Читать книгу Modern Romance - The Best of the Year - Ким Лоренс, Miranda Lee - Страница 45

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I CANNOT BELIEVE that you would take such a risk coming here unprotected... Knowing full well that your future husband might hear of this foolish escapade...”

Sharif set his jaw, folding his arms with a scowl as he looked down at his young sister. He’d been lecturing her for some time.

“Of all the selfish, idiotic...”

Aziza sat meekly on an outdoor sofa on the grand terrace of their family’s vacation villa, which overlooked an Olympic-size pool and the gleaming brilliance of the Persian Gulf beyond. His sister’s eyes were turned down, but he recognized the stubborn set to her jaw. It matched the stubborn expressions of the two women sitting on each side of her.

Old Basimah was on the left, glaring at him with hard beady eyes, her sagging jowls quivering with unspoken fury that he, the elder brother who was merely and unimportantly the emir and absolute ruler of Makhtar, would dare to scold her precious charge.

Ignoring her, Sharif continued harshly, “You must never do such a thing again...”

But at this, the woman sitting on Aziza’s other side, holding her hand, looked up sharply.

“She has explained why she came to Dubai, Your Highness,” Irene said coolly. “She apologized for not telling you her intention, but surely you would not begrudge the sheikha a simple, discreet weekend vacation.” Irene lifted an eyebrow, as if to say, You, of all people, cannot criticize her for that. When she saw her mark hit home, she relaxed and gave him a placid smile. “She is not, after all, a prisoner—is she?”

Sharif’s scowl deepened. He’d expected that Irene would get along well with his headstrong young sister. He hadn’t expected them to become friends so quickly. Or that she would take his sister’s side so craftily, in a way he could not easily fight. Aziza knew it, too. There was a reason his sister was arguing in English, not Arabic.

“There are many places to relax,” he replied through his teeth, “in Makhtar City.”

Irene gave him a sweet smile. “But Her Highness had her heart set on coming here, where she could test her skiing lessons at the indoor ski slope at the Mall of the Emirates.” She tilted her head. “She could have requested the use of your private jet, and flown off to a ski resort in Switzerland or Patagonia with an entourage. Instead, she came here simply and privately, at very little expense. Surely her thriftiness should be rewarded, not scolded.”

The woman should be in diplomacy, he thought grumpily.

“Of course,” he said through gritted teeth. She was not only giving his sister a reasonable defense, she was also obliquely pointing out his lavish spending on his own trips abroad. While not directly giving voice to her disapproval of Aziza’s coming wedding, she was undermining his authority and giving his younger sister greater confidence in her decisions, to better fight him later. Well played, he thought. But Irene didn’t know who she was dealing with.

Sharif looked down at his sister. Aziza’s plump cheeks were still stained with tears, her hands listless in her lap. She was, after all, just nineteen. He himself had first started taking illicit weekends himself at that age as a way to escape from the pressures of the palace. That was what he’d first feared when she’d left—that she was meeting some boy here, some waiter she’d met, or heaven knew what. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. So perhaps—just perhaps—he was being too hard on her.

Sharif took a deep breath. “All I want is for you to be happy...”

Aziza looked up. “How can I be happy?” she cried. “When I’m just waiting, waiting to marry that old man?”

“How indeed?” Irene murmured under her breath.

Thus encouraged, the younger woman glared at her brother and tossed her head defiantly. “It’s like having a date with the guillotine!”

Enough was enough.

“You made a promise,” he said sharply. “You know your duty. You have yours, just as I have mine...”

“It’s not fair! I went from an all-girls boarding school to the palace, and now I’m trapped there until I go to my husband’s house, where I’ll be trapped for the rest of my life.” She shook her head. “You’ve lived your life for the last nineteen years, Sharif, bossing everyone around as emir, enjoying yourself in London and all over the world. What about me? When is my time to live?”

Sharif looked at the three mutinous feminine faces in front of him and felt momentarily outgunned.

He saw the tenseness of Aziza’s trembling shoulders as she sat on the outdoor sofa. Saw the brittle expression on her face. All she’d wanted was a chance to swim and ski and distract herself from the engagement she’d entered into so hastily. He, of all people, could understand this.

