Free The Sheikh's Last Seduction by Jennie Lucas

her, given her his complete attention—and not just for an hour, but for the entire day. More. He’d told her the truth when he said he’d never tried so hard before. He’d forced himself to seduce her slowly, an inch at a time, luring her as a horse trainer would tame a skittish colt.
    And this was the result?
    He looked down in disgust at the extravagant diamond necklace clenched in his fist. Women could never resist him. So how had she?
    I’ve waited my whole life for the man I will love.
    Sharif took a shuddering, incredulous breath. He’d never met a woman like this. She was crazy. But that was also why she’d drawn his interest, that light inside her. The fierce purity.
    I don’t fail , he’d boasted to her once. Well. He rubbed the back of his head. She’d certainly proved the truth of that .
    What did he care? he told himself harshly. What was one woman to him, more or less?
    He just had never failed before. Not in any arena of his life. When he tried something, he always succeeded.
    Until now. And he suddenly felt something for Irene he hadn’t felt for any woman in a long time.
    Respect. No. More than respect. Envy.
    Which didn’t make any sense at all. After all, he wasn’t bound by any antiquated, ridiculous rules about sex. He could have it whenever he wanted.
    Well, except now. With her.
    More irritated than ever, he stomped down his empty hallway. Four bodyguards were waiting near his door, glancing at each other, all of them looking nervous.
    “Your Highness,” one of them tried.
    It took all of Sharif’s self-control not to shout in the man’s face. “Later,” he growled, and pushed past them into his room, nearly slamming the door behind him. Your minders , Irene had called them. The symbols of a duty that in this moment chafed him almost beyond bearing. For God’s sake, couldn’t they leave him in peace, even for a moment?
    In the dark bedroom, he tossed the ten-million-dollar diamond necklace carelessly across his desk, hearing it clatter and fall.
    Then he heard something else.
    “Your Highness,” a kittenish voice gasped in the darkness. “I’ve been waiting for you!”
    Irene? But even as the thought flashed through his mind, he knew it wasn’t her. And if it wasn’t Irene... Coldly, he switched on the bedside light.
    To his shock, he saw the beautiful blonde Gilly, his sister’s companion, who’d come from a respectable family with such excellent references.
    “You sounded tired over the phone...” she purred, sitting up. She was naked, and smiling at him like a cat with a bowl of cream.
    Sharif felt suddenly, crashingly weary. “How did you get past the bodyguards?”
    “Oh. That.” She giggled. “I told them there was an emergency with Aziza and I had to speak with you privately as soon as you left the party.”
    So that explained why they’d wanted to talk to him. His weariness faded, turned to anger. “And my sister?”
    “She’s fine,” she said hastily, correctly interpreting his glare. “Well, except for counting down the days until her wedding.”
    “Counting down?”
    “You know—with dread.”
    His jaw became granite. “Her engagement wasn’t my idea.”
    “Yes, well...” Gilly waved her hand airily. “I’m sure it will all work out.”
    Turning away from her, Sharif sat on the chair by the fireplace and pulled off his shoes, one by one. He’d hired her as Aziza’s companion only because, after years spent with an elderly governess, his young sister had begged him for someone closer to her own age. She’d been thrilled when Gilly Lanvin had moved into the palace, with her sophisticated ways and intense love of fashion. But the result for his sister had been nothing short of disastrous.
    When Aziza, at barely nineteen, had been sent expensive gifts and flowers by the aging sultan of a neighboring country, Gilly had turned her head with fairy-tale dreams of being a queen. His sister had begged and pleaded with Sharif to allow her to accept the