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Especially when that man’s imagination had been left to dry up for so many years.
“What exactly are you doing here, latifa?” he asked, the word beauty escaping his lips before he had a chance to think better of it. Because, as simple as that, she was beauty. She embodied it. It was a shame that the desert withered beauty, the intensity too much for anything so delicate and soft.
She turned to look at him, green eyes icy. Perhaps she was not soft. Though she looked as though she would be to the touch. Her skin pale like cream, her curves lush.
His body stirred. His gut tightened. It had been a long time since a woman had affected his body like this. Since he had been affected in almost any way. Any way beyond the endless loop of torment that seemed to play on repeat inside of him.
“I’m staying,” she said, her neck craned, her expression haughty.
“I told you to get out.”
“Of your office.”
“Of the country. And you knew what I meant.”
She folded her arms. “I’m afraid that’s not acceptable.”
He moved to her and he saw her shrink slightly, her shoulders tucking in just a fraction. She wasn’t immune to him, to his face, the ugliness that ravaged his looks, no matter how confident and unaffected she tried to pretend to be.
Her scent caught hold of him, light and flowery. Feminine. As he’d been reminded just a moment before, even the maids stayed far away from him. How long had it been since he’d been so close to a woman? It had been before everything, he was certain of that.
“What isn’t acceptable is you parking your pretty royal ass where it’s not welcome,” he growled, using crude words to intimidate, since his looks alone hadn’t done the job. Most people shrank away when they saw him, fear evident on their faces. Not Katharine.
She arched one pale eyebrow, her expression placid. “Compliments will not move me, I’m afraid.”
Any fear and uncertainty she’d shown had been momentary, and now she met him face on, her gaze unflinching, her posture straight. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, either. His staff avoided looking at him too closely if they could help it. And his people … they didn’t seem interested in having him as a public figurehead. So long as he kept things moving.
His looks bolstered his reputation, or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, rumors of their sheikh, scarred, possibly mad, kept the majority of them from wanting him to make public appearances. Those who did, who had attached some sort of idea of him being beyond mortal, a savior of some sort, they were the fools. And they were too afraid to approach him, too. Either one suited his purposes. It kept people out, and it allowed him to rule from within his palace.
It was not his people he set out to intimidate, but anyone who might try to attack them again. So far, it had worked.
But Katharine the Great didn’t seem to care. She was all prickles, ice and confidence. Standing in his home as though it was her domain.
It was time to make the most of his beastly reputation.
“You want marriage, Katharine?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “You want to be my woman?” He drew closer to her, reached a hand out and ran his finger along one pale, petal-soft cheek. She was like silk. He wanted to touch more of her. All of her. He squashed the impulse. He had denied, no, he had been absent any of those desires for five years. It wouldn’t hurt him to ignore them a while longer. “You want to warm my bed and have my children?”
Her face flushed scarlet. “No.”
“I thought not.”
“But I don’t need to. Not for my purposes.”
“You don’t need heirs?”
She faced him with a hard stare. “Not from you. And if everything goes according to plan I won’t need them at all.”
He gritted his teeth, trying not to envision what creating heirs with her would entail. As he tried to keep his blood ice, keep the fire at bay. He had to keep hold of his control or … he didn’t want to know what might happen. “Why is that?”
“Because, if my father dies before Alexander reaches legal age, I need you to be named Regent, not my cousin. I’m a woman, and I can’t do it. I can’t protect my brother. If John ends up on the throne … we’re facing possible civil war, a hostile seizing of the throne. If it comes to war it’s bound to affect your country, at least as far as trade is concerned.”
“So what exactly are you proposing?”
“Whatever you want. I need this marriage, for my people. I will be your wife in your bed if you want, or your wife in name only. But the choice is up to you. If you refuse, the blood of my people is on both of our hands.”
CHAPTER TWO
BLOOD. Enough of it had already been spilled in the world. Enough of it seemed to stain him. It never seemed to come clean. No more. There could be no more.
