Layla peered out the window from the backseat of the sedan. Her friend Marian had warned her that coming to Parsabad would be not just entering a different country, but a whole different dimension. Private cars, lush suites, a celebrity family…Layla blinked down at the seat under her, dragging her fingertips over the leather. It was softer than crushed velvet.

Welcome to Parsabad. After a direct, eight-hour flight from New York, she was both exhausted and excited. Time to get this trip started off on the right foot—with friends, laughter, and plenty of exploration.

Because this was more than just a vacation to come see her best friend Marian get married. This was also the start of a year-long excursion around the world.

Per Parsian wedding protocol, Layla’s pad for the next two weeks would be something like a penthouse suite, according to Marian. All of the family members of both sides coming from out of town would stay in a block of rooms at a swank hotel in downtown Minarak, but Marian had scored Layla the crème de la crème. To celebrate her pending travels, Marian had said, where surely she’d be forced to sleep in bunk beds in questionable hostels with questionable sanitation standards.

Excitement prickled through her. There was so much to discover about Parsabad. She’d never been to this part of the world, nor any of the neighboring vicinities. It served as the perfect launching point for her year off from work. Start with Parsabad, move on to Egypt, then cross over to Greece, which would launch her European leg of the tour. From there, who knew. She would go where the wind took her.

The car pulled into a cul-de-sac circling an enormous fountain flanked by sculpted mermen and sirens creeping out of the stonework. The water blazed bright red and orange, reaching nearly a story in height. As the driver unloaded her big backpack from the trunk, Layla gawked, her gaze moving from the ostentatious water display to the shining behemoth hotel before her, glinting silver and steel for what seemed like miles into the sky.

“Are you sure this isn’t Dubai?” Layla had never been there, either, but what she’d seen of Parsabad so far seemed a lot more like the world-famous megalopolis. The driver gave her a tight smile as he handed over the pack. She slipped him a tip and then strolled into the hotel, feeling exactly like an important jet-setter with the whole world at her fingertips.

The inside of the hotel gleamed like freshly polished gold. In fact, that probably was gold lining the walls, and each panel of the floor, and the spiral columns arching up toward an atrium ceiling where birds twittered. A rush of water sounded from somewhere—maybe this was also a science museum in addition to a five-star hotel. Layla approached the receptionist’s desk, unable to hide a goofy grin.

“I’m Layla Kirk.” She slid her passport across the marble countertop. “Guest of the Almasi Wedding Party.” She waited to see if this would elicit any coos or acknowledgement. The receptionist did look mildly impressed, which was good enough.

“Yes, miss, we have your reservation here.” The dark-haired employee clicked around on her computer, and then grimaced. “I have a note from…Marian?” She tripped over the first name. “It says here to call her as soon as you can. There was a delay in their return trip.”

Layla’s eyes widened. “Okay. Thank you.” Marian and Omar had taken a romantic getaway, but should have been back by now.

“Here is your key. Take those elevators to the top floor.” The receptionist pointed toward a row of elevators along the far wall and smiled primly. She was so beautiful—almond-shaped eyes, jet black hair that looked heavy and silken. Pretty much everyone she’d seen in Parsabad so far was gorgeous. It gave her hope for a proper Parsabad welcome.

Because there was one thing on Layla’s to-do list, above and beyond helping her best friend celebrate holy matrimony to her love. Layla wanted a sexy, foreign hook-up. A one-and-done night overseas with someone she’d never met before, someone she’d never meet again.

Once she got to her room, suite 903, she slid her keycard into the door, holding her breath as the door swung open. The room had a foyer. In NYC, she had a tiny studio. She stepped inside tentatively, gasping as her gaze landed on each new fascinating thing: a white-brick fireplace, a wall-to-wall window overlooking downtown Minarak, a balcony with a legit hot tub on it. The bedroom of the suite was bigger than her apartment back home, easily. She flopped onto the bed, face first. I want to live here forever.

She pushed up onto her elbows, pulling her cellphone out of her pocket to call Marian. Her friend must be thanked for pulling whatever insane strings required to snag this room. And Layla needed to see what exactly “delayed” meant.

Marian picked up on the second ring. “Are you in Parsabad?”

“You bet your ass I am.” Layla rolled over onto her back, staring up at the gauzy fabric of the canopy. No detail was overlooked in this suite. “I just checked into my room and…I can’t even begin to describe how luxurious this is. Marian, this is bigger than both of our apartments combined back in the city.”

“I know,” Marian gushed. “I knew you would love it. Consider it our ‘Welcome to Parsabad’ gift. And I’m even more relieved now, since Omar and I are trapped out of town overnight.”

“Oh. Is that the delay? Is everything okay?” Layla bounced her leg against the mattress. It sprung surprisingly high into the air.

“Yeah, but our flight got cancelled coming back into Minarak, so we opted to just stick around for another day.” Marian let out a dreamy sigh. “I can’t complain, either. It’s been so nice to get away from work and all the wedding planning.”

“Well, let me know if I can do anything until you get back. As your bridesmaid, it’s my duty.”

