The Pirate by Harold Robbins Read Free Book Online Page B

but Baydr had not yet given the signal for dinner.
    Ali Yasfir came toward him. The pudgy Lebanese’s face was shining with perspiration despite the coolness of the evening. “This is a beautiful ship,” he said. “How big is it?”
    “A hundred and eighty feet,” Dick said.
    Yasfir nodded. “It seems larger.” He glanced across the deck at Baydr. “Our host seems to be enjoying himself.”
    Carriage smiled. “He always does. I know no other man who can combine business and pleasure in the same way that he does.”
    “Apparently pleasure comes first.” Yasfir’s voice was faintly disapproving.
    Carriage’s voice was polite but cold. “This is madame’s birthday after all and he did not expect to do business this trip.”
    Yasfir accepted the implied rebuke without comment. “I haven’t met the lady yet.”
    Carriage allowed himself a smile. “It’s her birthday and you know how women are. Perhaps she’s planning a grand entrance.”
    Yasfir nodded solemnly. “Western woman are very different from Arab. They take liberties our women would never dream of. My wife—” His voice trailed off as he stared at the stairway from the lower deck.
    Carriage followed his gaze. Jordana had just made her appearance. All sounds of conversation faded away. Only the music blared from overhead, and abruptly it changed to the wile strains of “Misirlou.”
    A light seemed to envelop Jordana as she moved to the center of the dance floor. She was dressed as an Oriental dancer. A hammered gold brassiere covered her breasts, below which she was bare to the jeweled band from which hung the multicolored panels of sheer chiffon that made up her skirt. On her head, she wore a coronet and her long golden hair flowed down over her shoulders. A silken veil covered her face so that only her seductive eyes were visible. She raised her hands over her head and stood poised for a moment.
    Carriage heard the Lebanese catch his breath. Jordana had never looked so beautiful. Every line of her magnificent body was revealed. Slowly, Jordana began to sway with the music.
    First the finger cymbals on her hands picked up the rhythm, and as the beat became more pronounced, she moved into the dance. Carriage had seen many belly dancers in his time. He came from a Middle Eastern family and had known the dance since he was a child. But he had never seen it performed like this.
    This was the height of sexuality. Her every movement brought back memories of the many women he had known, all concentrated in the eroticism of her dance. Deliberately, he tore his eyes away from her and looked around the deck.
    Everyone there felt it, man and woman alike. Their passions and hunger were revealed in the way they looked at her as the dance thrust wildly toward its peak. All except Baydr.
    He stood there silently watching her every move. But his face was impassive, his eyes withdrawn. And his expression did not change even as she moved in front of him and kneeling made him the classic offering movements. The music crashed to its climax and she sank to her knees before him, her forehead touching his feet.
    For a moment there was silence, then applause. There were cries of brava mixed with the Arabic ahsanti. Still Jordana did not move.
    After a moment, Baydr bent over and, taking her hand in his, raised her to her feet. They were still applauding as he turned toward them. He raised a hand to still them. The applause died away.
    “On behalf of my wife and myself we thank you for being with us on this joyous occasion.”
    There was more applause and cries of happy birthday. He waited until they were silent again. “Now, there is nothing more we can say, except that… dinner is served.”
    Still holding her hand, he led her to the staircase and they began to descend. Once again the sounds of conversation began to fill the night as the others moved to follow them.

CHAPTER 5
    Uniformed stewards were standing at the buffet table to help the guests. The table was