by Maisey Yates
“We shall marry,” he said, his voice rough. “I know nothing about this life I have stepped into. I know what I want. I know who I want to be. But I cannot get there without you. On this you have convinced me.”
Her breath left her body in a rush. “After four days?”
“You are determined. And you are very convincing.” He pushed the shirt from his shoulders, standing before her in nothing more than the dress pants. “We will announce our engagement at the coronation. I feel it is best to present a strong direction for the country. That said, having a wife in waiting will be best. I’m certain you can find a wedding gown that pleases you quickly enough?”
“I can,” she said, her voice soft.
For the first time since he had met her, Olivia Bretton seemed subdued. She had gone toe-to-toe with him on everything, but now that she was getting her way, she seemed to have shrunk.
“Do not wilt on me now,” he said. She raised her eyes to meet his, a question flitting through them. “When I first met you, I thought the desert would cause you to wither quickly enough. But you proved to me that first day that you were made of steel. Do not disappoint me now. Not when I have admitted to needing you.”
She straightened, some of the haughty defiance returning to her gaze. “I do not wilt.”
“Excellent. Wilting would be no use to either of us at this point.”
“You are aware that when we walk into that coronation we must look as though we are already a couple. You must be beyond reproach. You must instill absolute confidence in the stability of us as a couple. If you are looking to make us a figurehead, then we must be an infallible one. I have a reputation to stand on. The citizens of my country love me. The union will strengthen trade between Alansund and Tahar. It will be good for the economy, and will provide you with the semblance of experience.”
“That will entail you hanging on my arm, I suppose?”
“I think we can forgo dancing. I highly doubt anyone would fault you. But yes, we will need to look as though we are unified in every way. You will need a speech that outlines your plans for Tahar.”
“I do not have a speechwriter anymore. I fired him.”
“Do you...do you write?” she asked, her voice tentative.
“I do. Though it is not a skill I often use, I admit.”
“Perhaps we can work on this together. If you can lay out your plan, I can help make sure it reads well. You are well-spoken, I will say that for you.”
“Something to do with spending a lot of time alone, I think.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because,” he said, “I spent a lot of time speaking to myself. Keeping language was important to me, every language I learned from my father. I was quite careful with the gift he gave me.” He had often spoken into the emptiness. Run through the words that he might not use with frequency. Anything to make sure he didn’t lose the pieces of humanity that were still embedded in his soul. Like shards of glass, they were often uncomfortable, making them tempting to extract because they were at odds with why he had been out there in the desert. But still, he had clung to them. He was glad now.
Because now he needed it.
Too bad scattered shards were good for little when you were expected to present something unified.
“Good foresight anyway. It will come in handy later.”
“I live to be handy in your estimation, my queen.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” she said, smiling. It was a different smile than the one that crossed her lips when she spoke of her late husband. She was a nuanced creature. And he had never been good with nuance. Weapons of destruction weren’t known for nuance.
Her gaze flickered downward, and he could feel her slow perusal of his body. Then she looked back up, her cheeks red, her eyes locked with his. “You are studying me,” he said.
“I find you fascinating,” she replied.
“What is it about me you find fascinating?” His voice had changed, gotten huskier, deeper. And the heat was back. Heat and fire, and the dark pit of need that he had wished might remain covered.
“Right now? I find your body fascinating.”
She said the words in a measured, deliberate fashion. The color in her cheeks heightened, and at the same time the fire in his veins roared ever hotter.
“I know we tabled this discussion, with marriage as the condition upon which we might speak of it again,” she continued, “but now you have agreed.” She took another step toward him, her hand outstretched. There was a vulnerability in her eyes he could not guess at, but appealed to some unknown, dark part of him that was previously unexplored. Temptation grabbed him by the throat, unfamiliar. And before he could fully process the decision, his body had acted.
That was not unusual. When adrenaline poured through his veins, he trusted his body to do the thinking. It was trained, finely honed, strong.
But this wasn’t a battle. His body didn’t care.
He wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist and tugged her forward, placing her hand flat on his chest, just over his raging heart.
An answering heat flared in her eyes and he released his hold on her, setting her free to do what she wished.
This time, when she began to forge a trail down the center of his chest to his abdominal muscles, he didn’t do anything to stop her. He could not fathom how something so soft could have such a great impact. Like watching a feather land on a mountain, causing it to crumble.
Something tightened like a fist of fire in his gut, building and spreading lower, creating an ache down deep inside of him. He was the master of his body. The keeper of everything he felt, and everything he chose not to. But right now, that control had been wrenched from him. Was being clutched in Olivia’s delicate grasp, those soft, velvet fingertips holding sway over his every breath, his every act. She was, in this moment, the goddess of his universe, manipulating the very air around him.
