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“Duran, shame on you.” She clicked her tongue. “He’s trying to intimidate the investors.”
I frowned, confused. “Intimidate?”
“He’s like, look at me, I have a huge compound and a woman with great tits,” said Adriana. “It’s something made men do all the time, like a pissing contest. Even Ahmed does it now and again.”
“Oh,” I said, everything falling into place. I scowled across the veranda at Duran, unsure whether to be annoyed or flattered. On one hand, I didn’t like being treated like just another one of Duran’s assets and on the other, it was a little flattering that he wanted to show me off.
“I let Ahmed do it,” she said airily. “Then I get him back later.”
“How?” I asked curiously.
“If he wants other men to look at you, make them look at you.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye and she winked at me.
“Hmm,” I said, leaning back against the bar. “Not a bad idea. I think I’d need a little more liquid courage if I did that though.”
Adriana hopped off the stool. “How about a margarita with extra tequila?”
We had another drink and chatted for a few more minutes, both of us growing a little tipsy. Adriana was warm and confident, everything I wished I could be, and incredibly kind. She talked about her childhood in Alabama and I told her about growing up with my parents outside the city. I told her the story of how I ended up here with Duran and she shook her head at all the right places and declared his behavior exactly like a made man.
“Feeling good?” Duran appeared at my elbow eventually.
“Wonderful,” I said, smiling up at him.
“Oh, I see you’ve had a few.” He leaned in and kissed my cheekbone and whispered, “You still sober, princess?”
“Of course.”
I got up from the stool, waving at Adriana as Duran led me over to the table. Sometime in the last half hour the investors had appeared and seated themselves around the table. There were three of them, all dressed in expensive suits and heavy, silver watches. The first two were older Italian men, maybe middle aged, but still in good shape. The third man was probably in his late twenties and of Middle Eastern descent, his face smooth and handsome. There were several gold rings decorating his fingers and I stared at them, watching them glitter as I realized I’d had more to drink than I’d formerly thought.
“Gentleman, this is Iris,” Duran said, pulling out my chair beside the younger man. He took his seat on my other side. “Iris, this is Khalil, one of my business partners.”
“A pleasure,” Khalil said, his voice carrying a light British accent.
He took my hand and his gaze wandered over me, straying a little too long over my breasts. In my haze, his attention was flattering and I felt my nipples harden, but strangely it wasn’t because he was looking at me. It was the fact that Duran noticed and his face went dark, his mouth tightening and his hand going to my forearm in a possessive gesture. Khalil noticed and sat back, focusing his attention elsewhere.
Duran cleared his throat and turned to the two Italian men. They were pointedly not letting their eyes drop below my face.
“This is Roberto and Tommaso,” Duran said.
He shifted his hand to my ribs, his thumb brushing the bottom of my breast in a pointed movement that somehow drew attention and warned it away at the same time. Both men flicked their gazes down and then back up and pretended they hadn’t as we exchanged greetings.
Duran’s attention moved from me to Roberto as dinner began. Adriana was engrossed in a conversation with Ahmed for a while, their attention unwavering from one another. I watched and wondered what it would feel like to have Duran be so attentive and loving toward me as Ahmed was to Adriana. It sent a pang somewhere below my ribs and I couldn’t help but feel annoyed at Duran.
“You’re not hungry?”
I turned and Khalil was leaning close, his elbow on the table by my plate. His eyes were a warm brown and they glimmered with energy, all focused on me and the skimpy dress Duran had put me in. If I had been sober I would have shrunk from his gaze, but instead I pushed my shoulders back and let him look as he pleased.
“No, just distracted,” I murmured.
“Here, this is delicious,” he said, taking a toothpick off his plate. He threaded an olive, a piece of goat cheese, and a bit of sausage on it and dipped it in balsamic sauce. I watched as he made another and passed one to me.
“Eat it in one go,” he said, putting the toothpick between his even, white teeth. He pulled it out in a smooth movement and chewed the contents. “Perfect amount, texture, taste. Wonderful.”
I put it on my tongue and popped the toothpick out, the olive slipping from my lips and falling onto the table, bouncing to his plate. I covered my mouth, trying to chew and keep from choking on my laughter. Khalil laughed aloud and put the olive in his mouth, winking at me. If I had been more sober I would have been able to wink back at him, but instead I fluttered my eyelashes and looking down, pretending to be shy.
I leaned on the table. “So what do you do?”
“It’s not really women’s business,” Khalil said airily. “I just help Duran with his merchandise when he needs it and when he’s got too much of it and needs it off his hands. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
