"Okay—so you can feel it. It's nothing."
He took hold of her chin and turned her face to his. "Tell me. Now is the time to share what is inside. You have shared your body and soul with me, habibi."
She slipped from his arms and sat up. "I was just…it's the archives. What if I can't find what I'm looking for?"
Arif sat as well. He didn't put an arm around her, but simply sat next to her. "There is always that chance. Can you not be satisfied you found me?"
She glanced at him and almost told him this wasn't real. It was a moment outside of time. But she didn't want to ruin the mood. Looking down, she traced the edges of his jacket button. "My dad needs a reason to live. I'm fighting for his life. The doctors say now that it's not cancer—they don't know what the problem is. And if I can't bring home proof of his theory that the Lion People first settled Egypt—that he was right, that he has a paper to write…"
Pressing her lips tight, she shook her head. She didn't want to think about that possible future. It had always been her and Dad, ever since Mom had died. Her dad had shaped her life—her career. How could she manage without him?
Arif nudged her shoulder with his. "Perhaps it is true that you are trying to walk a path that is not yours. Have you not stopped to ask what it is you want in your heart?"
She stiffed. "I know what I want. That's why I'm here."
He put his hand over hers. "Habibi, everyone's death is fated in the stars. Some things cannot be changed."
A chill breeze lifted the goosebumps on her arms. She pulled away and stood. "That kind of thinking is just what leaves someone stuck. Can't be changed, so don't even make the effort. Well, that's not me. And you obviously don't know a thing about me if you think it is!"
Chapter Ten
Arif watched Christine stand, grab for her dress and boots and glance around, obviously looking for where her underwear had gone. He tightened one hand into a fist and stood. "I don't know you? No one can know you, because you do not know yourself."
Turning, she shook a boot at him. "You are making assumptions."
"And you are turning what was a perfect evening into a disaster. Why must you be so…so…"
"So stubborn? Independent? Practical? Because that is who I am, and I should have known it would end up like this. It always does!" She dragged on her dress, didn't bother with her boots, and stomped away in bare feet.
Cursing, Arif started after her, had his feet tangle in his clothes, and went face down on the tile. He kicked at his jacket and decided he could not race after Christine bare-assed. He dragged on his shirt and pants, stuffed his and Christine's underwear in his pockets, grabbed his shoes and socks, and went after her.
He found her door locked.
He considered knocking it down—as if he could. But he could call for palace security and have it opened. Instead, he leaned his forehead on the cool wood. Just who had ruined the evening—him with his unwanted and ill-timed advice or Christine for being so damn stubborn? Was he a fool to want this woman in his life?
But the moment he had first seen her, his heart had given a hard jump, thudding against his ribs. From the moment he had first looked into her eyes, he had felt a connection to her. He knew in his bones—in his soul—they were meant for each other. Or so he had thought. Perhaps it was just his timing that was off. Very far off. And the fear haunted him—would he lose her as he had lost his parents? Would he lay his heart before her only to have her leave him?
Heading back to his own rooms, he threw his clothes into the hamper, then pulled them out again to breathe in Christine's scent and the lingering aroma of her arousal. His cock twitched, and he mentally told it to behave and stop getting him in trouble. He showered, tried to sleep, and couldn't.
He rose before dawn, dressed and headed to his office. Reports blurred into memories of Christine in his arms, and as the day wore on, meetings became dull affairs that droned on and on. He was supposed to send Tarek a report—had it only been just over a week since Christine had swept into his life?—and he could not manage more than one stilted sentence.
Everything is running smoothly.
Except it was not.
Well, Nasim knew how to get a woman in his bed, but he did not know how to get a wife. Tarek had gotten his wife, but he was of no use; his only advice had been to find out what Christine wanted. Which seemed impossible. Arif fell back on his final hope—Shiekha Amal, Tarek's grandmother.
The old woman had been delighted with herself, taking full credit for bringing Tarek and Tess to the point of admitting they were fated to be together. She had also overdone at Tarek's wedding and had taken herself and Arif's aunt, Bian, off to a spa in Al Resab. Sheikha Amal had returned the day before, and Arif sought out the shiekha in her quarters, which overlooked the garden. Some years ago, she had moved into ground-floor rooms, taking over part of a wing for herself and her ladies. Arif found her alone, sipping tea and eating sweet biscuits. She was also watching American daytime soap operas, a favorite addiction of hers.
She turned off the TV, however, when Arif entered and waved him to a comfortable, overstuffed chair opposite hers. She'd had her rooms decorated to match the Queen of England’s in Wind
sor Palace after seeing a show on them, and Arif almost felt transported back to his days at Oxford. He'd had to endure one royal visit with Tarek, who'd had to endure even more. This was far worse, for he had no idea how to act—or where to begin. He sat with his elbows braced on his knees and his hands clasped.
Amal poured him tea and handed him a steaming glass. "It is that American girl, is it not? Bian has said we must watch out for her."
He looked up at Tarek's grandmother. "Bian does not like Americans, and Christine is my fate, Sheikha Amal. I know it in my heart."
"But she does not agree? She should have been Tarek's match."