Deacon: A BWWM Billionaire Romance by Notaro Paige

Author:Notaro, Paige [Notaro, Paige]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: new adult romance
Published: 2015-08-17T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kiara

I checked the map on the phone once again. The streets of downtown were all laid in a grid, but with roundabouts and one ways, this taxi driver could be taking us anywhere.

“We’re headed to Madinat Zayed, right?” I said, looking out at the mishmash of beige flats and modern steel and glass towers on the streets around. “The old market.”

“Is not old, this market,” the Egyptian driver said through the rearview mirror. “Everything here - all new. Ten years maybe.”

“But you’re not taking us to just another shopping mall right?”

“No no no. You ask Madinat Zayed. I take Madinat Zayed.”

Deacon gripped my hand tighter in the backseat. “You really don’t trust people do you?” he asked grinning.

He had dressed down in dark blue jeans and a green polo that bulged under his muscle. It was the outfit of many of the countless western oil workers in the country, but he would still stand shoulders above any of them.

“Our driver hasn’t been quite as persuasive as you,” I said.

“He better not try to be.” He cuddled me tight to him.

I laughed liked I'd been tickled. My brain was mostly kaput, especially the part that reined in my emotions. I was all reflex now. Deacon had had sex with me twice this morning, filling me once on the bed, and coating me in the shower before letting the water wiped away the traces of our sin.

Stray worries still flitted through my head. Maybe I'd opened up too much this morning. Only Mira knew more than him now.

But he was still here. He was right. I might be stuck on him, but he was stuck on me too. Once we ate, that would become true literally again.

I couldn't wait.

Hot air roared in from the trickled down windows. It carried the smell of gasoline and tropical trees, of garbage and garlic roasted meat. The world felt live and free and dangerous.

“Here we are,” Deacon said, nudging me toward the window.

The taxi wheeled around the six lane street, then swung over to a curb in front of a vast building with swarms of colorfully-dressed people moving in and out. It looked like some grand mosque: long as a football field, with pillar after pillar holding up the front awning. A grand dome rose from somewhere within.

This might be a mall but it was still more real than the tourist traps I'd been to since getting here. If this place was new, they’d done a standup job chaining it to their past.

Deacon tossed the driver a handful of dirhams. “Don’t bother with change,” he said.

I fought the urge to say anything. Time was worth more than the dollar change to him. I had to accept who I'd gotten in bed with.

And, really, accepting a billionaire’s wealth wasn’t exactly putting me on the path to sainthood.

We moved through the blistering sun toward the bustling entrance. Most people were young men, dark skinned, but Arab or Indian. Only a few were African. There were still plenty of women, but they came parceled with shrieking toddlers or kids.

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