Accidentally Married to the Billionaire 2(22)
Marj kicked off her pumps and beckoned to him as he listened to the litany of available services their personal butler could provide. The man was, in flawless English, explaining the pillow menu to him while Marj removed her earrings, her bracelet, and scarf. He was staring at Marj like he was smitten, especially when Marj started to take off her shirt. Brandon could feel the jealousy rising up inside him.
“Ahem, thank you, I believe that will be all!” he said with a hint of desperation, ushering the butler to the door and handing him a ridiculously large tip as he rushed the man into the elevator, promising to ring if they needed anything.
“I know you had a tank top on underneath, but were you going to strip with him standing there?” Brandon asked.
“If he kept on about the pillows, it’s possible. I mean, who cares where the goose down came from? It’s all been yanked out of some goose anyway. I don’t think that Turkish geese have superior feathers and…”
“You were listening to all that? Granted, you didn’t have a woman about to get naked in front of you, but I was a little too distracted to be able to pass a test on the principal types of geese myself,” he said.
“I’m going to go get changed and do some sightseeing,” she said, “Do you have meetings?”
“Not until tomorrow. I have a conference call in half an hour. For tomorrow night’s gala reception you’ll need a dress. Something along the lines of a ball gown.”
“A gala? A ball gown? This is not what I’m used to, Brandon. I could definitely go for it, though. Any recommendations on where to shop?”
“The concierge will know. I’ll call and talk to them.”
“Please do not call the pillow butler to come back here. I’ll end up having a nap,” she said.
“Because he’s so boring or because the pillows are too fantastic?” he challenged.
“Both, I think. I’m off to find a ball gown. I’ll talk to the concierge myself. Need anything?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, hon. Just name it.”
“Me inside you.”
He came over and wrapped his arms around her, then expertly glided his tongue down her neck.
“You have work,” she said. “And you’re trying to make a name for yourself with these new companies.”
His fingers trailed over her curves. “I may not go down in history, but I’ll go down on you.”
“Damn,” Marj said. “I think I just wet my panties.”
Shopping could wait. Making love to her husband was far more important. Pulling him close, she slammed her lips against his.
Chapter 9
Marj followed the concierge’s very specific advice and traveled across town by chauffeured car to the studio of a local designer who had recently put on his first runway show in Milan. The concierge assured Marj that there would be pret-a-porter in studio that would amaze her.
Truly, the building itself wasn’t much from the outside. A discreet bronze plaque declared it the Atelier Sambiq. She was admitted to a room all done in icy blue and seated on a blue velvet wingback chair to view an impromptu fashion show. Model after model sashayed across the room before her, modeling formalwear that was both elegant and bold. When the long gold dress gave way to the rose colored silk taffeta with its ball skirt and corseted strapless top, Marj applauded, unable to keep from clapping. A large blossom in matching rose fabric bloomed at one side of the top, as if a many-petaled chrysanthemum emerged from the bodice.
She gestured emphatically until the shop manager stopped the show and beckoned for that model to approach Marj. Marj fingered the light tissuey fabric with approval and soon they’d settled on a dress. A clerk took her measurement and recommended undergarments and accessories, specifically a pair of long white gloves. Marj seized them, limp in their cellophane package, with exultation. They were a statement piece, full of drama and old-world charm. She couldn’t wait to wear them to a gala. Gala was, she decided, a fantastic word.
In truth, she was thrilled to be there in Dubai with her husband. It was a glamorous and bustling city, both exotic and comfortable, as everyone she’d encountered so far spoke English perfectly. She wasn’t sure if Dubai was just a city of much more genteel people than New York or if they were only nice to her because her husband had money. Either way, every person she encountered seemed determined to make her life easier and better. She stood in the Atelier and had a moment of disbelief that this was her real life. That the same woman who had bought ten-for-five-dollars low sodium ramen a few weeks ago was now living it up in the UAE with her rich husband and going to a party so fancy that it was called a gala without irony.