Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he put his head in his hands. His Christine—a virgin. A touchy one, at that. And here he had been about to deflower her as if this was a simple affair and nothing else. He gave a groan and straightened.
It was time to start re-planning his campaign to win her heart.
He headed into the bathroom to shower and dress. He needed help. Which meant he needed to go to Nasim and ask how one courted and bedded a virgin. If anyone would know, it would be his cousin.
Christine retreated into the archives. Somehow a bath had not washed Arif's scent off her skin or out of her system. Why had she let him charm and seduce her? Relationships always went the same for her. They started off with good times, and then bam. Something went wrong, and the guy she was seeing would be out the door.
Except Arif couldn't go anywhere—this was his home. But she was not putting up with his jealous streak.
And so what if she was a virgin? She'd done everything except actual vaginal penetration—and yes, she was going to think of it like that, and not as fucking or making love. She was going to keep this scientific and rational. She'd had sex. Oral sex and hand jobs, and it all felt pretty good at times. Mostly. And so what if Arif was more than amazing with that mouth of his? She had work to do here, and the past was blessedly in the past.
For the next few days, she rose early, arranged for breakfast and coffee in her room, and buried herself in the archives. She skipped lunch, ate dinner in her room from a tray, and focused on her translations and notes. She had some very promising leads.
Obviously, she couldn't trust herself with Arif—he was too charming, too attractive. If he put the moves on her again, she would succumb again. Instead, she emailed her father about her progress in the archives and called him every evening.
On the fourth evening, he told her the doctors had cleared the cancer diagnosis.
"What? That's great."
Her father didn't sound excited. "The bad news is this means they have no idea what's wrong. I'm going back for more tests next week. And I am so damn tired of them drawing blood like they're vampires."
Christine chewed on her thumbnail. Was her dad's weakness and lethargy all a psychological problem? Their family doctor had been certain it was cancer. But if the oncologist had cleared him, what else could it be?
"Dad, I'm going to dive into one of the older histories in the archives tomorrow—it's more than promising. There's a reference to the pharaoh Menes, which is significant enough, given the only other chief reference to him is from that bit of inscribed ivory from Nagada."
Her dad's voice picked up some energy. "Menes? You’re sure? Can you send me the original text?"
"I'll see if I can get a decent photo without a flash." They chatted a little bit longer about the weather back home, and her dad asked her if she'd been out sightseeing. She didn't dare mention the Forum—that was a loaded memory. So she talked about the souk.
"Get out and meet the people, Chris. The world's not all books."
"Ha, coming from the man who prefers an evening in his own library to anything else," she told him. He still managed to extract a promise that she'd at least make sure to sample more of the local foods and customs.
And how do I do that without Arif trying another seduction—and me falling for it?
Chapter Eight
Arif knew himself to be terrible at waiting. He paced the floor outside the archive, thought of going in with an excuse of needing to look up something. However, his duties required a computer to research modern educational structures and funding approaches more often than dusty, old books, and he had sped through his meetings and responsibilities as fast as possible today. He also could think of no real reason to be in the archives other than to pounce on Christine. But this was her sanctuary—he understood that much.
Sweeping back the ends of his keffiyeh, he paced across the hall again.
He had taken special care with his dress, donning a black suit and tie, a white silk shirt, black shoes and socks, and a keffiyeh. He wanted to show Christine how well the Western world blended with the Middle East in Zahkim. He was also hoping that a few days away from his side had made her miss him a little bit—Nasim had sworn that neglect was the best way to interest a woman. Arif had some doubts about that—and even more about Nasim's other advice.
"Best thing with a virgin, get the first time over and done. Then you can focus on pleasure." That sounded backwards to Arif, but Nasim just laughed and told him, "Women want a bloke who's a bit of a caveman. They're not looking for a bloody needy fellow."
Hands behind his back and pacing across the hall once again, Arif could not see his Christine being the least bit happy with any such approach. He'd texted Tarek for confirmation of Nasim’s advice, but Tarek had simply texted back—Find out what she wants.
What did that mean? He knew she did not care for shopping; she had told him that. And she'd loved the ruins. But that had nothing to do with marrying him. Was he supposed to ask what food she liked or her favorite color? Those seemed…insubstantial. Which left him with his current idea.
He'd modified Nasim's instructions somewhat. He would be insistent, but he also had an idea how to figure out what Christine wanted at her wedding.
But where was she?
Glancing at his watch, he saw five minutes had passed since the last time he had looked. Sahl should have closed the archive fifteen minutes ago. He was about to give up and go in after her when the sandalwood door opened. Christine stepped out. She looked adorable with her hair curling and mussed, her jeans tight around her hips, and a white, oversized button-down shirt doing very little to hide her curves. Even though she spent most of her days in the archives, Zahkim's sunshine had put some color in her cheeks.
Arif put on his best smile.
Eyes wide, she blinked at him. "Uh…oh." She closed the door behind her and clutched her tablet computer to her chest. "Hi."