know so no one could ever hurt me.” Aimee absently wiped her damp cheek.
Qadir held her close and stroked her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Aimee. I don’t know what to say.”
“It wasn’t all bad. There was a lot of love in our lives. We had each other, and she taught me to embrace the wild craziness of the people we knew. I’m fluent in eight languages. I kept learning more so I could talk to more people. She took me to the library every day that it was open. She didn’t have a library card and would stuff books under her clothes or rummage through the trash bin for any books the library tossed out. The old cart she pulled around was always full of books that we would read over and over. We learned and grew together. Her favorites were fairy tales: the Arabian Nights and King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She promised that one day we would travel the world, dip our toes in the Mediterranean, slide down the side of a sand dune, ride a camel, climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, yell out our names at the Grand Canyon, and so many more adventures.”
“But you never did,” he concluded, feeling her pain as if it were his own.
She leaned her head back. “Only in books,” she said with a sigh.
“What happened to her?”
“I was sixteen when she started losing weight and having bad headaches—the kind that made her cry and pass out. She never had much weight to spare, anyway. I finally made her go to the hospital. They diagnosed her with brain cancer. She was gone six weeks later. I felt like the sun died that day,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I claimed her ashes and took them down to the river. It wasn’t the Mediterranean, and it wasn’t warm, but it was as close as we could get to dipping our toes in the water.”
Qadir turned her in his arms and rubbed his chin against the top of her head. She held him as if she would never let him go, and he hoped she never did.
“I could take you to Paris and to the Mediterranean, and all the other places in your books,” he said.
She gave a watery laugh, leaned back, and wiped the tears from her face. “That sounds good, but not tomorrow. Stanley needs all the help he can get at the moment, and I’m not about to jump ship right before the holiday season. We’ll talk more when you get back from your trip,” she promised.
Later that night, Qadir stared up at the ceiling with Aimee tucked securely against his side. He was used to taking what he wanted—or buying it, but nothing he did could convince Aimee to come with him. She had finally admitted that without a birth certificate or driver’s license, it was impossible for her to get a passport.
“Let me work on getting my ID and stuff,” she had said.
Her life was much like the tribes of nomads in the various wild places of Jawahir. He caressed her side. Her bare leg stroked his in her sleep. They fit perfectly together.
Fatigue pulled on him. There was much to be done. He would call in a few favors from his contacts in Washington, D.C. and get her documents expedited. He needed to prepare his father, King Melik Saif-Ad-Din, for the inevitable union between himself and Aimee. He would not accept another as his bride.
Qadir closed his eyes and smiled at the thought of taking Aimee to all the places she dreamed about. He held her hand. Soon, they would sleep together like this all the time.
It wasn’t until he was almost asleep that he realized that he still didn’t know where Aimee lived.