“Perhaps in my desire to keep you safe, I haven’t given you enough freedom,” he said slowly. “I didn’t realize you felt trapped in the palace, Aziza.” He paused. “Shall we remain in Dubai for a few days? Have a holiday? Perhaps when you’re done skiing, we should go on a shopping excursion.”

“Shopping?” Aziza said hopefully.

“Every bride needs wedding clothes.”

“How much can I buy?”

“Anything you want.”

Aziza slowly rose to her feet, her eyes wide. “Anything? Five new handbags? A new wardrobe? Ball gowns? Jewels?”

“Anything and everything.”

“Thank you, Sharif! Oh!” she cried, tossing her arms around him. “You’re such a good brother!”

Now, Irene was the one to scowl. And he was the one to give her back a placid smile, as if to say, Did you expect to win so easily? I’ve been in politics my whole life.

“It’s just what I needed,” his young sister said, wiping her eyes. “It will make me feel so much better.”

Sharif smiled at her. This was what he liked best—for his orders to be met with thanks and joy. But in this case, he felt he shouldn’t take full credit. “Thank Miss Taylor,” he murmured. “It was her idea.”

Irene’s lips parted. “It wasn’t exactly my—”

“Thank you, Miss Taylor!” Aziza threw her arms around Irene’s shoulders. “You’re already so much more fun than Gilly!” A smug smile crossed the younger woman’s face as she crowed, “Just wait until Alexandra sees all the things I’m going to buy today—it’ll be twice as much as all the pictures she’s been posting from her dorm! I win! I win, win, win!”

Irene rose heavily to her feet. Sharif saw the sour expression on her face and hid a smile.

He spread his arms wide. “I will have my driver bring the car around. My bodyguards arrived ten minutes ago.”

“They did?” Irene said, then: “Of course they did.”

Twenty minutes later, the four of them—plus a driver and bodyguard—were in a gray limousine, speeding from the villa to the mall, with the other bodyguards driving SUVs ahead and behind.

Sitting in the back of the limo, Sharif felt Irene’s sideways glare. He didn’t mind at all. Like his sister, he’d won.

Aziza was settling down, on track to a marriage that would increase the stability and prestige of his small nation. And, he hoped, her older husband would stabilize her. Yes, the Sultan of Zaharqin was older, but he was steady and respectable. It would be a good match. Something that would last, and would in time, as they built their family, lead to mutual respect, Sharif hoped, even affection, between husband and wife.

Stability. Peace. Those were the things he valued, both in his country and in his life. His eyes fell on Irene sitting across from him in the back of the limo.

He wished he could say he felt peaceful now.

They were barreling down the road at a breakneck pace, the driver well accustomed to the traffic laws of Dubai, which were often treated more like suggestions, really, than laws. The battle of wits between him and Irene had his blood flowing. All his senses were aware of her.

Sharif’s gaze slowly traveled from the impatient tapping of her foot in those ridiculously casual plastic flip-flops, to the curvaceous outline of her body in the long knit cotton dress. A jean jacket covered her tightly folded arms in the frigid air-conditioning of the Bentley. He saw the angry set of her jaw. The warm creamy hue of her skin. She was staring out the window, her teeth biting down on her full, pink lower lip. She was clearly repressing the words she wished to say, but her body language said it all for her. She’d lost this battle, and she didn’t like it.

He couldn’t stop looking at her lips, the full sensual lips that had kissed him so suddenly and unexpectedly when he’d gone into her bedroom to wake her. Her beautiful eyes had fluttered open, she’d smiled, whispered something he couldn’t hear, then pulled him down hard against her on the bed. His whole body suddenly felt tight, his heart pounding at the memory.

What a woman. If it had been his choice, he would have chosen a woman like this for his queen, angry and sweet, sexy and idealistic and proud. He respected her. Even though it was a pain in his side, he admired the way she’d fought for his sister. Even before she’d met Aziza, she’d been protective of her. She wasn’t afraid to fight for what she believed in.

He suddenly wondered what it would be like to fight with Irene every day, having her argue with him furiously over the breakfast table, her deep brown eyes shooting sparks of fire. Then taking her to bed every night, where the fire could explode. It wouldn’t always be peaceful. Or stable. And yet it would be, because what was between them, both the good and bad, would always be real...