“You just stay put and relax. And take a taxi tonight to go have some drinks! One of our favorite clubs downtown is called Echo. In fact, I would have taken you there tonight myself.”

“Hmmm.” Layla smoothed her hand over the bedspread. Shimmery green and like silk. “That sounds like a fine idea. And I’ll let you take me there again once you’re home.”

“Perfect. And just text me if you need anything tonight. You know, questions, translation issues, if you get lost on your way to Echo…”

Layla laughed. “I think I got it covered, girl. But I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

The two hung up the phone, and Layla lay back on the bed, stretching out with a smile. There was no better way to start this trip: a full bank account, luxurious surroundings, and a totally empty evening in front of her to fill however she pleased.

* * *

Hours later, the night was unfolding like the most unexpectedly beautiful bloom. Perfect outfit—a skin-tight black dress with black heels—followed by a perfect meal—eggplant and exciting sauces—and now, a taxi to Echo for the perfect way to finish the night.

She paid the taxi driver and blurted out the politest thank-you she could manage in Farsi, and strutted up to the front door. There was a little line, but she was ushered to the front door immediately. Thanks, Little Black Dress. She’d hadn’t even needed to drop the Almasi name.

Inside, the lounge was moodily lit with upscale bars sweeping along glass-blocked walls. Every bartender had a suit and tie on, as did many of the male patrons. Maybe this was why Marian and Omar liked it—it was the corporate crowd getting their fix.

Layla ordered a gin and tonic, thankful the bartender spoke English, and then retreated to the sidelines to absorb the scene. Lo-fi electronic music pulsed through the speakers, and a stage area was hidden behind drawn, black curtains. Round tables dappled the room. Lithe, pristinely contoured ladies leaned toward model-worthy men, everyone the definition of dark and mysterious. A shiver ran up her spine. Maybe this would be her spot in Minarak. A lounge without the nightclub raucousness. Perfect for classy yet alcohol-fueled encounters.

She slid into a seat at an empty table, eager to people-watch and relax. There was something comforting in hiding behind a wall of music. It acted like a buffer, a filter through which she could peer at the world—and men—around her.

Her gaze gravitated toward a man across the room, leaning against a smaller bar near the stage area. He was dressed in the standard business-class uniform—dark, tailored suit with shiny leather shoes—but something about his stature drew her in. He didn’t just stand tall, he blasted confidence. Even from across the room, something about the way he moved his hands and leaned against the bar told her he’d be a fantastic storyteller…or maybe a huge asshole.

Interesting. Noted. Layla scanned the room, sipping at her drink. Alcohol sizzled through her veins, and she cocked a grin. Already this vacation was so fun. Even if it involved simply observing sexy men and fantasizing about them later, it was a glorious departure from the routine of her former corporate life.

The man across the room looked out over the lounge area as if he owned the place. Maybe he was the owner. His gaze flicked over Layla and then returned a short moment later. He held her gaze from across the lounge, his eyes dark and smoldering. The corner of his lip turned up, and Layla couldn’t look away to save her life. She only hoped she wasn’t drooling into her gin and tonic.

She blinked, trying to regain some control over her brain, and sipped again at her drink, offering up a coy smile. Dear lord, if he comes over here… A moment later, he pushed off from the bar and headed her way, his gaze set on her like a target, his steps measured and casual.

Oh my god. She tossed back the rest of her drink and pushed the glass away, smoothing her hair. She practiced a neutral expression, something midway between disinterested and too-cool-for-school.

“You must not be from around here.”

Layla tilted her head back to look at him. His voice was husky velvet, his gaze commanding as he watched her. He rolled a tumbler between his fingers as he awaited a response.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Did that count as coy? Across the sea, who knew what the rules were. She crossed her legs, allowing a length of thigh to slip into view. His gaze darted downward and his grin widened.

“May I sit with you?” He gestured toward the open chair.

“Please.” Her heart hammered between her ears. Play it cool. She could be courting a billionaire, for all she knew. Some guy with a private jet and a thousand casinos. “How did you know I spoke English?”

He slid into the open seat, his gaze never leaving her. Cologne wafted toward her, something exotic and spicy. “It was a wild guess. Thought I would have a better shot speaking English with a foreigner than Farsi.”

“You have a point.” She bit back a grin. “So you’re from here?”

“Born and raised.” His English had a distant British lilt, like maybe he’d learned in a boarding school. “But I don’t think the same is true for you. Are you passing through?”

“Yes, unfortunately. I mean, not unfortunate that I’m here. I love that I’m here. But rather, that it’s so brief.” She forced a smile. The man made it impossible to think.

His grin widened. “What brings you here?”

I thought it had been my best friend’s wedding, but maybe it was to meet you. “Just traveling around for a bit. I’ll start here, move west and then north.” Why are you so hot?

He hummed low, as if assessing the route. But even that rang sexy and slightly animalistic to her. Like maybe that sound might pair equally as well with pushing her up against a wall and having his way with her.

“An exciting trip. How long will you be traveling?”

