Midnight on the Sands: Hajar's Hidden Legacy / To Touch a Sheikh / Her Sheikh Protector

CHAPTER SIX

KATHARINE let Zahir retreat to his quarters. Not that anyone really let Zahir do anything. He did what he pleased and he didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. Least of all her.

Except for when it came to the flashbacks.

Her heart squeezed when she remembered that moment when he’d looked so frightened, so lost. How he had protected her, his instinct to save her, even through that fear. He had placed himself between her and the world, and it had been instinct.

I could have died instead.

He hadn’t spoken those words like a man looking for sympathy, or one out to shock. It had been steady, matter-of-fact. And that’s what had made it truly frightening. Because it was obvious he had thought them before. Obvious that he believed them.

Things had moved on in her life. Austrich had changed, she had taken on new projects, found different ways she could serve. But in Hajar, time seemed to have stood still.

And Zahir with it.

No, maybe that wasn’t true. He had changed. He had grown so dark, so bitter. Lost in his own personal hell, and no one had come to retrieve him from it.

A sharp twinge of anger stabbed her in the chest. She couldn’t fathom how his fiancée could leave him like she had. She would have stayed with Malik, and she hadn’t even loved him. Because she’d made a promise. And promises mattered, commitment and honor mattered. At least to her they did.

What would have happened if Amarah had stayed? Well, Zahir might not have Amarah, but he had her. And she had given her word to him now that she would be his wife. And even if she was a temporary wife, she would do whatever it took to be there for him. To build a strong union. They needed it for their countries.

Katharine made her way toward Zahir’s quarters, her footsteps too loud in the empty corridor. It was late, and the staff was gone, which added to the cavernous feeling the palace possessed. It didn’t escape her that she was always the one looking for him. That he had only come to her room once, and that was to tell her to leave.

But the distance between them didn’t seem right. Not when they were supposed to be working together. It especially didn’t seem right after today.

She pushed open the door and found the gym area vacant, which she’d expected. She walked through, brushing her fingers along one of the exercise machines as she did. His body was strong, he worked at it, intensely. To show no weakness.

She’d forced him to show weakness twice in the same week.

The thought made her feel sick.

There was a short corridor in between the gym and Zahir’s room. His room was empty too, not just of him, but of almost anything. There was a bed in the corner, a large armoire and very little else.

There was a chin-up bar in the doorway that led outside into the courtyard. Something else physical for him to do. He seemed to need the outlet.

She looked at the bed, pillows pushed to the side, the bedspread and sheets tangled. He had been here. And he hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d said he couldn’t sleep. She felt the twinge in her chest again.

She walked across the room and bent over the bed, tugging the bedding into place and arranging the pillows again. It was an idle thing to do, something to keep her hands busy while she decided what to do next. But it was her way of trying to put something in his life back together. Since she’d come in guns blazing and torn it apart.

It was torn apart already. You did what you had to do. And anyway, it isn’t as though you forced him.

No. He’d agreed. Because it was the right thing to do. Because duty was important, honor. It mattered. It had to, otherwise her whole life had been geared toward … nothing. It was the only thing she knew how to do. The only thing that gave her purpose.

“What are you doing?”

Katharine turned sharply and saw Zahir standing in the doorway that led outside, his chest bare and glistening with a light sheen of sweat in the pale moonlight.

“I just came to … “

“You cannot leave me alone, can you, Katharine?” The words were torn from him, a desperation laced through them that shocked and frightened her.

“How can I? After what you said?” she asked, her pulse pounding in her temples, making her feel dizzy.

“Easily. Leave me be as everyone else has done for the past five years. I agreed to a marriage on paper only because I wanted to ignore you as much as humanly possible.” He growled the words, rough sounding and feral, the rage behind them barely leashed.

“Why did you agree to it at all?”

“Because it is best for my people. I may not be able to go out in a crowd of them, but that doesn’t lessen my responsibility here.”

“I … I’m sorry about today.”

He moved into the room, his body taking up an amazing amount of space in the cavernous surroundings. “You’re sorry about today, sorry about the table. Is that what you’re here for? To show me just how sorry you are?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He leaned in, his lips skimming the curve of her neck. Katharine felt her legs start to shake, not from fear, from something else. From the attraction that had assaulted her off and on from the moment she’d seen him in his office.

Even now. With all of his rage directed at her, she felt something else vibrating between them. Something even more powerful.

“Have you come to show me how sorry you are with that beautiful body of yours?” he whispered the words, his lips touching her earlobe lightly, a slight tremor in his fingers. “How appropriate. A virgin sacrifice to appease the Beast.” He flexed his hand, fingers spreading wide on her waist, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted him to let her go. And she wanted him to pull her tightly into his body.

