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Emma and Cesare had flown in with their baby at the last minute, joining Irene’s mother and sister, who all had happily cried as they watched Sharif and Irene quietly get married again in Denver, in the privacy of a judge’s chambers downtown, with no paparazzi and no fuss. Dorothy and Bill Abbott would have approved, Irene had thought with tears in her eyes.
“So now you know,” Cesare had informed Sharif smugly after the ceremony, “how irresistible the right woman can be.”
He’d laughed good-naturedly. “Yes.” He’d looked down at his new bride. “If I’d met Irene sooner, I’d have gotten married a long time ago.”
Now, their family and friends were gone. After the quick ceremony was done, Sharif had heartlessly refused to even allow them even a wedding dinner afterward. “A man only has so much willpower, wife,” he’d informed her darkly. “We’re going to the hotel.”
Now, it was just the two of them. Married. Alone.
Nervously, Irene bit her lip as she looked at herself in the mirror of the marble bathroom of the finest suite in the historic, luxurious Brown Palace Hotel. Her cheeks were rosy after the glasses of champagne the manager had given them upon arrival. Her lips were red from her nervous chewing. Her heart was pounding.
Her sister had slyly given her this lingerie as a wedding gift. Irene had never worn anything like it in her life. The white corset pushed up her full breasts, barely covering her nipples, making her waist tiny. She had tiny white lace panties, partially covered with a naughty white garter belt that held up thigh-high white stockings and white satin kitten heels.
“Modest and naughty,” her sister had chortled with glee. “Perfect for you, Reena!”
Yes, it was. And she could hardly believe she was about ready to leave this bathroom and let Sharif see her in it. But he was her husband now. Her husband, who would know every part of her, as she would know every part of him, for the rest of their lives.
“Irene?” Sharif called hoarsely from the adjoining bedroom.
“Almost ready.” Hair up or down? Her hands shook as she held up her dark hair. Then she let the dark waves tumble over her bare shoulders. Her legs were trembling as she went out into the bedroom of the enormous, elegant hotel suite.
Sharif was stretched out across the enormous four-poster bed, still wearing the black suit from their ceremony. He turned toward her, smiling. “Finally—”
His voice choked off when he saw her in the white corset and garter belt. He sat up, his expression pale.
Irene faltered. “Do you not like it?”
“Like it?” he said hoarsely.
Never taking his eyes off her, Sharif rose unsteadily to his feet and walked to where she stood trembling on the blue carpet. For a moment, he just looked down at her with his dark eyes, the infinitely deep gaze that saw every part of her and loved her in spite of her flaws, as she loved him in spite of his. He cupped her face.
“I nearly died just looking at you. I nearly had a heart attack. If I didn’t know you were mine...”
“But you do,” she said as her heart started beating again. She smiled at him. “Yours now. Yours forever.”
“I love you, Irene, my beautiful wife. I will love you until I die.”
She put her hand over his. “You’re trembling.”
Sharif’s lips lifted into a crooked smile. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “But you see, in a way, it’s my first time, too...”
She licked her lips. Then, lifting on tiptoe in the white heels, she kissed him very, very softly on the lips, then whispered five words in his ear.
“Take me,” she said. “Take me now.”
Her husband kissed her hungrily, savagely, and lifted her in his arms. Never breaking the kiss, he carried her to their wedding bed, and there, they shared their private, final vow, the one she’d waited for all her life, in the sweet promise without words that would last not just tonight, not just tomorrow, but forever.
