Miranda Lee - Modern Romance - The Best of the Year

“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.”

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