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“It’s cooler,” she said in surprise.
“The palace is on the gulf. And here in the courtyard—” Sharif’s eyes seemed to caress her “—you can feel the soft breeze beneath the shade of the palm trees.”
She looked up at the towering Arabic fantasy of the palace in front of her, like something out of a dream. “It’s just like you said it would be.”
“The palace?”
“The whole country.”
Sharif paused. “I’m pleased you like it.” He turned to his young chief of staff. “Please escort Miss Taylor to her new quarters.”
The young man looked at Irene with clear interest. “With pleasure.”
Sharif stepped between them. “On second thought,” he said abruptly, “I will do it myself.”
“Yes, sire,” the young man said, visibly disappointed. Sharif swept forward in his robes, and Irene fell into step behind him.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered once they were out of earshot. “You can’t show any particular interest in me. The other servants will talk.”
“Let them talk. I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
“Friendly?”
Sharif scowled. “Flirty.”
“And that is bad because...he’s married.”
“No.”
“Engaged.”
“No.”
“A womanizer. A liar. A brute.”
Sharif’s jaw twitched. “No, of course not. Hassan is none of those things. He is an honorable, decent man. Of course he is. He’s my chief of staff.”
Irene looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. “So why not let him take me?”
“If any man is going to take you,” he said softly, “it will be me.”
She stopped, blushing in confusion. Surely he couldn’t still be thinking he...
“Your room is next to my sister’s. I am headed that way.”
She exhaled. “Oh.”
The palace was huge, with high ceilings and intricate Middle Eastern architecture. As they passed from room to room, each more lavish than the last, every servant they passed bowed at the sight of Sharif, with obvious deep respect.
So many rooms, so many hallways. Irene grew increasingly worried that she’d ever be able to find her way back again. After they went up a flight of stairs, she expected to see some sort of servants’ wing. Instead, the rooms just got more lavish still. A sudden fear seized her.
“Your bedroom isn’t in the same hallway as mine, is it?”
Sharif looked down at her with his inscrutable black eyes. “Why, Miss Taylor,” he said softly, “are you asking for directions to my room?”
“Yes—I mean, no! I mean...”
He tilted his head. After a full day since his morning shave, there was a dark shadow along his sharp jawline that made him seem even more powerfully masculine. “Your room is close to mine. That won’t be a problem, I presume?”
She licked her lips. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
Because part of her was still afraid she might forget herself some night and sleepwalk naked into his bed, just like hapless What’s-her-name who got fired. If Sharif knew the hot dreams she’d had last night, starring him... And he was her employer now.
Irene shook her head helplessly. “I just wouldn’t want you to think...”
He paused, his sensual lips curved as he looked down at her, close but not touching. “Think what, Miss Taylor?”
Her voice came out in an embarrassing little squeak. “Never mind.”
Sharif stared at her for a long moment, then setting his jaw, he turned away with a swirl of robes. “This way.”
She followed him down the new hallway, still shaking with the ache of repressed desire. As they went down the marble halls and approached the royal apartments within the palace, the hallways grew more crowded, not just with servants, but also with the emir’s advisers, serious men all in white robes, some of whom bowed as Sharif passed, others who merely inclined the tip of their heads. But in the faces of them all, Irene saw the most sincere respect.
“They love you,” she said.
He glanced at her. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he said dryly.
“It’s just that—I don’t see respect like this for leaders anymore.”
His jaw tightened. “They just remember how it was. Before.”
“Before?”
“Here we are, Miss Taylor.” His voice had gone cold and formal again. He pushed open a door, giving only a brief glance inside before he indicated she should go forward, while he waited in the hall.
Irene stepped into the room.
“Oh,” she gasped. She took two steps inside, looking at the enormous bed, the view over the Persian Gulf, complete with her own balcony. The lavishness of the Middle Eastern decor was like nothing she’d ever seen before. She’d thought her room at the Falconeri villa in Lake Como had been spectacular, but it had been like a roadside motel room, compared to this!
