“I am trying to say this gently. But you did ask me.”
“Yes. I did.” He pulled her closer against his body. She felt his warmth and strength beneath his white robes, saw the black intensity of his gaze. “We were introduced five minutes ago, but you think you know me.”
“Annoying, isn’t it? Just like you did with me.”
Sharif stopped on the dance floor, looking at her. “I have never given any woman a false promise of love. Never.”
Irene suddenly felt how much taller he was, how broad-shouldered and powerful. He towered over her in every way, and he had a dangerous glint to his eye that might have frightened a lesser woman. But not her. “Perhaps you haven’t actually spoken the promise in words, but I bet you insinuate. With your attention. With your gaze. With your touch. You’re doing it now.”
His hands tightened on her as he pulled her snugly against his body. His hot, dark eyes searched hers as he said huskily, “And what do I insinuate?”
She lifted her troubled gaze.
“That you could love me,” she whispered. “Not just tonight, but forever.”
For an instant, neither of them moved.
Then she moved her body two inches away from him, a safe distance any high school chaperone would approve of, with their arms barely touching.
“That’s why I wouldn’t dance with the others,” she said. “Why I’m not interested in you or any man like you. Because I know all your sexy charm—it’s just a lie.”
Sharif stared at her. Then his eyebrow lifted as he gave her a sudden wicked smile.
“So you think I’m sexy and charming.”
She looked up at him. “You know I do.”
Their eyes locked. Desire shot in waves down her body, filling her with heat. Making her tremble. She felt the electricity between them, felt the warmth and power of his body. Her knees were weak.
Most playboys never change. You know that, don’t you?
She hadn’t needed Emma’s warning. She’d learned it well. From the wretched lessons of her childhood. From Carter. She’d learned it up close and personal.
She abruptly let Sharif go.
“But you’re wasting your time with me.” She glanced back at the beautiful women watching him with longing eyes, as if they could hardly wait to throw themselves body and soul onto the fire. Irene’s lip curled as she nodded in their direction. “Go try your luck with one of them.”
Turning on her heel, she left without a backward glance. Praying he wouldn’t see how her body shook as she walked away.
* * *
He’d underestimated her.
Sharif’s jaw was tight as he stalked off the dance floor alone. He walked through the crowd of watching women, some of whom tried to talk to him as he passed.
“Your Highness, what a surprise...”
“Hello, we met once at a party, if you remember...”
“I’d be happy to dance with you, Your Highness, even if she won’t...”
Grimly, he kept walking, without bothering to reply. Perhaps he was rude, after all, just as Irene had accused. But these skinny women, with their glossy red lips and hollow cheekbones, were suddenly invisible to him. It wasn’t their fault. All other women were invisible to him now because he was interested in only one.
The one who wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth. Who wasn’t afraid to insult him. And who found it so easy to walk away.
Miss Irene Taylor. Of Colorado, the wild, mountainous center of the United States he knew only from skiing once in Aspen.
There’s nothing special about me.
He shook his head incredulously. How could she honestly believe that?
He wanted her.
He would have her.
But how?
“Having a good time?”
Sharif stopped. It took him a moment to focus on Cesare Falconeri, the bridegroom, standing in front of him in a tux. “Your wedding has been most exciting,” he replied. “In fact, the most interesting I’ve ever attended.”
“Grazie. Emma will be pleased to hear it.” The man gave him a sudden grin. “And this is just the start. Tomorrow, we have the civil ceremony in town, followed by all kinds of fun for the rest of the day, including the ball at night.” He clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “So save some energy, Your Highness.”
The rest of the weekend. As Cesare walked away, Sharif relaxed, took a deep breath. He still had two days. He felt rebounding confidence. Yes. What was he worried about? He had the rest of the weekend to seduce her. She’d already given so much of her true emotion away—too much. He knew she wanted him. She was fighting her own desire. That never worked for long. Willpower always gave out eventually.
Sharif would win. As long as he had the stamina for a long, drawn-out siege. He thought of her.