Modern Romance - The Best of the Year

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.”