He cut the thought off. Real, he mocked himself. His lip curled. He was starting to sound as bad as Irene. Like a romantic. Real?

The promise he had made at fifteen to wed the vizier’s daughter was real. His need to protect his people and keep Makhtar prosperous and safe—that was real, too. He would announce his engagement to Kalila as soon as Aziza’s wedding was done. Kalila would be his queen, would provide him with the heir he needed.

That was the most real of all. Even if the thought of what he’d need to do to get that heir on Kalila repelled him. She was sly, devious, cold-blooded. It would be like bedding a snake.

Whereas the woman sitting close to him now—

Irene made him feel warm all over. Hot to boiling. She was passionate and alive. Everything she believed, she believed with all her heart. She wore her heart on her sleeve, even if that made her vulnerable, even if she risked looking like a fool. She appealed to him in a way he couldn’t explain, not even to himself.

But the longer he knew her, the more beautiful she was. Even now, when she was angry and tapping her foot with self-righteousness, she glowed from within.

He wanted her. Now, more than ever.

Perhaps he’d been too hasty in deciding not to seduce her.

Yes. He straightened in the backseat of the limo, suddenly liking this idea. It was true he had a self-imposed rule about not sleeping with employees. Apart from the risk to the tranquility of his household, it had always just seemed, well, tacky.

But his position on this issue was rapidly evolving.

Just look how distracted he was right now, half out of his mind with desire. His mind was so filled with thoughts, his body so tense with need, that it was probably good he wasn’t back at the palace, making decisions that affected the affairs of state. How could he be expected to make rational decisions in the condition he was in?

And Sharif was well experienced sexually. How much worse must it be for Irene, who was not? Every bit of her body language, from her tapping foot, to her teeth biting her pink lip, to her arms crossed tightly over her full breasts, told him that she felt the same overwhelming tension between them.

She wanted to remain a virgin until she was wed. Fine.

But how would she even be able to make a decent choice of husband, in the permanent lifelong decision of marriage, if she was half out of her mind with lust?

He could save her from the bad judgment that a mind clouded by lust could bring. Protect her from rushing headlong into a poorly considered marriage.

For her sake, he could seduce her. For her sake, and for his.

Because he wanted her too much. Even when she was angry. Even when she was blunt. Even when she was annoying him with her wildly wrong ideas. Seducing her, taking her virginity freely given, would help free both of them from this—obsession—so they could each move on with their well-planned lives.

Though he nearly growled aloud at the thought of any future man touching her. He wanted to be her man. He wanted to satiate himself with her, to feel her lips against his own, to fill her, to suckle and taste and caress every inch until she gasped and cried out with pleasure and held him tight, so tight, as if she’d never let him go...

“We’re here!” his sister squealed, jarring him from his thoughts. Blinking, he saw they were at the mall entrance.

“Skiing first?” he asked his sister. “Or shopping?”

“Skiing—definitely skiing. Then lunch at the Swiss fondue restaurant with the view over the ski hill...”

“How big is this mall?” Irene said, looking shocked.

“Dubai has the best and biggest malls in the whole world. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone,” Irene echoed faintly.

Aziza turned back to him. “Your bodyguards can carry the bags while we shop afterward.” She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling beneath her head scarf. “I intend to buy a lot, Sharif,” she said warningly. “A lot.”

He looked at her. “And I intend not to complain.”

“Ah... This is the best day ever.” The teenager sighed. Sharif looked from Aziza to the elderly Basimah, whose wrinkled face was almost smiling at him—surely the first time ever? Could a shopping spree really mean so much?

The limo stopped and a bodyguard opened the door. Cooing happily, Aziza and the older woman hopped out.

Irene did not move. She still sat glaring at him, unimpressed. Her foot, still crossed over her leg, was now tapping as if she wanted to do nothing more than give him a hearty kick right out of the back of the limo. “Distracting a teenager from a lifelong decision with a shopping spree at the mall? Isn’t that like shooting fish in a barrel?”

“We all distract ourselves in different ways from things we cannot change.”

“But she still could—”

“If she was mature enough to accept a proposal, she’s mature enough to live with it.”

Irene started toward the open car door, then paused just long enough to throw back a glance like a fistful of daggers. “I just hope you’re happy.”

