The Sheikh's Destiny

by Olivia Gates

  As usual, he was right. “I felt almost responsible. It’s one of the main reasons I left Zohayd.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “And here I am.”

  “Here you are.”

  The words hung in the warm air like intoxicating incense. They sounded as if he was glad that she was.

  Okay, so a man like Rashid—though there were no men like him—didn’t do ‘glad.’ But there’d been an emotion, as powerful as everything else about him, attached to those three words. Whatever it was, it warmed her, contented her.

  Silence enveloped the gigantic space, enfolded them. She soaked up its peace and profundity. She couldn’t believe she’d shared with him things she hadn’t even told her best friends. How he’d listened, become involved, interested, letting her unburden herself, letting her come closer.

  If only he’d reciprocate.

  For now he was giving her what she’d never hoped to have. The pleasure of basking in his nearness and communion, the sense of being isolated with him in a world that contained no one but them. She felt sequestered from everything—the past, the future, existing in a sheer state of presence, in his presence.

  Then poignancy passed from soul to senses, took hold...and wrenched. The need to smooth her hands down his scar, over that glorious head and shoulders and chest became an ache. But it was the expression on his half-turned face that had tenderness sweeping through her. It was as if he’d forgotten to put on his mask, as if he couldn’t hold it in place.

  “What are you thinking?” she whispered.

  The expression was gone. “Nothing.”

  “I think it’s a fourth impossibility that your mind isn’t in high gear every single second you’re awake. I bet you’re thinking even when you’re asleep. It feels as if you’re perpetually observing, analyzing, concluding and deciding how to use each and every detail of what’s going on around you.”

  Both eyebrows rose. But he only said, “And the first three impossibilities are?”

  “You don’t know? But it’s a very common saying.”

  “In Zohayd, I assume. Contrary to common belief, Azmahar was never an extension of Zohayd that splintered into oil-fueled if ill-fated autonomy. It wasn’t destined to return to the motherland’s bosom begging to be annexed back. Not until ex-king Nedal, that is.”

  “Whoa. That’s a huge nerve you got exposed there. But sheathe your claws, Rashid. I, of all people, don’t subscribe to any of that. With said king being my uncle, I’m half-Azmaharian through the side of my family who’re responsible for Azmahar’s decline. I can do nothing about anyone’s actions or what they led to, but I’ve always loved Azmahar and am proud to call it my second home.”

  His gaze stilled on her face.

  Was that welcome news? Or was he only adjusting another misconception in that fathomless mind of his?

  He finally exhaled. “You wouldn’t be faulted if you didn’t. Azmahar, as it stands today, doesn’t have much to it to love or to be proud of. It was mismanaged and misrepresented by its rulers and constrained and condescended to by its allies for decades. Most of its people have either forgotten what it is to be proud to be Azmaharian, or never learned it was possible to be so.”

  That urge to touch him, hug him, almost overwhelmed her. “But not you. You’re Super Azmahar Man who’ll rectify all that, now that you’re a candidate for the throne.”

  His expression changed as if a steel door had slammed shut. It made her realize how much he’d opened up. Another off-limits topic?

  When he answered, it seemed she’d imagined all the tension. His shrug was easy. “Candidacy means nothing.”

  “Only winning does, huh?”

  Again he didn’t pursue the subject she’d introduced. Which she was burning to know more about.

  Since her uncle had been forced to abdicate the throne after a long reign of gross “mismanagement,” and his heirs had been rejected for succession, Azmahar had called for a new king. But the country was now divided into three fronts, each supporting a different candidate.

  The other two candidates were Haidar and Jalal, her paternal and maternal cousins. They’d been dubbed the Princes of Two Kingdoms and so many said they were perfect for the throne of Azmahar.

  Which was ridiculous. Though she loved them and they were incredible men and businessmen, she couldn’t see how anyone would consider them, or anyone else, when Rashid was in the picture. Apart from being beyond compare as a man, in her own humble opinion, he was full-blooded Azmaharian and a war hero many times over, and the wealthiest, most successful businessman in Azmahar’s history.

  Rashid’s deep-velvet voice interrupted her musings. “You still haven’t told me what the first three impossibilities are, according to Zohaydan folklore.”

  “I do know it’s not known in Azmahar, but I thought with you once spending so much time in Zohayd you’d be as versed as any of us in local colloquial nuances.”

  “That one must have slipped my omni-awareness.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud. He kept surprising her. That combination of corrosive humor and straight-faced delivery was lethal. Like everything about him. It didn’t help to discover he was fun as well as hot as hell. As if she wasn’t already in enough trouble.

  Feeling as if her smile would never fade, she said, “Al ghul wal anqa’a wal khell’lel waffi.”

  The ghoul, the phoenix and the faithful friend.

  His lips curled. “I don’t know about the first two but the impossibility of that last one is certain.”

  That was what he believed? About Haidar and Jalal? The three of them had once been inseparable. More. Bonded beyond even brotherhood. What could have happened to shatter their vital connection?

  Dared she ask?

  No. She’d stepped on too many of his privacy toes for one night. Something of that magnitude had to be reserved for later.

