back home in our country. Does he have to create another one here in this country, as well?”
Yasir shrugged. “The American women are willing enough, and he's not hurting anyone.”
Rasheed snorted. “No one but himself. He turns sixty-one this year. How many women a night is he up to now? Last count it was five.”
Yasir shifted in his seat, not out of mortification or disgrace, Rasheed concluded, but merely to find a more comfortable position. “I don't keep tabs on such matters,” he replied gruffly.
“Maybe you should. He's not immune to AIDS you know. And I love my mother very much. I wouldn't want my father's private, sordid affairs to ever cause harm to her health.”
“I take care of such matters.”
Rasheed shook his head, not doubting that he did. A part of him couldn't help wondering just to what extent Yasir did so. “Are you going to tell me why you're here, Yasir?”
The older man sat back in his chair. “I've heard things…” Yasir said slowly. “Senator Joshua Avery has boasted to others of your interest in his sister. Your father and I saw the two of you together last month at that dinner party for Senator Nedwyn Lansing.”
Rasheed took another sip of coffee. “So, what of it? She's very beautiful. And I happen to like American women…like my father.”
Yasir's smile was slow. “If anything, you would not like them because of that very reason. So I've been curious as to why Ms. Avery has interested you. To appease my curiosity, I did some checking into her background. What I discovered is very interesting.”
“And just what have you discovered, Yasir?”
“Knowing your modern views on how you believe you can save Mowaiti, I think your interest in Corinthians Avery speaks for itself.” Yasir leaned forward. “But don't be a fool, Rasheed. Take this advice from someone who cares for you like a father. Whatever you're into, get out of it. The United States is one of our biggest allies. We don't need you to bring bad blood between our countries because of your foolish, boyish dreams. Are you determined to destroy the good, solid relationship we have with this country that your father has worked years to cultivate?”
Rasheed leaped out of his chair. “Is it foolish and boyish to want better for our people?”
“No, but you have no proof there is oil anywhere in Mowaiti. If there were, don't you think it would have been discovered by now?”
“Not necessarily. Look at Libya, and how—”
“I don't want to hear about Libya. When are you going to realize we are a totally different country?”
Rasheed narrowed his eyes. “And when are you and Father going to get your heads out of the sand and out from underneath the American women's skirts, and take note of what's really happening in Mowaiti? You're so busy keeping Father's secrets and he's so busy creating more secrets for you to keep that neither of you can see what's happening. Neither you nor him have been to Mowaiti in months.”
Yasir stood. “I refuse to continue this conversation with you, Rasheed. I expect you to take heed of my advice. If I have to, I will alert your father of what you're about. I take my job as his confidant and adviser seriously.”
Without saying another word, Yasir Bedouins turned and walked out of the room.
Corinthians finished packing the overnight bag she was taking to Buzios, and placed it next to her bed. According to Armond Thetas, the chartered bus that would take them to the airport would arrive at dawn. She had decided to pack tonight instead of rushing about doing the chore in the morning.
She had left the dinner party more than an hour ago. Trevor had remained close by her side the entire evening, and she had appreciated that. At the end of dinner, he had escorted her back to her room. She'd been mildly surprised when all he'd done was brush a kiss on her cheek before saying good-night. She refused to admit she was disappointed he hadn't taken her into his arms and kissed her senseless like he'd done the night before.
Corinthians was so absorbed in her thoughts that the shrill ringing of the telephone startled her. She reached out and grabbed it before it could ring a second time. “Hello.”
“Corinth? What's going on, girl?”
Corinthians smiled. Her best friend, Brenna, was just the person she needed to talk to. The two of them had been friends since childhood and had no secrets.
“Brenna, when did you get back?” For years Brenna had been a Fashion Fair model, but had given it up a couple of years ago after complaining of being burned out and getting up in age. Photographers were looking for younger women these days, Brenna claimed, and not women who were hitting thirty. However, she had jumped at the opportunity when Ebony contacted her six months ago to coordinate the fashion shows for them. Although it meant constant travel, it had been an opportunity for her to remain a part of an industry she loved.
“I got back yesterday, but let's cut the small talk. Tell me, how's Trevor Grant?”
Corinthians laughed as she stretched out on the bed. “Trevor Grant is doing fine, I guess.”
“Did you see him today?”
“Yes, we attended the same dinner party tonight.”
“Umm. And you're alone now?”
Corinthians raised a brow. “Yes, why?”
“Then I bet the brother isn't doing fine. I bet he's taking a cold shower about now.”
Corinthians smiled at Brenna's assumption. She could actually hear the shower running in Trevor's room. But that didn't necessarily mean the shower he was taking was a cold one. “All right, Brenna, let up, girl. Pull back.”
“If you insist. But if I were you I wouldn't let him get away, Corinth. Good men are hard to find.”
Corinthians chuckled when she remembered something Trevor had said yesterday. “I bet I know where a few of them are.”
“Really? Where?” Brenna asked, more than mildly curious.
Corinthians scooted over in the bed to the side closest to the wall. Trevor's shower, she noted, was going full blast. “In the Marines.”
Nothing like a cold shower to cool a man off, Trevor thought as he dried off his wet body before placing a towel around his waist. There was only so much temptation that a sane man could take. And tonight he had nearly reached his limit. His lips twisted into a smile as he made his way out of the bathroom. Tonight Corinthians had been all grace, finesse and elegance. It hadn't been the flowing gown that covered, yet tantalized every curve of her body. Nor had it been the way she'd had her hair fixed atop her head in a bevy of curls that crowned her features with innocence. To his way of thinking, it had been the way she had carried herself, so vibrantly alive yet the carefully controlled, dignified and proper lady.
The envious looks he'd receive from numerous men had stunned him with the knowledge of just what he hadn't realized until tonight. There were two sides to Corinthians Avery. One was the wanton seductress, who had appeared half-naked in his hotel room that night, and the other was the prim-and-proper Ms. Avery. He couldn't help but wonder which Corinthians Avery he liked