“Explain,” he said.
She took a breath, her breasts rising and falling with the action. “If my father dies before Alexander comes of age, a Regent must be put over him, ruling in his place until he is able to take the throne. If I am married, the position will go to my husband, if not, it goes to the nearest male relative. It so happens that if my closest male relative even gets the tiniest bit of power, I’m certain he’ll do all he can to keep it. With him in charge at best we’re looking at a total economic collapse, at worst, civil war as he attempts to make his position permanent. I will not stand by and watch that happen. Not while I have the power to change things.”
Katharine’s words carried fire, a passion that nothing in him could match. She didn’t just care for her people, she took the mantle of leadership wholly and completely on herself. As Malik had done. She would have been well-suited to his brother. As always, thoughts of Malik, of his family, brought a heavy, oppressive weight to his chest. Reminded him that he wasn’t the right man to stand here.
He wasn’t made for massive parties, drafting laws and keeping the delicate balance between neighboring countries. He was about action. Physical action. A joke now, as even that was limited, not just by his position, but by a body that, even after five years, didn’t feel like it could possibly belong to him. It was like being locked in a prison cell. But there was no key, there wasn’t even a door.
“Find someone else, Katharine. I’m sure there are all manner of titled men who would fight to the death over the honor. I, however, am not one of them.”
“That isn’t the point. The agreement is done, everything lined out, from the amount of power you will possess over Austrich to which of our children would inherit what, not that that will be a concern for us.”
There was a moment, so brief he might have imagined it, that he saw vulnerability in her deep green eyes. And that brief moment nearly hit him. Nearly made him lose his grip on the internal shield he held so tight.
He tightened his jaw. “Your situation is regrettable … for you.” He turned to go and he heard Katharine’s high heels clicking, quick and sharp, against the hard floor.
“For both of us,” she said. “If John takes control of my country he’ll change everything. We have a good thing going between our two countries now. We’re a huge buyer of your oil supply and you depend on us to supply produce, meat, wool. I don’t see him keeping up with trade agreements. He’s a blind, selfish fool. He’ll be the downfall of Austrich and he’ll do his best to shake Hajar with his incompetence as well.”
He stopped and turned, his pulse pounding hard. One thing he had done as a leader was his absolute best to create a secure country for his people. To prevent the possibility of more attacks. Of more death. Katharine painted a bleak picture, one that made flashes of light go off in his mind.
Explosions and chaos. Confusion. Pain. Darkness.
He tightened his hand into a fist and squeezed. Hard. Working at bringing the walls back up.
He didn’t want this to be his problem. He wanted to go on as he had, maintaining the balance, living alone. And yet he wasn’t sure it could be ignored. A hot surge of adrenaline pumped through him, the automatic fighter’s instincts filling him, fueling him. There had been a time when he’d been a warrior, when he’d been on the front lines.
He could picture what civil war would be like. He’d experienced a taste of that hell.
“In name only, and then what?” he asked.
“You can divorce me as soon as Alexander turns twenty-one.”
“And what of your cousin then?”
“He’s power mad, but he doesn’t possess the wealth or connections to cause any trouble on his own. However, if he can get into power and start war … incite riots … he can declare a state of emergency and keep himself on the throne. That I can’t have.” She took a step toward him, extended her arm, her fingers hovering just above his forearm. She moved slightly, grazing him with her fingertips. “I will do whatever you ask of me.”
He was hard as rock in an instant. His body’s reaction nearly made him laugh. If she planned to use seduction to make her case then he would win, no question. She would never be able to bring herself to go through with it. And he would have the chance of watching her recoil in horror when she saw the extent of his injuries.
More than the injuries, it was the horror she would feel when she caught a glimpse of the man beneath the iron control. Hollowed out. Unfeeling. Left damaged and bleeding, wounds that would never heal into the blessed, hardened scars that had formed on the outside of his body. There was nothing whole left in him. All he had left was the will to go on, to rule his country, to do as his father would have wanted. As his brother would have done. Anything more was too much. Impossible.
