Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“A Warhol? You have an Andy Warhol self-portrait that only cost you four point five mill?” Jack appeared incredulous, but Julia was happy to see his eyes light up with obvious enthusiasm.
“I really, really do.” Julia sipped her drink and casually pointed her gaze in Jack’s direction.
The first thing she’d thought upon meeting Jack Colton was that, sadly, he was nothing like the dashing Jack Colton from Romancing the Stone.
This Jack was tall and reasonably good-looking, even a bit funny, but he lacked that devil-may-care, swashbuckling charisma, whereas Finn .
. . was every bit the Rick O’Connell from her favorite movie.
Stop daydreaming and get your head in the game, Julia.
Fortunately, while she and Finn were changing for dinner, A.J.
had stealthily secured their seats at the same table as the Americans.
Kaira and her brother were at the opposite end of the ten-person table and Joan and Jack were almost like a buffer between Julia and Finn.
Julia’s white-painted nails may have been short, but she wanted to rake them down Tariq’s face anyway.
Her gut told her Oliver was in prison because of him.
A.J. had joined their table only after Julia made a formal invite for her “bodyguard” to sit.
“My wife loves Warhol.” Finn reached for her hand on the table and gave it a squeeze.
The small gesture took her by surprise and had her momentarily forgetting where they were and with whom they were sitting.
“So very avant-garde,” he added the line Julia had fed to him in preparation for the evening.
Jack leaned forward, his brown eyes glossy in the light from the nearby flickering torches. “His use of silk screening was absolutely brilliant.” He bit into his knuckles, which had Julia laughing. “Ugh, what I wouldn’t do for a self-portrait.”
“Mm.” Joan rubbed her husband’s arm like she was trying to calm down a puppy that had just seen a squirrel run by. “He gets a bit excited, as you can tell.”
“Well,” Julia began, searching Finn’s eyes, pretending to seek permission for what she was about to suggest, “I have two Warhols, and I was planning to sell one, but if you have a charity in mind, I’d be more than happy to donate instead.”
Joan and Jack copied Finn and Julia’s shared look with one of their own. “We’re hosting a fundraising event tomorrow evening at the resort. It’s a themed costume party, and we’d love to have you there. I might even have to bid on your Warhol myself. What do you say?”
“We have another couple staying with us at the villa, or I would say yes,” Julia said as rehearsed. “But thank you.”
“The more the merrier, right?” Jack smiled and reached for his wine.
“I think you have enough guests tomorrow, don’t you?” Tariq spoke for the first time, and the deep timbre of his voice had Julia casting him a hard look, one she hoped to tamp down before she gave away her hate for him.
“Never.” Jack flicked his wrist toward Julia in a come-hither gesture. “It’s settled. You and your friends are our guests.”
“How do you feel about the eighties, by the way?” Joan asked, opting not to regard Tariq with a look.
“Love the eighties. Is there any other way to feel about them?” Julia flashed her white teeth, trying to play the part of the rich socialite that everyone assumed she was back in New York.
Rich? Yes. Social? Yes. But not an uppity snob who looked down on other people. Her parents were teachers, and they often lived paycheck to paycheck while growing up. She didn’t have an uppity bone in her body, and her parents would have knocked it out of her if she’d grown one.
“Jack and I have a love for the eighties. And movies. So, it’s a movie-themed party.
No dress code tomorrow, either. I’m sure you can find something last minute in Dubai,” Joan went on, and Julia nodded.
“So, tell me, how’d you two meet?” Her quick change of subject had Julia understanding the feeling of whiplash she’d so often given Finn in the last few days.
This was something she and Finn had also rehearsed in case it came up, thank God. And Finn had wanted her to take the lead.
“Well.” Julia turned a little on the pillow where she sat cross-legged.
The skirt of her dress covered her, so she didn’t expose her inner thighs or panties.
She peered at Finn with what she hoped was a convincing “starry-eyed in love” look for the Americans, but .
. . was she acting at this point? Feelings for him had steadily been working their way under her skin with each day they spent together.
“We were both in Egypt traveling,” Finn began, as if worried she’d forgotten, so she set a hand to his shoulder.
“And this guy bumped straight into me while I was on a tour inside the Pyramid of Giza,” Julia picked up the story.