He stayed like that, his face so close to hers, his breath feathering against her cheek, hot and intimate. He slid his finger over the line of her jaw, the gesture so gentle and subtle, at odds with the rage vibrating from him. Rage was the surface emotion, but when she looked in his eyes, she saw something else. Need. So raw and real it was a palpable force.

He dropped his arm from her waist, pulling back sharply, the sudden shock of cold as the distance widened between them making goose bumps break out on her arms.

“I don’t need your pity,” he spat, taking another step back.

Anger boiled in Katharine’s stomach, anger and unsatisfied desire, and she had no idea what business either of them had existing beside the other. Although, it seemed it was the same for Zahir. That, at least, provided its own satisfaction.

Zahir’s eyes were cold on her, glittering in the dim room.

“You don’t have my pity,” she said tightly. “I’m sorry for what happened to your family, I’m sorry that you had to go through it. No man, no woman, no one, should ever have to see the things you’ve seen. But right now, you’re just a jackass. And I don’t pity a man who acts like a jackass just because he thinks he can get away with it. We’re getting married in eight weeks. I’m willing to help you. But no matter what you choose, you need to think of a way to civilize yourself. And the flashbacks have nothing to do with that.”

Zahir watched Katharine turn on her heel and stride from the room, her posture stiff, her footsteps hard and loud on the marble floor.

A flood of regret, so real and unfiltered it shocked him, filled him. He gritted his teeth against anger, and the painful arousal that was still making its presence felt.

Five years and he hadn’t felt the slightest twinge of sexual desire. Nothing. But Katharine had brought it roaring to life the first time she’d come into his office. And when he’d come in from his ride in the desert he’d seen her, bending over his bed, her tight butt on display for him, looking like every man’s perfect fantasy … it had been too much.

The need to take her, to push her onto the bed and shove that little dress up around her hips … it had been so strong he’d honestly wondered if he stood a chance of resisting. It had tugged at his control, tearing the threads of it, leaving a mangled mass of desire and lust.

Before, he would have showed his interest. He would have seduced her, and he would have been confident in her desire for him. He’d been a playboy, at least until he’d met Amarah. And women had been easy to come by. Willing and fun, giving of their bodies and pleasure, as he gave of his.

But the man he was now … If there was even a woman willing to bed the Beast, a woman who roused his desire, he would deny it. Because as important as sex and release had been then, control was needed now.

And Katharine had shaken it. If he gave in to the lust, threw off the shackles he had willingly locked onto himself, he didn’t know what might happen.

If she wanted to heal him, she was welcome to it. The truth was, he did have to stand up at their wedding without being assaulted by flashbacks. And he would do it. He wasn’t foolish enough to think it was a simple matter of being strong enough, though he wished it were. It went beyond that. But he would do what he had to.

He would master it. And he would master his feelings for her.

There was no other option.

“What is it you propose we do?” he asked, walking into the courtyard the next morning.

Katharine was already there, her hair pulled up into a neat bun, a cup of coffee frozen midway between the table and her mouth as she looked up at him, green eyes owlishly wide. She set the mug down. “Excuse me?”

“What is it you propose we do to stop the flashbacks. You seemed to have an idea yesterday?”

“And you seemed to be on the verge of throwing me out of the palace last night.”

“That was last night.”

“And so it doesn’t matter?”

He waved a hand in dismissal of her words. “Not anymore.” He was moving past it. Past that strong wave of lust and the anger that had been tangled up in it. He was ready to fight now, like the warrior he was. The warrior that had been lost in the guise of a king for the past five years. Control wasn’t enough. He had to strike out, take the things holding him back by the throat and crush them.

“It does matter. Because it matters to me. I’m not your enemy, Zahir. Your enemies have been dealt with, haven’t they?”

He nodded curtly. Those memories were clear. The men who had thrown grenades beneath his family’s motorcade had been dealt with in the harshest terms the laws allowed.

“I am not one of them. I’m not fighting against you. I’m fighting for my country, for yours. For my brother. And I need a man who is capable of being a strong Regent for Austrich.”

“I am capable. More than. Have you taken a look at the progress that has been made in Hajar since I was appointed?”

“Of course I have. I’ve known …” She averted her eyes. “I’ve known for a while now that there was a possibility I might have to marry you. I’ve been paying attention to what you were doing.”

“While avoiding ever seeing me.”

“It’s not like you’re renowned for your lavish and lively parties.”

“Point taken.”

“And I was ignoring this part of my job,” she said.

“Job?”

“Don’t you consider being Sheikh a job?”

“Of the most demanding variety. Paperwork that never seems to end, and constant … trivial-seeming things that take every last moment of time,” he said.