A gust of hot wind blew inside the car through the open door. Sharif inhaled the lingering vanilla scent of her hair, sensual and warm.

Not yet, he thought. A slow-rising smile lifted his lips. But I could be.

* * *

Irene floated on her back in the Persian Gulf, staring up at the starry night, feeling the warm water lap against her skin.

After three full days in Dubai, she’d seen everything, she thought. They’d gone to the top of the Burj Khalifa, they’d had high tea at a six-star hotel, the Burj al-Arab, shaped like an enormously high sailboat floating out in the water of the gulf. Now that there was no risk of scandal—now they had a story of “trousseau shopping” rather than “runaway bride”—Sharif made no effort to hide their presence. Yesterday, they’d taken a private helicopter to Abu Dhabi, where they’d met up with one of Aziza’s friends from boarding school and enjoyed Friday brunch with their family at the British Club.

If the other expat families enjoying mimosas on the patio had been shocked to see the Emir of Makhtar invade their quiet club with his entourage, they, being British, had hidden it well and swiftly returned to the pleasures of the morning and talking with their friends.

So much for the sights. Most of the last three days had been spent on one thing: shopping, shopping and more shopping. Irene had enjoyed it at first. It had been a relief to leave the indoor ski slope, after falling on her face again and again in the man-made snow, feeling as ungainly and clumsy as an ox with Sharif’s amused eyes on her. At least, she told herself he looked amused. Not smoldering. Not as if he was thinking, every time she fell into the snow, every time he took her hand and pulled her up, that he wanted to kiss her senseless.

Her cheeks still burned when she remembered how she’d kissed him back in Makhtar. Stupid dreams! Look at the trouble they got her into!

She’d tried to keep her distance from Sharif, keeping her focus on Aziza, as they went next to a different mall, where she saw a fish aquarium larger than a building, billed as the largest in the world. There were so many shops, people walking through them dressed in every way from tank tops and shorts to black abayas and face-hiding burqas. Although even they, if you looked closely enough, had high heels peeping out from beneath their hems, and carried ten-thousand-dollar handbags carelessly under their arms.

Watching Sharif buy so many things for his sister, Irene suddenly regretted she hadn’t contacted her mother or sister for a year, other than sending them money from her salary. She bought her mother a floral tea set of bone china and a box of baklava from Lebanon, and for her sister a touristy canvas handbag with DUBAI printed on it with big block letters and pink butterflies. She had it all shipped back home. After buying herself a bag of tasty treats from the biggest candy store she’d ever seen, she was done. Today they’d gone to the Gold Souk, but as Aziza and Basimah pawed through jewelry, Irene’s feet had hurt and she couldn’t stop yawning. The other two women had shopping stamina that put Irene to shame.

Even Sharif seemed to have infinite patience. He advised his younger sister on her purchases when asked, but always deferred to her choice. Perhaps he wasn’t a total disaster as an older brother, she thought grudgingly. Even if he was a total disaster for her.

Irene stretched out her body in the warm water, letting all her aches and tensions dissolve, letting her troubles float up to disappear into the soft, humid, starry night. Strange to be alone out here. She’d never imagined that she, Irene Taylor from Lone Pine, Colorado, who’d had her lunch box smashed her first day in kindergarten, and been pelted with insults she hadn’t even understood back then, would someday leave that misery behind and live half a world away, in a glamorous villa filled with royalty.

She sighed with pleasure. Aziza had gone upstairs to take photos of her haul to send to friends. Basimah was having a cozy game of cards with the cook. Sharif had disappeared to make phone calls, presumably about affairs of state in Makhtar.

So Irene had pulled on her modest one-piece black swimsuit, wrapped her body in a towel and sneaked outside.

She’d meant only to swim in the villa’s enormous pool. But as the sun had lowered in the sky, she’d found it impossible to resist the streaks of orange and persimmon light sparkling on the gulf. Would the water really feel as hot as a bathtub?

She’d looked around to see if anyone was watching, seen only the distant bodyguards and gates on the edges of the private beach. It seemed like overkill, in a city as bright and modern and safe as Dubai felt to her, but then everything about Sharif’s security arrangements always seemed like overkill.