“Oh, about a year.” It felt good to say it—even better when his eyes rounded with admiration.

“That’s quite some time. What a noble journey. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about trips like that myself.”

“You should take one, then.” She shrugged. Come with me, why don’t you?

He smiled mysteriously, his gaze raking her up and down. “That’s a fair suggestion. What’s your name?”

She had to catch her breath before she answered. “Layla. And you?”

“Zahir.” He held out his hand, and she took it hesitantly, like maybe there’d be a static shock. But instead of a zap there was only incredible warmth, a smoothness that begged her to feel every square inch of this man. Her breath hitched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Their grip lingered too long. Definitely too long. She couldn’t look away from him—it was like he’d roofied her only with his gaze. When their hands finally slipped apart, his lips quirked up in a secretive smile.

“May I buy you a drink?”

She shook her head. “Do you wanna get out of here?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could even think otherwise. Hopefully the dimness of the lounge would cover the blush in her cheeks. Zahir straightened a bit.

“I’ll follow you anywhere you take me.”

His words melted over her like butter on a hot stove. She pushed to standing, unsteady on her own two feet as she practically floated out of the nightclub, clutching Zahir’s wrist behind her. If this wasn’t the fastest pick-up in all of history… Something about this man just demanded it. It’s okay for things to be about sex sometimes. Especially when the guy you’re inviting back to your all-expenses-paid penthouse suite looks like he commutes to work in a helicopter and Gucci underwear.

She made a note to look at his underwear brand in the penthouse. Pushing out into the warm air of the Minarak evening, Zahir turned to her, his jaw impossibly square. In the comparatively quiet air outside, he looked somehow even more perfect. As if every last hair on his head was individually styled.

“I’ve called my driver. He’ll take us wherever you’d like to go.” His warm hand appeared at her waist, drawing her near. She inhaled sharply, pressing herself against him. Heat rolled off of him in waves, nearly drowning her in his scent.

A few moments later, the car pulled up. Zahir held the door open for her and she slid into the backseat. Remarkably similar to the car that had picked her up from the airport, but maybe that was what all the top-end sedans were like here. Zahir, too, had something familiar about him. A distant impression of Omar, but again—she was probably just seeing similarities between the only two Parsian men she knew.

The car ride was quick, but they descended into making out even quicker. His lips were salty and warm against hers, needy kisses sparking like a forest fire. Heat prickled through her, sending her senses into overdrive. When the car pulled up to the hotel, she could barely detach from Zahir’s face to make it out of the car.

Outside, he smoothed down the front of his suit coat, looking toward the hotel. “Nice place.”

“Yeah, I’m staying here for a while.” She grabbed his hand, leading him inside. She couldn’t have hidden her smile if she were forced at gunpoint. Zahir played it cool, and when she sidled up to him in front of the elevators, he stiffened.

“We should wait until we’re inside your room,” he whispered hotly into her ear. He squeezed her hip, which sent a lightning bolt of pleasure down to her toes. “What I want to do to you shouldn’t be seen by others.”

Her thighs clenched involuntarily. She looked up at him to say something, but her voice had shriveled.

“Cameras follow me occasionally,” he added.

“So you’re a celebrity.” Inside the elevator, she waited for the doors to close before she pressed her lips against his. Celebrity status made him even hotter. They kissed fervently until the elevator dinged on the top floor. She pulled him by the wrist toward her suite and nudged open the door with her hip. Once the door clicked shut behind them, he pressed her against it, dragging his tongue slowly up the side of her jaw.

“Oh, my god,” she said, her voice shaking.

He laughed gutturally and slid his hands down the sides of her dress, hooking palms beneath ass cheeks. He hoisted her without any hesitation or effort; their groins made a hot seal.

“God, you’re sexy,” she whispered, pressing her head against the door as his kisses skipped hot and juicy over her jawline, down to the crook of her neck, over the exposed cleavage.

“Not as sexy as you.” His voice was a strained murmur, as if it might break into a moan at any moment. He ground his hips against hers, the pronounced hardness meeting the anxious nub between her legs.

She clawed, nipped, and lunged for him, desperate to feel him inside her, desperate to reach that peak with him. Their lips met jerkily, haphazardly—distracted kisses amid the groping and disrobing. Zahir stumbled toward the bed with her in his arms, his pants around his ankles, and then she was bouncing on the silky bedspread, wriggling out of her dress.

A moment later, she heard the rip of a condom wrapper, and then he flipped her onto her belly. She arched herself up to meet him. Finally the hot press of his groin, the slow and slick entrance, followed by shuddery moans that only grew more gravelly the deeper he went.

Zahir moved against her in a rhythm both desperate and slow. She relished every second of it as he cupped a breast in his big hand, his face buried in the back of her neck, his pelvis rocking her closer and closer to ecstasy.

The orgasm came swiftly and powerfully. She fell over the edge way before he did, but that only meant she came a second time when he finally tumbled after her.

As they lay panting in the aftermath, eyes sparkling and chest heaving, Layla couldn’t feel anything but pleased with her first night in Parsabad.