The Sheikh's Last Seduction

“Get dressed,” he growled. Bending over the tile floor, he picked up his trousers and pulled them over his naked, hard, unsatisfied body.

Irene’s throat suddenly hurt. She looked down at the towel, at her own naked body. She’d thrown herself at him, she realized. She’d been willing to throw everything away for the sake of a single moment—and he was turning her down.

“I don’t understand,” she said in a small voice.

“Don’t you?” he said in low fury.

Wrapping herself in the towel, she rose from the marble. She felt humiliated. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t fully realized how overwhelming sex could be, the need that could block out all reason, as primal as the need to breathe or eat or sleep.

Close as she was, without her glasses, she still couldn’t see his face. As her cheeks turned hot in shame, she was glad. “I can’t imagine what you think of me.”

“No. You can’t.”

She said over the razor blade in her throat, “Was it to teach me a lesson? That I’m nothing more than a naive fool, a prude, with my ridiculous dreams of love and saving myself—”

“No,” he cut her off. “It wasn’t a lesson.” She saw the tension of his shoulders, the set of his body that was like a trap waiting to snap shut. “It was a mistake.”

“I never knew it could feel like that.” She suddenly felt like crying. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Going to her, he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Now they were so close, she finally saw his agonized dark eyes. “I am to blame,” he ground out. “Only me. When I came here, I never meant...but I saw you and—” Dropping his hand, he clawed back his dark hair. “I am the only one to blame.”

So it hadn’t been a test? Her heart started beating again. “Then why did you stop? I couldn’t have stopped you.”

“You could have stopped me at any time—just by saying no.”

“But I couldn’t. The way it felt...” Irene took a shuddering breath. “I lost all control, I lost my mind. If it wasn’t a test, then I don’t understand. You had me in your power. Why didn’t you...”

“Why didn’t I take you?”

Wordlessly, she nodded.

Sharif stared at her for a long moment. “You say that you now understand how overwhelming passion can be. I now understand what you were talking about as well. Making love should be an expression of love. Love that lasts forever.” Reaching out, he stroked her cheek and whispered, “I won’t take your dream away from you.”

Irene realized that tears were spilling over her lashes. And it was in this moment that she knew, knew it to her very blood and bones, that if she’d made love with him today it would have only been the expression of what was in her heart.

She loved him. All of him, his honor and ferocity and humor and selfishness, all of him, with every bit of her soul.

“Sharif...” she choked out. Don’t marry that other woman, beautiful as she is. Marry me. Love me.

“You’re getting what you want,” he said in a low voice. “That’s what I came to tell you.”

She gaped at him.

He gave her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Dropping his hand, he stepped back. “I’ve canceled my sister’s wedding, Miss Taylor. You’ve won.”

“Aziza’s free?” Irene closed her eyes as she pictured the young girl’s face. She looked at him in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“No. Thank you. For reminding me of my place.”

“But what about you?”

His expression hardened. His voice was even as he said, “Canceling Aziza’s wedding means that my own must go forward as soon as possible. I will be phoning Kalila and—”

“I saw pictures of her,” Irene said miserably. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said dully. He exhaled with a flare of nostril, looking away. “Very beautiful.”

Looking at him, Irene’s heart broke.

“Don’t do it,” she said. “Don’t marry her.”

“I gave my word.”

“Break it,” she said desperately.

He gave a low, humorless laugh. “You are saying this? You?”

She swallowed, remembering all the times she’d insisted on honor, on love, on the importance of marriage and honesty.

He looked at her. “Even if I could discard my honor so lightly, Kalila comes from a powerful Makhtari family. If I offended her father, it would start trouble. It could even start a war.”

“It’s not fair,” she said tearfully. “You made the promise when you were fifteen—a boy!”