  If there was a later.

  With dejection setting in, she sighed. “Both our issues are tied to those who should have been our closest friends.”

  That again seemed to stun him. “Are you suggesting we have something in common?”

  Her astonishment equaled his. “I’m not suggesting. I’m stating.”

  “It seems more than two years of living in Chicago has dimmed your memory of who you are, princess. And of who I am.”

  Her eyes rolled. “We’re back to princessing me, huh? Please don’t tell me you’re even suggesting that when it comes to status, I’m the one standing on higher ground!”

  “I’m not suggesting. I’m stating.”

  She almost snorted. “Please! You’ve overcome unimaginable adversity and are now a phenomenal self-made success story, with a kingdom begging you to be its king. And what am I? While I made enough money to set up my business, and it’s beginning to take off, it will never be anywhere near as huge as yours. And while my family might have thought they were ‘prizing’ me—what they actually did was hold me back and almost break me down. I’ve barely recovered from a lifetime of emotional abuse. At least when your guardian and his family abused you, you had the comfort of knowing they weren’t your flesh and blood. So no, there’s nothing higher about my status.”

  Again she felt that vast...wrath percolate inside him. It made her shiver, even when she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

  “You’re still a princess,” he finally said.

  “A minor one.”

  “The only daughter of the Aal Shalaans is anything but minor. Your parents are siblings of monarchs. You’re next in status only to those in line to the crown of both kingdoms. If that doesn’t make you a major princess, I don’t know what does.”

  “Take heart. I’m no longer royal on one side, since my mother’s family was ousted from Zohayd and Azmahar. And with Uncle Atef relinquishing Zohayd to Amjad, having only a cousin on the throne distances me from it and diminishes said lofty status.”

  “Whatever the political developments, you’re still royal on both sides going back a fe
w dozen generations.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “Ya Ullah...now I know why dates are my fourth impossibility. My statistics make me sound so...stuffy. Not to mention scary. Who wants to go out with a woman with all this ancient blue sludge clogging her veins? And all the minefields that come with it?”

  “Any man would do anything to...date you, even if it would jeopardize his very life.”

  Was that a compliment? That doozy? Would “any man” include him? Or was he just saying men would overlook the dangers of associating with her for supposedly unimaginable privileges?

  Before she could ask what he meant, he was already asking another question. “You don’t date?”

  “No.” Because you exist, and any man compared to you is predictable, disappointing and...well, non-existent. Out loud she qualified her response. “I start nothing I know won’t work.”

  “How do you know it won’t work out until you try?”

  “One try is enough to tell me it won’t.”

  Ugh. She’d made it sound as if her M.O. was a string of one-night stands, ditching guys who didn’t wow her the morning after.

  Before she could rectify this massive miscommunication, she found him on his feet.

  She blinked up at him. “You gotta teach me how you do that.”

  An empty glance answered her as he produced his phone. After he again ordered his right hand man to come over, he turned to her.

  “It’s time you went home, princess.”

  She found herself on her feet, too, her heart almost uprooting itself in dismay. “But I don’t want to go yet.”

  “It’s 1:00 a.m. That woman who seems joined to you at the hip must have already reported you missing.”

  “Mira had to fly to Tennessee—her father was taken to the emergency room. That’s why I haven’t called her yet, and why I was going home alone tonight. I was also much later than usual because I had to stay behind and finish things for her.”

  “So her father forced her into one E.R., and you forced me into another.”

  Her lips quivered on a mixture of humor and rising anxiety. “As if anyone could force you into anything.”

  “I once believed no one could. After tonight, I stand corrected. Look what’s happened to me since I let that lowlife nick me. I’ve been dragged to the E.R., pushed into the hands of doctors who had anything but work on their minds, blackmailed back into my car, taken home like a minor, informed how I feel, told to sit and where, and fed and pampered like an invalid. Now I can’t even go to bed because you want to fuss over me some more.”

  No longer sure if he was teasing or fed up, she blurted out, “I promise to stop fussing over you, if you let me stay the night.”

  And she finally did it. She’d shocked him mute.

  When she thought he wouldn’t speak again, he exhaled. “Coming here was inappropriate. ‘Staying the night’ needs new adjectives.”

  Still not sure what to make of his mood, she ventured a smile. “Unacceptable? Outrageous? Shocking as hell?”

  “How about ‘out of the question’?”

  “C’mon, Rashid, this is twenty-first century Chicago.”

  The hardness settling in his eyes told her no argument would work this time. He’d send her away then tell himself he shouldn’t see her again. Tonight was all she could have.

  She caught his arm, her voice shaking then breaking. “You can’t send me home to an empty condo after what happened tonight.”

  The frown furrowing his forehead along the lines inflicted by his harsh life was one of bafflement this time. “You’re that afraid of being alone? You didn’t seem worried before.”

  “Just because I’m not a mess doesn’t mean I’m okay.” Which was true. “Only being with you has stopped the whole thing from sinking in and ripping at my insides.” Which was also true.

  His eyes widened that fraction that told her something major was going on inside him. This was the moment she had to seize, when he was teetering on the verge of relenting, before he talked himself out of softening.