Katharine braced herself. For him to yell. For him to do … something befitting a man with his reputation.
The idea of a temporary marriage had only just come into her mind, and now, she was desperate for him to take it. Because the idea of staying here, with him, for the rest of her life … she didn’t think she could handle that. The palace felt abandoned, the staff at a minimum and Zahir … his disdain for her presence was palpable.
He almost made her long for her father’s chilly presence.
And if she did marry him in name only, at the end, her job would be done. A feasible term instead of the life sentence she’d always imagined. A glimmer of hope she hadn’t realized she’d wanted.
If she could change things … if she could give Alexander time to grow up then she and Zahir could divorce and everything would be set to move forward smoothly.
She could do something else. Be someone else.
Her pulse pounded in her temples. She hadn’t really let herself hope for that outcome. That her marriage to Zahir really could be nothing more than paper. A paper easily destroyed later.
“A legal marriage only,” he said, his voice hard.
“So much the better,” she said, trying to keep the relief from showing through in her tone. “We can both go our separate ways later. And this way we preserve the peace between our nations.” She started pacing, nervous energy demanding that she find a way to relieve it. “And when we do separate it will be amicable, naturally, so the link between Austrich and Hajar will remain strong.”
Zahir turned his head slightly and she realized he was tracking her movements that way. She’d forgotten about his sight for a moment. Or at least the issue she’d assumed he had with his sight. She truly didn’t know for sure.
“It must look real,” he said.
She inclined her head. “Of course it must, if not like a love match, then like a permanent marriage. To my father, to John, to Alexander. None of them can know.”
His upper lip curled slightly. “My people cannot know.”
She realized then that it was a matter of his pride. She felt a slight pang in her chest. This would cost him, this man who lived in the shadows. But she couldn’t even contemplate what the consequences would be if she didn’t pull this off.
“No one,” she said, her pledge to him.
“You will remain here.”
“What?”
“What did you imagine would happen?”
“I had thought … my father is ill. I had thought to return home.”
“Ah, and you do not think anyone will see that as strange? That my new wife has abandoned me?” He reached out and curled his fingers around her arm, just above her elbow, his black eyes burning into hers even as her flesh felt branded by his touch. “No one will know.”
She explored his face visually for a moment. The ravaged skin, the slashing scar that interrupted the shape of his top lip. He could not be called handsome, not now. But he was compelling, fierce. And for a moment she was almost overcome by the desire to skim her fingers over his ruined cheek, to feel the damage for herself.
She clenched her hand into a fist and kept it glued to her side. “You have my word, Sheikh Zahir.”
“As tradition dictates, you will stay here in the palace to cement the engagement,” he said. She could tell that cost him. That he truly didn’t want her here. She also knew that he wanted to keep up appearances.
She swallowed hard, feeling as though a judge had just lowered the gavel, sentencing her. At least it’s not a life sentence.
“I will stay.” It took every ounce of strength she had to speak, to not shrink away.
But she would use every shred of it that she had in her body to get through this. To see her country—her brother—through. To the other side. For freedom for her people. A new kind of freedom for herself. One where duty to the masses wasn’t so much more important than living her own life.
It was a dream. And yet it was a dream that kept her going. That spurred her on now. She would rest later. She would have the chance to, something she’d not thought possible.
“I was planning on staying,” she said. “For a while at least.”
“I know, I saw your procession of belongings coming in earlier.”
“It was too important. I wasn’t going to back down.”
“Why is it so important to you? Why are you the one who has to solve this? A matter of honor?” He regarded her closely, and she knew he truly wanted an answer.
“What would you do to ensure Malik’s success, Zahir? If he lived, what would you do to make sure that he was able to fulfill his destiny? To make sure he was safe?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed and she watched as his hands, both marred with scar tissue, flexed into fists. “Anything. I would give my life.”