She took a step toward him, raising her other hand, curling her fingers around the back of his neck. He had seen young soldiers do the very thing he was doing now. Standing there, watching an enemy advance, knowing that fleeing was the best option but holding their ground anyway. The morbid fascination of approaching doom too great to turn away from.
For those young, untrained soldiers, facing death was an anomaly. Facing death was far too common an occurrence in Tarek’s world. It held no curiosity for him in the least. But in this moment, he was much like those green young men facing down a steel-tipped arrow for the first time. Resistance should be the very first response, and yet it never was.
So he stayed, rooted to the spot, transfixed.
Though instead of watching a steel blade draw ever closer, his gaze was locked upon the clear blue of her eyes. Determined. Focused.
She paused, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lush, pink lips. He had the sudden image of pulling her close and completing the task for her. The urge to do so was strong, so strong his entire body shook with the restraint of not completing the task outlined in his mind’s eye.
On the heels of this desire was the incongruous thought that Olivia proved an iron fist was unnecessary to wield power. A delicate touch could accomplish so much more. With it she had reached inside him, exposed cracks in the walls he’d built around himself. Reinvigorated layers of need he had spent years pretending didn’t exist. Hunger became more than a simple need for fuel. It became a craving for flavor, for texture. For food, warmth, softness. For touch, and connection, and for a woman’s body beneath his.
He felt split in two, at war with the desire to seize back his control and pull away from her and to follow the new, darker urges building deep inside him.
Control. Focus. Purpose. That he had to have above all else.
And this, this physical connection with Olivia, was not something he could
deny. It would be part of their marriage. But he must learn to take command of it.
For that very reason he stood, allowing her to continue to touch him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to endure. To remain passive with her hands against his skin, her fingers tangling with his hair, the other hand exploring the ridges of his muscles.
He imagined all of the heat in his blood pooling in his stomach, draining away from the other parts of him. There he would keep it contained. There he would keep it controlled.
He drew in a ragged breath of his own accord, not commanded by Olivia, or his reaction to her.
And only then did he step away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It is a very good thing, I feel, that you are fascinated with me. For it seems to be important to you. Still, I think consummation will wait until after our wedding.” He felt nothing when he said the words, because he did not allow himself to think of what they meant.
“That’s a very old-fashioned view.”
“Values have nothing to do with this. It is about focus. I do not intend to split that focus. Mine or yours.”
“I hardly think I’ll have a difficult time seeing to daily tasks simply because we’re in a physical relationship. You’re a handsome man, but I’m not sure I’d find you quite that distracting,” she said. “Though I see there is no harm in the two of us getting to know each other better. Sleeping with a stranger has never been my thing.”
He looked at the feminine creature he had agreed to marry and realized that there was a very great divide between the two of them. He had seen things, terrible things. The harsh and horrible realities of life that no one should ever have to face. He had endured unimaginable, unspeakable pain that would have destroyed most men. And yet, he knew nothing of people. Nothing of relationships and connections. Nothing of heat. Nothing of passion.
She contained those secrets beneath all of that soft skin. Mysteries wrapped in mysteries that were unknown to him. They sparkled in her eyes, and he had a feeling she would share them if he but asked.
And yet, when he made the decision to add such things to his life, it truly had to be his decision. Something he controlled. Something he was certain wouldn’t take away from his aims. He did not allow his body to be ruled by need. Not need for anything. Not even for the need to be relieved of pain.
And certainly not by the need for physical satisfaction.
Coming to grips with that had been more difficult when he was a boy. But he was a man with years of practice at denying unnecessary appetites. And he would continue to do so until he was certain he was in absolute control.
“I do not know if there will be a time when you won’t consider me a stranger,” he said, “but there will be a time when you will call me husband.”
“Then, I suppose whichever comes first, you being known to me or you being married to me, will be the benchmark for when we begin a sexual relationship.”
“I suppose.”
She blinked rapidly, taking a sharp breath before straightening. As though she had been off balance, and had righted herself. “You are not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“A man,” she said simply.
“In what regard?”
“I have never known a man to be so resistant to being touched. I should have thought you would consider being with me a perk of our union. Perhaps I was a bit too egotistical?”
He sensed a strain of vulnerability beneath her words, and he couldn’t fathom why. She was, he gathered, hurt in some capacity by what she felt was indifference on his part.
He was not indifferent. But he felt the need to become so.
“I apologize, my queen,” he said. “I have spent too many years away from people to know how one usually responds to anything.”
