Modern Romance - The Best of the Year. Miranda Lee

quiet, except for the low hum of servants preparing the next meal, and his own bodyguards conversing quietly on the edges of the cavernous, brightly painted breakfast room. Five minutes later, he heard high heels clicking rapidly across the marble foyer and sighed in anticipation.

      He looked up from his Arabic-language newspaper with a ready smile as Irene burst into the doorway.

      “Am I too late?” she cried.

      “You just missed them,” he replied. “They left five minutes ago.”

      Irene looked even more beautiful than last night, he thought. She was dressed in black pumps and a 1950s-style day dress that accented her hourglass figure—Valentino? Oscar de la Renta?—topped with a soft pink cardigan and pearls. A smudge of deep pink lipstick was her only makeup, accenting the slight bruise of violet beneath her huge dark eyes that suggested a sleepless night. Perhaps she hadn’t found the sensual dreams of them making love quite so comforting and pleasant as he had.

      “Dang it!” She hung her shoulders. “I can’t believe I overslept. On Emma’s special day. I am the worst friend ever!”

      “She has three special days,” he said sharply. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It doesn’t matter.”

      “I can’t believe I was so careless.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I must have turned off my alarm. I was just so tired, I didn’t fall asleep until dawn...”

      “Oh?” He tilted his head suggestively. “I’m sorry to hear that. Something keep you awake?”

      She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. “Never mind.” She reached for the silver coffeepot and a china cup edged with a pattern of twenty-four-carat gold. As she poured the steaming hot coffee, followed by tons of cream and sugar, she glanced at his paper.

      “What are you reading?”

      “Today’s newspaper from my home country.”

      “Today’s? How did you get it?”

      “It was delivered to me by plane.”

      “Can’t you get it online?”

      “I like paper.”

      “So you had a whole plane fly all the way here just because you—”

      “Yes,” he said. “Just because.”

      “Ridiculous,” she grumbled. Sitting on the very edge of the farthest chair, she sipped her coffee, glaring at him over the rim of her cup. “You expecting some kind of war today?”

      “War?” Finishing the last of his espresso, Sharif calmly set the cup back in the saucer.

      She looked pointedly at the four bodyguards, all now still as statues in the four corners of the room. “You brought your army along for breakfast?”

      “I am Emir of Makhtar,” he said, as if it explained everything.

      She snorted. “Are you afraid you’ll be attacked?” She looked at the cheerful yellow walls, the tall windows overlooking Lake Como, the high ceilings with their early-nineteenth-century frescoes. Her lips lifted. “Clearly this could be dangerous.”

      He shrugged. “Standard procedure.”

      “Having four hulking babysitters always hovering around sounds like my idea of hell. Although at least it’s easy to get rid of your lovers the morning after.”

      “Are you looking to start a fight with me, Miss Taylor?”

      “You said you were going to call me Irene. And yes, I’m looking to start a fight. It’s your fault I overslept. You’re the one who kept me up all night.”

      He hadn’t expected her to admit it so easily. “Dreaming of me?”

      “Dreaming?” She looked at him as if he was crazy. “It wasn’t a dream I heard all night, banging and moaning in the room next door. It was really quite...athletic, the length and stamina of it all. I’m glad you so eagerly took my advice and found another woman more willing to service you.”

      “Length?” He looked at her with wickedly glinting eyes. He rubbed his jaw. “Stamina?”

      Her cheeks flamed a delectable red. “Forget it.”

      “I’m flattered you immediately assumed it was me.”

      “Of course it was you,” she snapped. “I don’t appreciate how you kept me up all night. Now I’ve missed Emma’s civil ceremony because of you. Next time tell your bed partner to keep her opinion of your acrobatics to herself.”

      “I appreciate the compliment, but it wasn’t me.”

      “Sure,” she said scornfully.

      Sharif looked at her.

      “It. Wasn’t. Me.”

      She stared at him for a long moment, then her expression changed. “Oh.” If anything, she seemed to get even more embarrassed. “Sorry.” She wiped her eyes fiercely, tried to laugh. “I really seem to be messing everything up today.”

      “You are really so upset about missing the civil ceremony?”

      She blinked back tears. “I don’t miss things like this. I don’t. I’m the one that people count on. What if she needs me to take care of the baby during the ceremony? What if she’s upset because I’m not there? What if...”

      “With all those guests around them, she probably didn’t even notice your absence.”

      “I let her down.”

      “You slept in. It happens.”

      “Not to me.” She rubbed her hand over her eyes. “I’ll never forgive myself for this.”

      “Why?” he asked gently. “Why are you the only one who has to be perfect?”

      “Because if I’m not, then...”

      “Then?”

      “Then I’m no better than...”

      “Who?”

      Her china cup clattered against the saucer. Snapping her mouth closed, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I failed.” She looked away. “It’s getting to be a habit.”

      The last thing Sharif wanted was to endure another wedding, especially one in some dreary Italian registry office. But looking at the misery on her beautiful, plump-cheeked face, he rose from the table. Tossing down his napkin, he went to her. “My car is parked in the barn. My driver is here...”

      Irene looked up with an intake of breath. “You’d take me?”

      “I’m willing to take you anywhere. Anytime.” He lifted an eyebrow wickedly. “I thought that was clear.”

      She blushed but said stubbornly, “Their wedding...”

      “Personally, I think attending one wedding is enough. I have no particular need to see it all replayed out, this time in a civil office. But if it truly matters so much to you...”

      “It does!”

      “Then I will take you. When you’re ready.” He hid a private smile.

      Chugging down the rest of her sweet creamy coffee, she stood up. “I’m ready now.” Warmth and gratitude shone in her brown eyes as she clapped her hands happily, like a child. “I take back every awful thing I said about you!”

      Impulsively, she threw her arms around him. He felt her against him, right through the fabric of his suit, to his skin, all the way to blood and bone. His body stirred.

      Stiffening, Irene pulled back, her eyes wide. He looked down at her.

      “Feel free to kiss me,” he said lazily, “if you feel you truly must.”

      Her expression