“As I’m giving mine.”
He tilted his face up, angling the smooth side to her. “So noble of you.” She was struck again by how beautiful he was in part. By how handsome he had been. The reminder was there. That square masculine jaw, perfect olive skin. There was no light in his eyes though, no emotion to read.
“I don’t know about that.”
“Modesty does not become the sort of woman who would storm the palace of Hajar and take up residence without permission,” he said. And for a moment she thought she saw one side of his mouth curve upward. An expression of good humor. Although, that couldn’t be. It really didn’t seem possible.
“My apologies.”
“One thing you must understand, latifa. The palace runs in a certain order, I do things on a certain schedule. You will not interrupt that.”
No. Of course not. She wasn’t important enough to interrupt the Almighty Schedule. Though, why that should bother her at all, she wasn’t sure. Yes, she was. Common courtesy. She wouldn’t say that to a regular palace guest, let alone one she was engaged to be married to. Even if it was going to be strictly a legal marriage.
“It’s a big palace,” she said. “I’ll bet you can avoid me altogether if you like.”
“A theory I am tempted to test.”
“If we’re going to pretend this is real you’re going to have to work on treating me as though you want me around.”
He leaned in and she pulled away slightly. His masculine scent teased her, made her heart accelerate. He had a scent all his own. Sandalwood and spice mingled with the musky, unique essence of Zahir. It made her head feel fuzzy.
“And you are going to have to pretend you aren’t repulsed by me.”
“I’m not,” she said. It was the truth. He was scarred but all the nonsense about him being a beast, somehow something other than a man, that was just plain ridiculous. “I won’t lie and say I’m completely comfortable with you, but by the time we have an engagement party … “
“There will be no engagement party.” The light in his dark eyes was fierce, almost wild.
“There has to be,” she said. “It is tradition for brides in Austrich to … “
“You are in Hajar now,” he said, his voice hard, unyielding. “You have come into my country, and I am now your sheikh. You made this choice. Remember that.” He turned and walked out of her chamber, slamming the door hard behind him.
And for the first time since her plane had touched down in Hajar, she truly felt like she was in over her head.
CHAPTER THREE
KATHARINE finished pinning her hair in place and stared at her reflection. She was pale and red-eyed from lack of sleep. She looked like the walking dead. Very attractive. Fortunately her future husband didn’t seem to care how attractive or unattractive she was. And she didn’t care what he thought, either.
It was all about politics. All about what the union could bring both of them. Their countries.
She blew out a breath and turned away from the mirror, walking out of her room and into the vacant hallway. She wasn’t going to stand around all day.
She should call her father. She’d picked up the phone about eight times since getting out of bed, but she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. Not yet. It would make it all too real.
How ironic that now she’d achieved her goal she was having trouble accepting it.
It’s nothing more than a ceremony and a piece of paper. At least you’re not expected to stay with him forever, have his children.
Now that would have been a harsh reality. One she’d thought she’d been prepared to deal with, but one she was certain now she hadn’t been. Not if the thought of a marriage ceremony was affecting her this badly.
She headed down the long hall, the sound of her high heels echoing off the high, domed ceiling. The corridors were extensive, weaving through the massive palace. But she knew where Malik’s quarters had been, situated on the opposite end of the palace from where the women stayed. It was likely Zahir stayed in them now.
Yes, last night she’d spoken to him about avoidance. And then he’d tried to intimidate her by reminding her whose country she was in. But she wasn’t easily intimidated. She’d spent her life surrounded by strong men, holding her own against a father who expected the worst and never praised her for her best. She always had to show strength.
She would never inherit the throne of Austrich. She was a woman, and for some reason, her lack of male member made her ineligible. But she was involved in the politics of her country, and she did not have a reputation as a shrinking violet. She didn’t avoid conflict. She faced them head-on. And right now, she was looking for the tall, muscular conflict she’d tangled with the night before.
