Miranda Lee - Modern Romance - The Best of the Year

“Because I’m trying not to think about it,” he snapped, rising to his feet in turn, meeting her fury with his own—except Sharif’s anger was cold and deep and edged with despair. “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?” He paced by the dining table, his jaw taut as he swiveled to glare at her. “You asked why I was at Falconeri’s wedding. I barely know the man! I went because...”

“Because?”

“Because I was trying to accept my fate!” he exploded. Turning away, he forced his voice to calm down, forced his heart to slow. He took a deep breath. “I went because I needed to feel like any ridiculous fantasies I ever had about marriage were wrong. I knew Falconeri was marrying his housekeeper for the sake of their baby. I thought, if I went to the wedding, I would discover the truth beyond their happy facade. I’d discover they could barely tolerate each other. Instead, I saw something different.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “And I met you.”

Looking at Irene’s beautiful, honest, stricken face, emotion filled Sharif’s heart. He found himself yearning for what he’d never known, and what he’d never have.

Their eyes locked. Irene’s expression became sad, vulnerable, filled with grief. “How could you?”

He looked at her.

“How could I not?” he said in a low voice.

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head. “Never kiss me again,” she choked out, and fled the room.

CHAPTER SIX

SHE SHOULDN’T BE crying.

She had nothing to cry about.

Sharif—His Highness, Irene corrected herself savagely as she stomped up the stairs toward her room—was her employer, nothing more. So what if he’d kissed her in Italy while virtually engaged to another woman? It wasn’t as if Irene ever thought they might be together. She’d lost absolutely nothing. In fact, she should be glad to be proven right—Sharif was every bit the heartless womanizer she’d first believed him to be!

Though maybe not completely heartless...

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?

No! She pushed away the memory of his hoarse voice and bleak eyes. She wasn’t going to have an ounce of sympathy for him. She was not!

I made the deal I had to make to save my country.

Childishly, she covered her ears as she continued to rush down the hall. Things were right and wrong. Black and white. There were no shades or colors between. Only excuses. She wouldn’t let herself feel a whit of sympathy. What he’d done was wrong!

Irene somehow managed to find her way back to her room. The dinner that had seemed so delicious was now churning inside her belly. She took a shower, brushed her teeth and caught a look at her face in the bathroom mirror. Her hand trembled as she set down her toothbrush. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then froze.

She still felt his kiss there. She touched her lips with her fingertips. She could still feel his mouth on hers, the way he’d claimed them so passionately as his own on that night of fireworks in Italy. She could still feel the way she’d kissed him back, with a lifetime of pent-up loneliness and need. With intoxicating hope.

Irene dropped her hand. She couldn’t think about that now. Glancing out her window, toward the moonswept Persian Gulf beyond the palace, she swallowed over the lump in her throat. Whatever it had been between them—a lie? a dream?—it was definitely over.

Climbing into her bed in the huge room, Irene pulled the luxurious sheets up to her chin. What would Dorothy have told her to do? She’d have said that Irene shouldn’t sell her integrity, not for any price. She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d couldn’t remain in Makhtar, under the same roof with him. Not now. She’d take the first commercial flight out of Makhtar City tomorrow morning, back to...

Her eyes flew open.

To where?

To her hometown in southern Colorado, to join her mother, drunk and bitter, and her sister, growing old before her time? She’d give up her newfound joy at the thought that she could take care of them?

Irene took a deep breath. No way.

She wasn’t going anywhere. She’d stay here the rest of November, then December and January and part of February. She could do it. She had to do it. So the answer was simple.

She wouldn’t be even slightly attracted to her dangerous, sexy, all-but-engaged boss. She’d look into Sharif’s face and be cold, cold, cold all the way to her heart...

She thought again of his handsome face, his dark, bleak eyes.

Can you understand what it is like to despise someone to the depths of your soul...

She wasn’t going to feel an ounce of sympathy. Why should she, for a man who had everything in the world, who was handsome, rich and powerful, the ruler of a wealthy Persian Gulf nation? The man had everything!

Except love. Or even hope of love, until the day he died...

Exhaling, Irene turned on her other side, squeezing her eyes shut. She would stay here and work, but nothing more. She wasn’t going to think of him for another moment, except as anything but her boss. She wouldn’t... She vowed, yawning. Wouldn’t...

Except she saw Sharif standing in the moonlight on the edge of Lake Como, dressed all in black.

What are you doing here? she choked out. He was the last person she’d expected to see.

He turned. The silvery light frosted the edge of his dark hair, illuminating his black eyes.

Don’t you know? he said softly, coming toward her. She shook her head. He pulled her into his arms, brushing back tendrils of her hair. His expression was different than she’d ever seen before. He looked tender, hopeful, yearning as he searched her gaze.

I’m seducing you, Irene, he said in a low voice. Their eyes locked. I’ve been waiting to seduce you for all my life.

Waiting for you...for you. The words echoed across the moon-swept Italian lake mockingly, like the plaintive cry of night birds, and each echo caused a new twist in her heart, somewhere between ecstasy and grief, because she knew she’d been waiting for him, too. But all the waiting was in vain.

But why? Weren’t they meant to be together? Hadn’t they been waiting in their loneliness for the other?

Sharif’s expression changed, became stark with need. As if claiming her, he whispered her name. She was breathless, spellbound, as he slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

Come to me, he whispered. Be with me. Love me. With every syllable of every word, she could feel the brush of his lips against hers, so close, tantalizingly close. His last two words were so faint she heard them only with her heart.

Save me.

And at that, her soul could no longer resist what her body hungered for. Wrapping her arms around him, she drew him against her and pressed her lips to his. She nearly gasped from the explosive sensation of his mouth against hers. She pulled him down against her, sinking back against the soft bed. Her hands twisted in his hair. She felt the deliciously heavy weight of him pressing her deep into the mattress, and gasped against his lips. She needed to feel more of this, more...

Wait a minute. An alarm went off in the back of her brain.

Mattress?

Irene’s eyes flew open. She suddenly realized two things.

First: She’d been dreaming about him on the Italian lake.

Second: She wasn’t dreaming now.

Sharif’s body was over hers on the bed. His weight on hers. His lips on her. So hot. So sweet. So impossible to resist...

Then Irene remembered why she must resist, and she pushed him away. Hard.