Though when she remembered his heartbreaking story about his parents, she could almost understand why he would go to such extremes for security. And why he would believe romantic love was either illusion, or poison.

Can you understand what it is like, to despise someone to the depths of your soul, and know you’ll still be forced to call her your wife? To have a child with her?

Every time Irene remembered his bleak voice, she shuddered. Marrying someone you hated so much, sharing your life with them, your home, your children? It would destroy everything about Sharif. Everything that was, beneath his arrogant bossiness, so bright and alive. The marriage would be corrosive to him as acid.

The thought caused a hard pain in her chest. He would keep his honor. Maintain his country’s stability. But at what cost?

Perhaps she’d discuss that with him, convince him that...

No. Bad idea. She needed to try to avoid intimate conversations, not encourage them. The last thing she wanted to do was feel anything more for him than she already did. She couldn’t let herself see the emotion beneath his mask. She couldn’t let herself feel his feelings, any more than she could reach out to feel him in her arms.

The Emir of Makhtar was not for her, and he never would be. Not in any way she could accept.

In three months, she would go home. She’d take care of her family, go to college. Maybe she’d be a teacher. She wouldn’t give up on the life she wanted. Not for a momentary temptation, no matter how strong the temptation might be. When she loved a man, she would give him everything, or else nothing at all...

Lying on her back in the soft waves of the Persian Gulf, she looked up at the stars in the deepening night. If she turned her head one way, she could see the skyscrapers of the Dubai Marina towering overhead. If she looked the other, she could see in the distance the populated, man-made islands that were carved into the shape of a palm tree.

But here, floating in the water, she was totally alone, just her and the moon and the infinite stars in the dark, velvety sky. She closed her eyes, feeling the water caress her skin.

Then she felt a man’s hands beneath her. Her eyes flew open and she saw the outline of Sharif’s dark head in the moonlight, the gleam of his black eyes. Startled, she fell, putting her feet down in the sand and whirled to face him in the water.

“Sharif,” she breathed. “What are you—” She caught herself. “I mean, good evening, Your Highness...”

“We’re alone.” His eyes burned through her. “You don’t have to be polite.”

She stiffened, narrowing her eyes. “In that case, I’ll say what I’ve been thinking for the last three days. What the hell are you doing? Distracting Aziza with piles of cheap gifts...just so she can impress her shallow friends—”

“They weren’t cheap, I assure you.”

“This is her life we’re talking about.” Her eyes filled with tears. “She’s too young to realize the choice she’s making.”

He stood in front of her, his muscular chest tanned and bare, both of them swayed by the gentle roll of the water in the darkness.

“We become older by the choices we make,” he said. “By the responsibilities we take—or don’t take. You know this already. How old were you when you started taking on responsibilities for your family—responsibilities that should never have been yours? Was that your choice? Or were you just doing what you had to do?”

She felt the sandy bottom beneath her feet. The water was high—all the way to her chest, and up to his ribs. The water’s gentle waves swayed their bodies. One hard wave could push them together. “We’re not talking about me.”

“We are now.”

“You don’t understand what you are making her give up. If she marries without love, she’ll never be happy, ever.”

“And you think you will?” He took a step toward her, his black eyes glittering. “You’re so desperate to save your pure body for marriage. But how will you know the difference between love and lust, Irene? You who have never known either one? What will stop you from throwing your life away to the first man who makes your body come alive?”

Every inch of her body felt alive right now. She felt the waves caressing her overheated skin as she looked up at his handsome, angry face. She licked her lips. “I...I’ll just know...”

“You won’t know. That’s the whole point.” He looked angrier. “You need to be taught the difference. To understand. So you won’t promise your whole soul and future away to some man who will never deserve it.”

She felt his gaze fall to her lips, and trembled all over. Her mouth tingled, aching for his kiss. Remembering it. But as he started to move toward her, she stepped back in the water.

“Tell me about her.”

“Who?”

“Your bride. What is her name?”

His handsome face was suddenly as immobile as stone. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“But I do.”

“What do you want to know, Irene? She is a poisonous snake who amuses herself with more lovers than drops of water in the sea.”

“I know there’s a double standard here, but have you considered your own long list?”