She looked into a couple of empty rooms before pushing open a door that revealed what could have been a modern, state-of-the-art gym. A lap pool, every sort of exercise equipment anyone could ever want.
And there was Zahir. Flat on his back on a weight bench, his breath hissing between his teeth as he pressed two massive dumbbells up over his chest.
She crossed the room tentatively, her mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of his body. Every muscle was chiseled, as though it were carved into rock, the only sign it could possibly be part of a real man, and not a statue, was the bunching and shifting that happened with each breath and movement.
Golden skin, some smooth and perfect, some ravaged by injuries, all of it fascinating. Unlike any man she’d ever seen.
She blinked and took a sharp breath. “Aren’t you supposed to have a spotter or … something?”
He stopped midmotion and swung his legs over the side of the bench, sitting up quickly, his ab muscles putting on a show with the swift motion. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you.”
“What made you think that would be well received?”
“I didn’t really think it would be,” she said, fighting to keep her eyes on his face. She traced the scars on his cheek with her eyes, hoping it would keep her mind off his naked chest. “It didn’t really bother me.”
The tendons in his neck stood out, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “It wouldn’t.”
Her eyes drifted lower. “No … I … well, that’s not really the point … I … “
“Seen enough?” He voiced the question in a near growl.
Her eyes flew back to his face. His expression was cold. Closed. His lip curled into a sneer.
“Yes,” she said, feeling heat creep into her face. It wasn’t that she’d never ogled a man before. But they weren’t usually this naked, and she’d never been caught. Or at least, the men in question had been too polite to say, because she was a princess after all. Zahir didn’t seem to care.
He bent over and picked up a white T-shirt from the floor, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it out. And then her eyes were drawn to an intricate web of scar tissue, places where she knew he’d been hit with shrapnel, burned by fire, and her stomach tightened.
He pulled the shirt on and covered her guilty pleasure and the pain that was threatening to steal every last rational thought from her head.
“I thought you might show me around a little bit today,” she said. She hadn’t thought any such thing but now she had to say something because it was awkward.
“You thought wrong, latifa. I have work to do.”
“What sort of work?”
“The kind rulers do—you must know something of that.”
“Truly, not so much. The royal family makes appearances, and gives speeches.” It was a lie. She did a lot. Organized charities, budgets, fundraisers, and yet, it was what he seemed to think of her.
“Ignorance isn’t your color,” he said.
“Got me there,” she shot back.
“I thought I might.”
“I think we need to go over the original agreement drawn up by our fathers and make any alterations we see fit,” she said.
“Do you?”
“Better now than after the vows, don’t you think?”
“Are you always like this?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ve been told I’m impossible to deal with. I’m okay with that, actually, because I usually get my way.” In some circles anyway.
He made a sound, short and harsh, that might have been a laugh. “I imagine you have your ways of making sure your needs are met.”
She frowned. “If you’re implying what I think you were, don’t. I don’t use my body to get what I want. I use my mind. Or were you not aware that women were capable of that?”
“I wasn’t making a commentary on women, only on you.”
“Well, I don’t like the commentary.”
“I’ve been told I’m impossible to deal with,” he said, repeating her earlier words back.
“I’m imagining that’s very true.”
“I always get my way,” he said, turning away from her.
He was so broad. His shoulders, his back. All the better to carry the weight of the world on them. And he did. She sensed that. Mostly because she felt like she did, too, sometimes.
“I promise you can get back to the business of ignoring me … after we go over the agreement. And after you give me a tour of the grounds because I’m tired of feeling like I’m lost.”
He wanted her gone. That much was clear. But she was committed. To seeing this through, to doing the best she could.
To proving she could do this.
“I’ll go shower and I’ll meet you in my office.” He strode across the gym, headed to the shower, she supposed. He would uncover that amazing body again. For a moment she let herself envision it. Just for a moment.