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Authors: Jennie Lucas
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steady enough for her to speak.
“It’s just sex,” Sharif said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does to me,” she said. “Either it’s making love with all your heart, or else it’s just an empty, hollow shell of what it’s meant to be.”
He snorted. “You’re making a big deal out of—”
“I’ve waited my whole life for the man I will love. The man I’ll marry.”
Another boom of fireworks, a distant happy cry from the crowd, and she saw the shocked expression on his face. “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”
She waited for it to be dark again. Then she said quietly, “When I marry, it will only be for love. And our wedding night will be truly about making love. The kind that will last forever...” Her throat caught. “You’ve accused me of being romantic,” she said softly, blinking fast. “I’m just waiting for the One.”
“One at a time?” he said weakly.
She shook her head. He scowled.
“What difference does the number of lovers make?”
“To you, it doesn’t.” Irene looked up. “But it matters to me. Sex is sacred. It’s a promise without words. A promise I’ll only make to the man who will love me for the rest of his life, and I can love for the rest of mine.” Her throat ached as she asked him a question to which she already knew the answer. “Are you that man, Sharif?”
A last blast of fireworks ricocheted across the night like a lightning storm, illuminating his expressionless face.
“No,” he said dully.
The ache in her throat now felt like a razor blade. She forced herself to ignore it. To smile. “I didn’t think so.” Unclasping the necklace was suddenly easy. She blinked fast, and was proud of herself for her clear, unwavering voice as she said, “Thank you for a weekend I’ll never forget.”
Reaching for his hand, she pressed the heavy diamond necklace against his palm. He looked down.
“It was a gift,” he said.
Past his ear, she saw movement on the edge of the garden, his bodyguards hovering at a distance. It almost made her laugh. “Your minders are here.” With a deep breath, she reached up and touched his rough cheek. “I wish all kinds of beautiful things for you, Sharif.” She tried to smile. “There’s lots of magic to believe in. The kind people make for themselves.”
But as Irene looked at his stricken black eyes, her throat suddenly closed tight. Without another word, she turned and ran toward the villa. Above her, the fireworks’ grand finale exploded across the sky in exquisite bursts of color, like flowers blooming to life then just as swiftly fading away.
She’d passed the test. She’d won.
Irene barely reached her bedroom before her knees collapsed beneath her. Sliding to the floor in a splash of red silk, she covered her face with her hands, and cried.
CHAPTER FOUR
H E ’ D LOST . F AILED .
Sharif could hardly believe it.
I wish all kinds of beautiful things for you.
Remembering her lovely, anguished voice, he muttered a curse. He stalked through the crowd watching the last fireworks, stomping back toward the villa. Two bodyguards fell in behind him as always. One spoke to him in urgent Makhtari Arabic.
“Your Highness, you should know that—”
“Later,” he bit out. His whole body felt tight. For the love of heaven, couldn’t they leave him alone, even now? Stomping up the stairs, Sharif paused, looking down the dark hallway toward Irene’s room. But what was the point?
There’s lots of magic to believe in. The kind people make for themselves.
Furiously, Sharif turned toward his own suite. He could hardly believe that it was ending like this. That after hours of flirting with her, dancing with her, it had still ended with him going back to his bedroom alone.
For the last thirty hours, Irene had been the center of his battle strategy, the intense focus of his every thought. He’d used all his best techniques, the ones that never failed. He’d charmed her, listened to
“It’s just sex,” Sharif said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does to me,” she said. “Either it’s making love with all your heart, or else it’s just an empty, hollow shell of what it’s meant to be.”
He snorted. “You’re making a big deal out of—”
“I’ve waited my whole life for the man I will love. The man I’ll marry.”
Another boom of fireworks, a distant happy cry from the crowd, and she saw the shocked expression on his face. “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”
She waited for it to be dark again. Then she said quietly, “When I marry, it will only be for love. And our wedding night will be truly about making love. The kind that will last forever...” Her throat caught. “You’ve accused me of being romantic,” she said softly, blinking fast. “I’m just waiting for the One.”
“One at a time?” he said weakly.
She shook her head. He scowled.
“What difference does the number of lovers make?”
“To you, it doesn’t.” Irene looked up. “But it matters to me. Sex is sacred. It’s a promise without words. A promise I’ll only make to the man who will love me for the rest of his life, and I can love for the rest of mine.” Her throat ached as she asked him a question to which she already knew the answer. “Are you that man, Sharif?”
A last blast of fireworks ricocheted across the night like a lightning storm, illuminating his expressionless face.
“No,” he said dully.
The ache in her throat now felt like a razor blade. She forced herself to ignore it. To smile. “I didn’t think so.” Unclasping the necklace was suddenly easy. She blinked fast, and was proud of herself for her clear, unwavering voice as she said, “Thank you for a weekend I’ll never forget.”
Reaching for his hand, she pressed the heavy diamond necklace against his palm. He looked down.
“It was a gift,” he said.
Past his ear, she saw movement on the edge of the garden, his bodyguards hovering at a distance. It almost made her laugh. “Your minders are here.” With a deep breath, she reached up and touched his rough cheek. “I wish all kinds of beautiful things for you, Sharif.” She tried to smile. “There’s lots of magic to believe in. The kind people make for themselves.”
But as Irene looked at his stricken black eyes, her throat suddenly closed tight. Without another word, she turned and ran toward the villa. Above her, the fireworks’ grand finale exploded across the sky in exquisite bursts of color, like flowers blooming to life then just as swiftly fading away.
She’d passed the test. She’d won.
Irene barely reached her bedroom before her knees collapsed beneath her. Sliding to the floor in a splash of red silk, she covered her face with her hands, and cried.
CHAPTER FOUR
H E ’ D LOST . F AILED .
Sharif could hardly believe it.
I wish all kinds of beautiful things for you.
Remembering her lovely, anguished voice, he muttered a curse. He stalked through the crowd watching the last fireworks, stomping back toward the villa. Two bodyguards fell in behind him as always. One spoke to him in urgent Makhtari Arabic.
“Your Highness, you should know that—”
“Later,” he bit out. His whole body felt tight. For the love of heaven, couldn’t they leave him alone, even now? Stomping up the stairs, Sharif paused, looking down the dark hallway toward Irene’s room. But what was the point?
There’s lots of magic to believe in. The kind people make for themselves.
Furiously, Sharif turned toward his own suite. He could hardly believe that it was ending like this. That after hours of flirting with her, dancing with her, it had still ended with him going back to his bedroom alone.
For the last thirty hours, Irene had been the center of his battle strategy, the intense focus of his every thought. He’d used all his best techniques, the ones that never failed. He’d charmed her, listened to
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