by Maisey Yates
Her heart twisted. “No. Marcus smiled easily. He was smiling when I walked into his life, and I daresay he was smiling when he went out of his own. He enjoyed the things of this world.” He had taught her to enjoy them, as well. Had made her feel not half so lonely. The thought of him would always make her heart warm. “He also prized his independence, and as I very much prize mine, I had no trouble giving it to him.” And if there were questions about what he did in his spare time, and whose bed he might be in when he wasn’t in hers, she had never asked them.
She felt disloyal thinking about it now. Because she had never made an issue of it when he was alive, so she had no call to let those suspicions fester in his death. Even if he hadn’t been faithful, she had never demanded him to be. And he had never made her unhappy.
She had not given him all of herself, so she could hardly expect him to give all of himself.
This was the wrong time to be having this realization. The wrong time to do any serious postmortem on her first marriage. Really, there was no right time. There was nothing left to fix. And she had been happy in her life, so thinking about fixing something that she had never thought broken was foolish indeed.
She’d never wanted to examine the cracks. Never wanted to pause for a state of the union for fear that, just as her parents had done, Marcus would do nothing but look at her with blank eyes and say, “There isn’t anything more I can give.”
“Marcus sounds a much easier man than I am. It isn’t too late for you to turn back.”
“Still so eager to get rid of me?”
“No,” he said. “But I fear you have walked into this without fully understanding all you have to contend with.”
“Maybe. But I’m not weak. And yes, you’re different than he was. But...I am not looking to replace him. Not in the way you might think. I’m not looking to re-create our life together. I’m looking for something new.”
“I quite like the idea that I am different,” he said, and his words sent a little shiver of pleasure through her.
She wasn’t sure why. Why she quite liked the idea of him being jealous. Of him wanting something from her. Or maybe she did, and she simply didn’t want to examine it.
“I like the idea that you are not wholly at ease with everything happening. Oftentimes you seem far too confident, as though you are walking a trail you have blazed before. While the landscape remains entirely unfamiliar to me.”
“Rest assured, Tarek, knowing royalty, knowing men, does not make you less of a mystery to me.”
“I find this perversely pleasing.” Something about the way he said the words lit her up inside, thousands of stars glimmering in the darkness that hadn’t been there before.
“Since you find very little pleasing, perverse or not, I’m going to mark that in the win column.”
“Do you have a win column?”
She nodded slowly. “I’m thinking of making one.”
He looked her over slowly, his dark eyes assessing. “Put that dress in it.”
And with that, he stepped away from her, cutting a swath through the crowd as he made his way toward the front of the room. And she was left standing there, barely able to breathe. What was it about that curt, barely a compliment that sent a wave of delight through her? She had been on the receiving end of some truly poetic words of praise. These were not poetic words in the least. And he had beat a hasty retreat after.
Perhaps, much like his smiles, they felt larger than they were because they were so hard-won.
He walked up the stairs to the podium that was set on the stage and her heart stopped. This was it. He looked completely calm, completely prepared. And she felt as if all of the nerves he should be feeling had been dropped down into the pit of her stomach, making it impossible for her to breathe.
She clasped her hands in front of her and whispered a prayer. Then she whispered it again. And again. She wanted him to succeed. She needed him to succeed. Needed both of them to succeed in this. This mattered so much, and she wasn’t quite sure when that had happened.
He opened his mouth and began to speak. And he stole her breath.
Tarek’s words flowed over her like warm honey. He was so cultured, so well-spoken, those words he had clung to in the lonely years in the desert well chosen, well guarded. She wondered if, in this case, it was a bit like preserving beautiful artifacts. If those words, so rarely handled, so rarely brought out before the world, were all the more precious and awe-inspiring for it.
Everyone in the room had the sense for it, she could see. They clung to each syllable as though it was gold.
“I know I am the brother you never saw,” Tarek was saying now, “but you will see me now. I spent long years in the desert offering protection to our nation’s borders. I will offer protection now. Not only in the shoring up of the borders, but in reaching beyond them. Tahar has been isolated for too long. We have been isolated for too long. I am deeply regretful for any crimes committed against our people, brought about by those in my bloodline. As for myself, I only know one thing. And that is how to protect. I will do so now. As for the other tasks required of a ruler, I am hopelessly outmatched. But I am fortunate enough to have found help. Queen Olivia, who served her country with her late husband, is to be my wife. She will be Sheikha of Tahar, and all that she gave to Alansund she will now give here. Our goal is to help each other by strengthening any weak points the other might have. With that goal, we will strengthen this country. I understand that you, here in this room and listening at home, might feel reason to distrust me. I understand that I will have to earn your allegiance. But I stand prepared to do that. I must prove myself, and I am willing. Thank you.”