“It isn’t her lovers. It’s the way she relishes flaunting them. Telling me about them. She hates me even more than I hate her. She has—a cruel heart.”

Irene’s heart twisted at the thought of a woman like this being Sharif’s wife, at his side, in his bed. She swallowed. “And this is the woman you want to be queen of your country? The mother of your children?”

His eyes looked dark. “Leave it alone.”

“You think I might make a foolish choice in marriage because of lust?” she choked out. “Take a look at your own—because of pride!”

For a moment, she was afraid she’d pushed him too far. Then he looked away.

“It’s not pride,” he said in a low voice. “I am emir. I do not have the luxury of going back on my word, or offending Kalila’s powerful family. I cannot take the risk of Makhtar falling into chaos, into war, ever again. You don’t know what it was like.” He looked at her, his jaw tight. “I would die first.”

Irene looked at his taut shoulders. She thought of how few people she’d known in her life who would sacrifice their own happiness for the sake of strangers. She took two splashing steps toward him, then stopped, staring at his dark silhouette outlined by silver. His body was in shadow, illuminated by dappled moonlight, reflected from the water.

“Sharif.” She licked her lips. “I have to tell you something. I...”

He seemed to brace himself. She exhaled.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “All this time I thought you were a selfish playboy. The truth is you’re...noble.”

“Noble? No.” He shook his head. “I’m just...”

“What?”

“Doing my job.”

She felt a rush of admiration—even longing. She tried to push it aside. She couldn’t allow herself to feel desire, attraction...infatuation.

“I always knew I would someday be emir. I’ve known since birth that it was my fate.” He looked at her. “But you are free. You should enjoy it.”

Free? She’d never thought of it that way. But in some ways, it was true. Sharif, as a billionaire emir, was a prisoner of his people—the servant and slave of his country. While she, who’d grown up with nothing, who’d had to fight just to survive, had always had one thing he did not. The knowledge that the choice of what to do with her life was hers.

“What do you want, Irene?” Sharif said softly. “What will you choose for your future to be?”

The question made her throat hurt. Looking down at the water, she took a deep breath.

“I want to have security for my mother and sister. I want to help my mother go to rehab. I want to be able to pay for my sister to go to college if she wants. I want what I’ve always wanted. To take care of my family.”

“So we’re not very different after all. You’ve made sacrifices, taking responsibility for the people you love, even at a cost to yourself. You and I...” Cupping her cheek, Sharif said fiercely, “We are alike.”

Irene looked up at him with an intake of breath. For a moment, they stood together in the warm, swaying waters of the Persian Gulf, their eyes locked in the moonlight. She felt his hand against her cheek.

His gaze slowly fell down her body in the black swimsuit. Beads of water glistened on the tanned skin of his bare, muscular chest. The tension between them changed. His fingertips trailed down her cheek, then moved to tangle in her wet hair. He tilted her head back.

And lowering his head to hers slowly, very slowly, he kissed her.

The kiss was different than any between them before. Slow, and lingering, and deep. She felt the silk of his lips against hers, so powerful and strong, their tongues meeting and twisting and tasting, tangling together, like their souls.

Their nearly naked skin pressed against each other in the sliding waves of the water, pushing them against each other, pushing them apart. She wanted him...oh, yes. And he wanted her. Everything he’d said about lust was true. In this moment, with her smaller body wrapped in his, she wanted all of him, forever and ever. She didn’t think she could ever have enough. She wanted not just his body, but his heart.

She abruptly pulled away.

“You promised not to kiss me,” she said hoarsely.

“I never promised that. You asked. Then you broke your own rule by kissing me yourself.” He tried to keep his voice casual, but she heard the rough edge of his voice. “I still remember how you pulled me on top of you, in your bed.”

Her cheeks went hot. “I explained about that—”

“Yes.” His sensual mouth curved. “That you were dreaming of me.”

“I never said—”

“I thought,” he said, running a fingertip along her wet bare skin beneath her collarbone, “you were always going to tell me the truth.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

“All right,” she said in a low voice. “The truth is that I was dreaming of you that night in the palace. I was dreaming of you kissing me. And then suddenly you were there.” She lifted her gaze to his. “It was the first time in my life that a dream came true.”