  She did. “Let me stay with you. Please, Rashid.”

  Her insides were quivering for his verdict when he suddenly let out a long breath.

  Before she could gauge if that was exasperation or capitulation, he turned and walked away.

  As she struggled with worry, he threw her a cool glance over his shoulder. “One thing for sure, princess. Your mother and aunt were clueless about you. You could influence the dead.”

  She hurried after him, needing confirmation. “And since you’re very much alive, this means I can stay?”

  “At your peril, princess.”

  Five

  Talk about false advertisement.

  Despite Rashid’s thrilling warning about her spending the night, nothing had happened.

  In fact, what she’d feared most had occurred. He’d treated her like an inapproachable charge in his custody.

  This gigantic residence turned out to have separate areas, even though none had any doors since the place was made for one person’s privacy. One area was in the mezzanine, behind a partitioning wall, which was used as his bedroom suite. This was the space he’d given her for the night.

  The huge room was even sparser than the rest of the place, with only a skylight, a built-in wardrobe and a nine-by-nine-foot mattress spread in dark sheets on the floor. But to her delight, the connecting bathroom was decadent. It was good to know that although his living and sleeping quarters were a throwback to his life as a survivalist, where hygiene was involved, Rashid had succumbed to state-of-the-art luxury.

  He’d offered her some of his clean clothes to wear. But since he had nothing to replace her stilettos, he’d encouraged her to go barefoot, assuring her he kept the floors spotless. Then, without so much as a good-night, he’d left her.

  And here she was, sitting on his “bed,” flooded to the knee in his sweatshirt and unable to sleep.

  Not because he’d let her stay the night with him, but not really with him at all. But because now that she’d had time to think, she realized the real reason behind her earlier desperation to stay. She’d sensed something was very wrong. With him.

  She had felt it, heard it and seen it while he’d been ripping her attackers apart. That volcanic rage that had incinerated his reason. Far beyond anything an ordinary man would feel about scum who preyed on a helpless female. Something uncontrollable, consuming. Damaging. Terrible.

  The effort she’d felt him exert to bring his violence under control, the volatility she’d felt him struggle with so he could appear stable under her scrutiny, had singed her with its intensity. This hadn’t been a new reaction ignited by tonight’s events. This was old. And immense. She could not begin to imagine what had spawned it. But she knew whatever it was continued to prey on him. That demon she’d felt possessing him, body and mind, was just beneath the surface.

  And even before she’d analyzed all that consciously, she hadn’t been able to let that demon consume the man she loved any further, not when it had manifested in full force this time on her account.

  Oh, yes. Love. There was no use calling what she felt for him anything else.

  So what if he was no longer the same man she’d had a crush on all her life? He was now far more than anything she’d ever imagined. Darker, larger-than-life, more complex and intriguing than anyone she’d ever met. Even under normal circumstances, she would have been disturbed at the prospect of allowing herself any emotional involvement with this highly upgraded Rashid. But she saw no reason for caution or trepidation now when she never had before. She wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of emotions that would no doubt remain unrequited. Rashid was driven, self-contained and off-limits. He had no place in his life for a woman or in his heart for love.

  But it didn’t matter. It brought her peace to accept her emotions, even revel in them. To know the one man she could love existed, and why exactly she loved him, and would never be with another.

  It wasn’t
as pathetic or melodramatic as it sounded. She’d even call it wise, since that was learning from others’ experiences and mistakes. She’d seen too many marriages that had been made without love and how disastrously they’d ended, or worse, continued. She also had the example of those marriages that had flourished because they’d been based on the kind of love that came once in a lifetime, and thrived against all odds. That kind of love she’d feel only for Rashid. It was unwise, even self-destructive, settling for less. But what were the odds he’d reciprocate her emotions? Negligible, really.

  He might have let her “influence” him tonight, but only as an extension of his chivalry. Maybe the old times he’d discounted did count for a man afflicted by a gargantuan sense of honor. After all, he’d once gone to unimaginable lengths to pay the debts of a man who’d abused him, to repay that man for the shelter he’d given him when the already motherless Rashid had become a complete orphan.

  Suddenly, that familiar chill moved through her.

  She now knew the feeling was a Rashid proximity alert. Could he be approaching? If he was, would it be because he...?

  She wished. He must be coming to check up on her after she’d misled him about the nature of her turmoil. But what if...

  Reality check, moron. He probably just wanted something from the bedroom she occupied.

  Breath bated, she expected him to walk in any moment.

  He didn’t. Had she imagined it?

  No. Something had intensified her awareness of him. This might mean... Something was wrong!

  Who knew where that scumbag’s switchblade had been? That wound Rashid had dismissed might be starting to fester. He’d probably refused antibiotics like he had analgesics.

  She shot to her feet. At the mezzanine’s railing, her streak came to a stumbling halt as if she’d slammed into an invisible force field. From the far end of the hangar-sized space, something reverberated in her ears, her bones. It felt and sounded like the erratic, furious pounding of a distant, gigantic heart.

  She hadn’t heard the sound in the sequestered bedroom area. But it must have been what had sent anxiety skewering through her.