“And it’s the same for me, even if my responsibilities are different. Marriage was always in the job description. Marriage to forge alliances, at the very least, at most for the reason we’re marrying.”

“But you were ignoring it?”

“Yes. When it was delayed I … took the delay. For as long as I could. In truth, I left it too long because I waited until we were at a crisis point. It was wrong of me.”

“It was better that you did. Wait, that is, because it was your crisis that decided for me.”

“It was?”

“Trade is one thing. It’s advantageous, of course, and it’s important. But I could not condemn your country to civil war. To more spilled blood. I could not face having more on my hands.” He flexed his hands into fists as he said it. He felt the stains there. He should have been able to stop it. At the very least, he should have shielded his brother.

“There isn’t any blood on your hands, Zahir. I’m not your enemy, and you’re not the enemy, either.”

“Enough,” he said, shutting the door on the discussion. On the memories. He couldn’t afford to think about it now, to lose focus. “Back to the original reason I’m here. How do you plan on preparing me for the wedding?”

“I have a few ideas.”

She met his eyes; they were so deep, so lovely and green. Still so filled with emotion and possibility.

“We’ll beat this. We’re going to keep fighting.”

“Ready?” Katharine looked at Zahir’s strong profile and she knew that there was no way he would ever claim to not be ready. His pride wouldn’t permit it.

“Yes.”

Which told her nothing because she’d already known what his answer would be. “Good.”

The driver pulled the car forward and out of the palace, heading toward the city center. “It isn’t as though I don’t travel,” he said.

“I know you do. A little bit. And I also know you avoid driving near places like the market, where people might crowd the car.”

“I’m not afraid,” he said, his words short. Clipped.

“I never said you were.”

“You think it. There is nothing for me to be afraid of. I have faced death and if it came again, I would fight it, and if I couldn’t fight it, I would embrace it. What I don’t like is having my mind taken over. Having no control over what I see. Over what I do. I would much more happily face death.” His entire body was tense, each muscle tightened. “Do you know what it’s like … to have to spend so much energy keeping the demons at bay? To never have one moment of peace? I relive it. Daily. Not to the degree you witnessed in the market, but it is never truly gone.”

She swallowed, her throat tight. “Why?”

“I … I have to remember it,” he said, his voice rough.

“No, Zahir, you don’t.”

“Everyone is dead, Katharine. Malik, my mother, my father, the guards in the motorcade who were there to protect us. How can I let it go? Should I get over it? They never will. They’re gone.”

The pain in his words burned into her, marking her. In that moment, she understood. He carried the memory of his family’s last moments because he felt that not doing so would diminish the tragedy. She understood, because she felt like she had to shoulder some of his pain. That she had to share. So he wouldn’t be alone.

“They are gone,” she said softly. “But you’re here. And I need you. Your people need you. And that’s why you’ll beat it.”

He focused on his palms. “I thought I had.” He looked away. “No, I knew I had not. But I thought I had them managed. The two I’ve had since you’ve arrived were the first true flashbacks I’ve had in over a year.”

She tried to force a laugh. “So … it’s me then.”

Dark eyes locked with hers. “You make it hard to concentrate, that much is true. And yet somehow—” he looked away again “—your voice … your face … brought me back.”

Emotion rose in her fast and fierce like a tide. “Good. We’ll go with that.” She rested her hand on the seat between them. “Hold on to me if you feel it coming.”

He looked down at her hand, a dark eyebrow arched, his expression filled with pure, masculine stubbornness. It was welcome compared to the bleak, grief-stricken look that had come over him when he’d spoken of his family. “I will block it out.”

“If it were that simple that’s what you would always do.”

His expression was fierce. “It should be that simple. I should be stronger.”

“You should be stronger? You should bear all this weight and somehow heal at the same time? How should you be stronger, Zahir? You survived. Not only that, you’re ruling your country in a way that would make your father and Malik so proud.”

“They were made for this life. They were born to it. Men of diplomacy, men of the people.” He laughed, a sound that was cold and humorless. Laced with a kind of bitter pain that was so real and unvarnished it hurt to hear it. “We both know I am not a diplomat, to say the least.”

“You care for your people. Just because you don’t spend your life in the public eye doesn’t mean you don’t. Just because it isn’t as easy for you doesn’t mean you don’t do just as well as Malik would have.”

“Why exactly do you want to fix me, latifa?” he asked, ignoring her earlier words.

There it was again. Beauty. The entire sentence was dripping with insincerity, and yet she found herself clinging to that one word, turning it over. She’d been called beautiful so many times, mostly by the press. The same press that might turn around and call her ugly the next day if she wore a shade of yellow that didn’t flatter her skin tone. It had never mattered. If the insult could be a lie, so could the compliment.