Sharif’s eyes were wide, as if he’d never expected her to admit so much. He said softly, “I would give anything to do more than just kiss you. If you’d give up the idea of...”

“Of being a virgin when I wed?” She took a deep breath, tried to smile. “It’s not just about my body. It’s about sharing the same level of commitment. In fact,” she tilted her head, “I’d prefer for him to be a virgin as well...”

Sharif’s shocked face looked almost comical. “You’re joking, right?”

She shrugged. “I just have my standards.”

“Impossible ones. Even as emir, even if I were free to choose, I wouldn’t expect my bride to be a virgin.”

“You don’t expect to love her either, so clearly we have different ideas about marriage.”

“Clearly,” he said, sounding irritated. “I believe in reality.”

“And I believe in dreams.” Irene looked away. “There’s a man out there, somewhere in the world, who will love me for the rest of my life.”

“And if he never comes? What then?”

“He will,” she whispered. “I have to believe it.”

He looked down at her, their faces inches apart. “What if you’re wrong?”

Irene shivered, feeling the heat and strength of his nearly naked body so close to hers in the night. She lifted her gaze to his.

“Then I’ll be very sad,” she said, trying to smile, “that I didn’t sleep with you when I had the chance.”

They stared at each other for a long moment in the moonlight.

“So that’s it?” he said finally. “I can’t change your mind?”

“Can I change yours?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head, and that was that. She exhaled. So did he.

Reaching out, he silently took her hand. He led her out of the water, splashing to the white sand beach.

He paused, looking at her. “A one-piece swimsuit?” His lips quirked. “A bold choice.”

“You know I like modest clothes.”

“Obviously so. Even Basimah has a bikini, I believe. But then you,” he said softly, coming closer, “are an old-fashioned girl.”

Irene looked up at him, her heart pounding, wondering if he would kiss her, wondering if she would resist.

Instead, he started walking, pulling her past the enormous pool with all the bridges and grottos and foliage and palm trees. He led her up the sweeping steps toward the villa.

Irene felt as if she was a million degrees hot. In spite of her words, she felt as if she wasn’t completely in control of herself, not anymore. Not since the moment they’d met. Her rational brain was shouting at her to do something, but the sound was completely obscured by the rush of blood in her own ears, by the pounding of her heart.

She exhaled when he dropped her hand, bending to pick up the beach towels left carelessly on the lounge chairs. He held out her towel. She took it wordlessly, unable to look away as she watched him towel off every inch of his hard, towering, half-naked body.

“So we are what—friends?”

She nearly jumped, and remembered that she, too, should be toweling off. She did it quickly and nodded. “Friends.”

“Interesting.” A strange gleam was in his dark eyes, illuminated by the lights of the villa. “I’ve never tried to be friends with a woman.”

“No?”

He paused. “Especially one who’s driving me out of my mind.”

She protested, “I haven’t argued anything about your sister’s wedding in at least—”

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip, then blurted out, “You can put that aside, right? We can just be friends? Because I need this job. And I can’t wonder if, in a moment of weakness, you might...”

“I won’t keep you from waiting for your husband,” he said softly. “Whoever he may be.” He took a deep breath. “But I wonder if there’s something you would do for me.”

“What?”

Sharif’s jaw went hard, and he looked away. It took him several moments to speak, and when he did, his voice was strained.

“I wonder if...after Aziza is wed, and your job is done...if you’d stay a few extra days. Just until my engagement is announced. Just until—” His voice cut off. He looked at her. “Would you stay with me, Irene, not for money, not as my employee, but just as my friend? Until it’s over?”

Beneath his low, rough voice, she heard a hint of isolation, even despair. He was asking for a friend to stand beside him, to wait until the day he was forced to sign his life away. She suddenly realized that being emir, ruler of all but equal of none, must be a strangely lonely experience, in spite of all the servants and palaces and wealth. He was surrounded by people who expected him to be strong. He had to appear powerful at all times. Whom could he ever allow to see any vulnerability or weakness or regret? Who would ever protect him?

No one.

If only, Irene thought, I could be the one to spend my life at his side. We’re so different. But maybe we could have been happy just the same. The thought made a lump rise in her throat. But there was only one thing she could do. She held out her hand.

“Yes, Sharif,” she said. “I’ll stay till the end.”