She regarded him closely. “Somehow we’ll make that work to your advantage, Tarek. I’m not entirely certain how we’ll make it work to ours.”
She gave him one last look, lingering boldly over his body, then turned and walked out of his room. Leaving him half-dressed in clothes that made him feel like another man.
Or perhaps it was Olivia who made him feel that way.
CHAPTER SIX
OLIVIA WAS RESOLUTE in her decision to stay away from Tarek when he was shirtless. Because every time he stripped down, he seemed to cast her common sense to the floor right along with his clothes. She was at war with herself. Somewhat horrified by her actions while at the same time feeling completely justified in them. If he was going to be her husband, they would have to come to an agreement on this. But she would feel more comfortable if she wasn’t half as invested in the agreement. If she didn’t feel quite so out of control of her actions when he was near.
If she didn’t want him quite so much. That was the part that horrified her. Not because she was ashamed of wanting him, but because it was exposing to desire someone like that. And to show them that you did.
She knew better than that. You played games to protect yourself. Acted a little bit coy to make sure that the man felt the same. Even when she and Marcus had been married she’d played those games. But he had, too.
She had loved her husband very much, but they had their own lives. Their own bedrooms. There were things about him she didn’t know, things she didn’t want to know.
She kept herself guarded. Which was just good sense.
Because she knew the alternative far too well.
Still, for some reason, keeping guarded with Tarek was difficult.
Which confounded her, since she had loved Marcus. Known him. In that way you could know people. She had none of those things with Tarek. She had a fascination for his body. So different from her husband’s. Which was a thought that made her deeply uncomfortable.
She supposed, had she had a list of lovers, the temptation to compare wouldn’t be present. But as she had been with only one man, the sight and feel of another man’s body was more exceptional than it might have been otherwise.
And today was speechwriting day. She was torn between the desire to spend time with Tarek, to try to understand the man she had agreed to marry, and the desire to avoid him to stop herself from making any other stupid moves.
Today, there would be no avoiding. Today, there was a speech to consider.
She smoothed the front of her plum-colored sheath dress, then patted her blond hair, neatly secured in a bun. She looked much more collected and calm than she actually was. She had ensured that was the case before she left her quarters. She took a fortifying breath, pushing open the doors to Tarek’s office. He was expecting her. She didn’t see the point in knocking.
When she saw him standing there in front of his desk, his head bent low, his expression one of intense concentration, she wished that she could go back and allow herself a few more moments to fortify herself. To prepare herself.
His suit, apparently, was ready. And he was wearing it. Fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscular thighs.
She had been right—there was no amount of expert tailoring or expensive fabric that could make him look the part of royalty. He did not look like an aristocrat. He looked like a man who had risen straight from the desert. And yet, something about the attempted civility made him appear all the more dangerous. Highlighted the ruthless lines of his face, accentuated the fearsome strength in his muscles.
“You look like you’re ready to tear out someone’s throat,” she said, attempting to diffuse the tension that was rioting through her. A tension he was likely oblivious to.
“Always,” he said. “I do what I must.”
“Terrifying, Tarek. Very terrifying.” She was being dry, and yet she sensed his words were true.
The thought sent a shiver through her body, and she couldn’t work out whether it was one of fear, or
one of arousal. There was a thin line separating the two when it came to Tarek. She found it unnerving.
“Unless you mean to harm my country in some way, you have nothing to fear from me.”
Somehow she very much doubted that. Somehow she felt that she might have quite a bit to fear from him. She wasn’t sure where that came from, why she knew it all the way down to her blood. Only that she did.
She shook off the foreboding sensation. “Then, we should be fine.”
“I am uncertain about the speech.”
“I am here to help you be certain.”
That statement resulted in her having a stack of papers thrust in her direction. The words on the page were handwritten, and it was obvious that wielding a pen was not as familiar to him as wielding a sword.
“You couldn’t have typed this?” she asked. She supposed that was a ridiculous question. The man had not thought to use the phone sitting on his desk to reach members of staff.
“No.”
“I’m sorry. Do you know how to use a computer?”
“I haven’t done so in a great many years.”
“Well, the thing about technology is that it changes. It’s likely you will have to learn to do it all over again.” She perused the papers in her hand. “But that isn’t important right now. This is important. One thing at a time.”
The speech wasn’t eloquent. She couldn’t lie. There was no point.
“Okay. I think this is a decent guideline for what you might want to say. It is your heart. It’s what you want to do for the country. And I have spoken to you, and you speak well. So.” She handed the papers back to him. “You can use this if you get lost. But I want you to just tell me what you want for Tahar. What your plans are for the future. Make it brief, because people have limited attention. And you don’t want to overpromise. Better to overdeliver.”
