The club was massive. It was on the roof of one of the Palladia’s classiest hotels. The building easily rivaled the ones in Vegas, or like she told Jag, the exclusiveness of Dubai.

The inside was all glass and what looked like stainless steel. Very sleek and modern. Clean lines. Almost the antithesis to the desert and the colorful market and sandstone buildings of the oldest part of the city.

The atmosphere of modern and antique didn’t seem out of place at all, in fact, it blended beautifully. Chills ran down her spine at the sheer size, and she shivered. “This place is off the chain! It’s perfect,” Riley said, slightly awestruck.

“Do you know what’s perfect? You in that dress.” Jag smirked. “Or you out of that dress.” He took her mouth, kissing her softly. “I love how it hugs your curves and how I’m the only one who knows you’re commando underneath.”

Her eyes widened, and her fingers flew to his lips, pressing them shut. “Ssh! I have panties in my purse, if you don’t stop advertising what we just did, I’ll put them on and bar your easy access.”

He grinned, nipping the tips of her fingers. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, really.” She unclipped the top of her clutch and a piece of white caught her eyes. Reaching inside she pulled out a small, folded note. She must have missed it in her post-sex haze when she shoved a clean pair of undies in just for fun.

It was a note from Henley. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just Henley being Henley.” She went to stuff the note back in her purse, but he snagged it first.

“Oops.” He chuckled, reading it. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t. Ha. Too late. Then again, who knows what she and Damen do during their strategy planning sessions.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Riley laughed as Jag motioned to the club’s manager and the man waved them toward the VIP lounge. “I know. I mean, how hard is it to do a seating chart for the coronation?”

“Well, in that sense, planning can be tricky. I mean, sometimes it’s good to be royalty,” he said as the manager led them up the stairs from the main VIP lounge to a private box with the perfect view of the dance floor and a fully stocked bar. “Other times, a wrong move can mean political suicide. A slight, even one a regular person might think insignificant, might cause an incident that affects trade routes or treaties, etc. So, yeah. Planning like that is strategic.”

Riley looked at him with a smirk. “And Henley’s the one to help navigate that kind of diplomacy, right?”

“Point taken.” He laughed, pulling her close. He kissed the end of her nose. “Maybe she’s Damen’s stress relief.”

She snorted. “Sex as stress relief? Who’da thunk?”

The manager cleared his throat, and Jag looked past Riley’s shoulder. “That’s all, Dawson. Just make sure the back entrance is keycard ready in case we want the dance floor. I don’t want to trek through the main lounge unless my lady here wants to people watch.”

Riley balked, hiding her face in Jag’s shoulder. “Spoiled much?” she mumbled into his shirt.

“Very good, Your Highness. Will there be anything else?” Dawson asked.

Jag nodded with a grin. “Two bottles of chilled Sidaii to start.”

“Snacks, Jag.” Riley lifted her head just enough. “I’m starving.”

He chuckled even more. “And bring up a tray of cheese, fruit, and sweet rolls. We’re hungry.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” The man left without a quick bow and didn’t say another word.

Jag stepped back and steered Riley to the railing overlooking the club. “We’ve got our own private perch. We can eat and drink, dance and whatever right here. No one will bother us.”

“Well, I’m not sure about the whatever part. To be honest, I’m surprised I can still walk.” The words left her mouth even as she blushed. “But the eat, drink, and dance part sounds great.”

Jag went to the bar to open the wine. Riley checked her look in the mirrored wall behind the black couch. She still couldn’t believe she looked this good. Her dress seemed to glow in the club lights. She’d done herself up old Hollywood style. Her curls swept back over one ear, held with an ornate gold comb as spirals cascaded past her shoulders. She’d gone with bold makeup. A dark, smoky eye, long full lashes and more of that red lipstick Jag seemed to love. Confidence filled her chest, something she rarely felt. Who needed sheer veils to advertise hot to trot? Not her.

“Since this is your new favorite drink, I plan to have it stocked at the palace from now on and order it flowing from the fountains for the wedding.” He winked, carrying two large flutes to where she stood. “What do you think about that?”

She took one of the glasses and lifted it to her lips, taking a sip. “I think it’s a fabulous idea, but then again, it’s not my wedding. Ivy might have other ideas.”

He ran a hand over her bare arm, letting his thumb graze her breast through the silky fabric. Butterflies rebelled in her stomach, and her clit throbbed almost like a leftover aftershock from before. She drained the rest of her glass.

“I’m not still making you nervous, Riley, am I?” he asked softly.

She looked at him, but then shoved her empty glass his way. “Nope.”

“Liquid courage?” He laughed.

Her hand moved to her stomach and she flashed a sheepish grin. “Cut me a little slack, will ya? I’m out with the hottest man on the planet who just fucked my brains out. I’m a little out of my element, so yeah. Liquid courage.”

Leaning in, he kissed her cheek as he took the glass from her hand, whispering, “And I plan to fuck you again and again.”

Holy shit. She closed her eyes, squealing on the inside. A soft knock on the door stifled her inner happy dance. Jag opened the door for the waiter and the food.

The man put the tray on the low table in front of the couch and then turned. A simple nod from Jag was all it took, and the dude slipped out, handing Jag some kind of keycard before closing the door behind him.

“What was that?” Riley asked.

Jag walked back, holding the metallic rectangle between his fingers. “The private keycard I asked for earlier. This way we don’t have to wade through the lower lounges.”

“Oh,” she said, standing a little awkwardly.

He shoved the card into his pocket and then took her by the hand, steering her toward the food and the couches. “You said you were starving. I’ve had dinner with you before, Riley. One of the things I like most about you is that you and your friends aren’t afraid to eat.” He grinned, sliding a hand around to cup her ass. “That and many other things. Gorgeous, full, soft, luscious things.”

Hmmph. “And here I thought you liked me for my quiet strength and sense of humor.” She smirked.

“That, too.” He slapped her butt. “Now sit and let me watch those luscious lips of yours wrap around those juicy strawberries and anything else you want so I can fantasize about what you’ll have in your mouth later.”

She sat on the edge of the couch as Jag went to get more wine. He walked back with the bottle, and it wasn’t long before it was empty and the next one as well.