“I knocked into some old artifact and it clattered to the ground, almost breaking. I was certain he’d cursed me,” she said with a polished smile, trying to play the part of Evie to the best of her non-acting abilities.
“He thought I was a stuck-up drama queen after that.”
When Julia stole a look at the couple, Joan was the one leaning forward this time. She loved romance as much as Jack loved art, so it seemed.
Julia pinned her gaze back where it belonged. On Finn. “But it turned out we were staying at the same hotel, and one thing led to another.” His eyes were riveted on hers as though he were also hanging on to her every word. “And we—”
“Fell in love,” Finn finished for her, holding her stare for a few more seconds before he turned to look at Joan.
“Wow. You two really love each other, don’t you?” Kaira spoke up for the first time, her tone melancholy. She sounded like a woman who’d lost the love of her life.
Did that mean Ario was truly dead? Or was he alive, and Kaira didn’t know it? Too many questions, and yet, all Julia wanted to do right now was be alone with Finn.
“We do,” Finn said, drawing Julia’s eyes back to him.
“Ah, the dancing is about to start,” Jack suddenly remarked and motioned his hand toward the women who appeared in the aisle between the tables. “Belly dancers. Egyptian style. How perfect.”
“Right. Perfect.” Julia swallowed, her focus cutting back to Finn, whose eyes were on her and not the beautiful women who moved their torsos and hips like they had the hand of God directing them.
The eight dancers wore the traditional bedlah—a beaded bra, fitted hip belt, and a full-length skirt.
Their hips undulated with grace during their torso-driven dance.
Each staccato movement punctuated by the tunes playing.
Beat by beat. Hip drop by hip drop. Between the music, the dancing, the atmosphere and the magic of the night with a sky populated by stars—she nearly forgot Oliver was locked up forty minutes away.
The thought of her best friend produced a sharp pang of guilt. She had no business enjoying herself with Joan and Jack, and especially not with Tariq at the table, when Oliver’s life was on the line.
“They dance beautifully,” Joan said. “The way they drop their shoulders and move their hips makes me wish I was in my twenties again. My forty-year-old body protests if I try to move like that now.”
“Your body moves just fine for me,” Jack teased.
When Julia peered at the happy couple, she couldn’t help but wonder if Jack really had been an art thief in his previous life, and had he given it up for her?
Did he give up everything for love? She’d never be able to ask someone to do that for her.
Of course, Jack’s passion was most likely illegal, so maybe Joan saved him from life in prison or worse.
When she found Finn’s eyes again, her heart rate tripled in speed.
“You want to kiss her, don’t you?” Joan’s question to Finn was almost lost in the music. “We’re in the desert, just do it,” Joan urged.
“Kiss the girl,” Jack said in a singsong voice.
Are we in a movie right now? she was beginning to wonder.
“Yeah, kiss the girl.” It was A.J. piping up this time.
They were already turned on their pillows and practically facing each other instead of the show. Finn was well within kissing range, but . . . should they? Would he?
Finn’s brows pulled together as if torn about the decision. He knew he needed to kiss her to keep up the act, especially with Tariq there, but why was a kiss so difficult for him? He’d already touched her intimately but setting his lips to hers seemed to mean more to him.
Maybe she understood it. Kissing, if done right, was almost like a form of art. And she appreciated art and beauty.
Assuming he wasn’t going to make the move, she began to turn, but he set a fist beneath her chin, guiding her focus back to him, and she found his mouth waiting for hers when he did.
The kiss was soft at first, hesitant and unsure. They had an audience, after all, and they were in a country that didn’t allow PDA.
But they were also situated around a bed of gold and orange sand that somehow felt like a private cocoon.
When his tongue slipped between her parted lips, she lightly moaned against his mouth, unable to stop herself.
The moment had her feeling incredibly exposed. As if she were in front of a camera lens herself for all to see when really, she just wanted to be away from everyone, alone with Finn and exploring where this might go. For tonight she needed this. Needed him.
When Finn broke their kiss, the world fell silent as his lips lingered near hers and their eyes remained connected.
He’d felt that, too, hadn’t he? Whatever happened between them just now had eclipsed their hot shower scene. And it’d been from a kiss.
“Will you excuse us?” Finn rasped, and without waiting for a response or apparently giving a damn, he stood and offered her his hand. Julia rose and allowed him to take the lead, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm.