Modern Romance - The Best of the Year. Miranda Lee

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.”