My head snapped up, and I caught his gaze across the short distance; just when the lights around the room turned a dark red, and a bright white spotlight centered on me, the intro to the Arabian song started playing.
Elio Marino was sitting there, right beside Kareem, frowning in suspicion, confusion, and surprise.
Shit.
I collected myself with great difficulty, getting my head back on track as my body responded to the music and I tore my gaze from him.
Background fucking noise, my ass. I could hear the chattering die down, heads turning my way, the music and I the only things catching people’s attention.
If I got out of this alive and unscathed, I would kill Milk. And I would enjoy it thoroughly.
My foul thoughts calmed me as I let the music own my body, becoming a partner with every rising and falling note.
The woman who’d taught us this technique had said the waist movement was the power of the dance, but most important, you had to let the music talk to your body. I worked on my hand placement, twirling my wrists with the beat of the traditional goblet drums, the echoes of the flute, mixed with the luring of the oud, and then attuned my body until it became one and the same with the enchanting secrets of the music.
I twirled my waist and lifted my hips to the language of the instruments, freed the muscles around my hands and neck, letting my ankles and the pads of my feet get familiar with the ground.
I was no Milk, but a dance like this could break any tension in a room, seduce any man or woman who bore witness; it could touch souls that never bargained to be touched.
The eyes on me had doubled in number, and I made eye contact with several people, loving the way wineglasses were stopped an inch before lips, too distracted by the dance.
Sensual hypnotism was real, and it was a weapon I didn’t wield often. But now I had Kareem’s undivided attention and knew I had gotten us that invite.
My gaze shifted to Elio, once again catching his stare. This time, I didn’t look away as I put on a show for him, going extra soft with my movements, my hands moving up my hips to the deep indent of my waist, where he liked to touch me, then I dragged my gentle caress to the sides of my breasts before moving up to my neck where his lips had once made a home.
His eyes followed my hands, and I felt my skin heat up under his lustful scrutiny.
A smile curled onto my lips as I flattened my palm, dragging it up my neck to my chin as I twirled my head around, moving my waist in the other direction when we neared the end of the performance.
The dancers had informed me that we were never to go near Kareem, but I knew my mission would be successful if he called me right after.
With the way he watched me like one would watch a piece of art, I should have absolutely no problem.
The finishing lure of the music had my legs taking me around in a sensual twirl, aligning my hip movements with my wrist, stomach, and waist, slow and steady at first before I increased the pace.
It felt like I was falling into the music. A possession I knew was contagious, contagious to the point that I wasn’t ultimately surprised when my last move after the music came to a drum-and-abrupt stop, and left the room in a graveyard silence.
My gaze shifted to the entrance of the back room to catch Milk standing there, jaw hanging as she looked at me, unblinking, entirely still.
A single hard clap had my attention snapping back to Kareem, who was on his feet, clapping with a massive smile on his face, shaking his head as his eyes gleamed with astonishment. His clapping brought everyone out of their daze as they joined in with chants of appreciation.
Kareem made his way over, extending his hand toward me as I removed my veil.
I placed my hand on top of his too-soft one, the wrinkles by his eyes pronounced as he kissed my knuckles. “You werebeautiful.It was an honor to watch you,” he said as he helped me off the stage, and another band started setting up.
“It was an honor to dance for you, Kareem.”
He laughed boisterously, hand to his stomach as he sat down and ushered me onto his lap. I draped my arm over his shoulders. The game was on.
My gaze slipped to Elio, who was purposefully looking away, his jaw clenched hard as he lit a thick cigar, placing it between his lips, cheeks hollowing when he pulled hard on it. He didn’t look as frustrated as I kind of hoped he’d look, no, he looked like he didn’t have any worries, dressed in a short-sleeved black shirt that showcased his arm tattoo, his hair alittle wet and roughly slicked back, no stubble on his face—he looked better than he did when I was around him.
“You flatter me,” the man said with a grin, drawing my notice when his hand moved up my hip, an action that seemed to grab Elio’s attention. Those eyes finally rose to catch my gaze as he let the smoke out of his mouth—thick and white, mixed with the atmosphere, it was the same color as his eyes right now. “What is your name, beautiful?”
“Zahra,” I said, looking away from the man who I felt was seconds away from yanking me away. To kill me? Kiss me? Fuck me? His eyes said it all.
All hope wasn’t lost.
“Zahra,” Kareem pronounced slowly, “I must say, you rival my wives. What would it take to wed you so you can dance like that for me every day? I have never seen a performance that spoke directly to my soul.”