With that, he strode from the stage, his focus trained on her, his posture rigid, his gaze unflinching. As though he was completely oblivious to the thunderous applause happening around him. As though he had no sense of how well he had done.
In this sea of people, he stood alone. Nothing could break through. She wondered what it would take to reach him, to break down the wall.
She began to walk toward him, her heart thundering, the sound around her muted now. She stopped in his path and he continued on, his dark eyes blazing. And for just one moment she felt as if she was at least seeing behind the wall. Even if she still couldn’t reach him, she was seeing more. The view beyond the rock and stone.
He paused in front of her and she reached up, putting both of her hands on his cheeks. “You were amazing,” she said, keeping her eyes locked with his.
He let out a hard breath, and she could feel his relief resonating inside her. “I have not caused a war,” he said. “Yet.”
She heard the click of cameras, knew this moment was being captured on film. It would be a headline tomorrow. Her, and her peacock-blue gown, holding on to his face. It would look like love. It would at least look like lust.
Honestly, it was the second. On her end, at least.
Either way, it would make for a good headline. The kind of headline they wanted. Now, though, it was time for them to make the rounds. Time to be social. She had promised she wouldn’t expect him to dance, but that meant that he didn’t have a good chance at escaping social responsibilities.
Over the course of the next two hours she did her best to provide balance to Tarek’s rather sullen version of conversation. She knew he didn’t come across as humorless on purpose; rather, it was just who he was. She wasn’t certain he was humorless per se, just that he didn’t know how to express his humor with any effusiveness. Still, he came across as quite deadpan, and by the end of the evening she was exhausted trying to add some buoyancy.
And she felt even more determined to tear down that wall. It was almost as though he was operating on a separate plane. Possibly the plane he had been actively existing in the night she had seen him in the hall, naked and fighting imaginary enemies. There was stre
ngth there, vibrancy. Passion. She was hungry for it. To release it.
He had admitted to feeling off balance because she seemed so comfortable in her role. But he made her feel even more off balance. Because he was untouchable. And she, most certainly, was not. He had reached inside her early on, and she had not felt right since.
She knew that the party would go on for a while yet, and yet she also sensed that Tarek wouldn’t want to linger. They had done their rounds, done their duties, as far as she was concerned. And the press would be appeased. It made no sense to keep him in the ballroom past the expiration date of his social skills.
She sensed he would only become more impenetrable as the evening passed.
“Let us retire,” she said.
“Is it the appropriate time?”
“It’s fine. You’re very busy. No one will expect you to stay until the room clears.”
He leaned in, his lips close to her ear. “Am I very busy?”
Her body immediately applied a dual meaning to his words, sending a shaft of heat down low. “I could ensure that you are.”
She could think of a great many ways the two of them could stay busy for a few solitary hours. Ways that would finally force him to meet her in the present. Ways that might show her the man beneath the control. Something raw, something elemental. Rather than all of this guarded, protected, manufactured civility.
She’d had too much of that. Enough to last a lifetime. Too much isolation. She was so tired of being lonely. So tired of being alone.
Suddenly she was tired down to her bones. Careful smiles; careful words. Nothing upsetting. Nothing too loud. No questions asked. No answers given. On either side. Her entire growing-up years had been spent that way, and then her marriage. She was so desperately sick of it.
He made no response to her offer, allowing her to lead him quickly and quietly from the ballroom. The early exit would spark innuendo for the article about the evening. And that, she imagined, would be a good thing, too. Giving the press, the public, a love story rather than a cold alliance to offer a throne to a displaced queen and help to a barely civilized sheikh. Already she would add humanity to him. Already her presence was a help.
Though at the moment she did not intend to let the published innuendo stand as fiction. She fully intended to reach this man once and for all. To forge a connection between the two of them.
She could feel the palace security staying in line with them. Likely ensuring they weren’t followed or disturbed. The people around them sensed it as well, for they cleared a path, making their exit easy.
Once they were out of the ballroom, she began to slowly move her fingertips along his forearm, her way of signaling intent.
She felt a slight tensing in his muscles, the barest hint of a response. Coming from him, it might as well have been an emphatic yes.
“Are you headed back to your quarters?” she asked, staring straight ahead.
“Yes,” he answered.
Her heart thundered in her head. “Okay.”
She walked with him, not releasing her hold on him, and he did not release his hold on her. She took that as a significant development. They were, of course, headed to the same wing of the palace. And he might not realize it yet, but she intended to head to the same room. To smash that wall. And maybe, just maybe, one inside herself, too.
She felt as if she was suffocating. Had the feeling both of them were. Drowning on land.
If she could just touch him. If they could touch each other.
They reached the door of his chamber and she paused with him. “Do you need any help with your suit?”
“I don’t think so.”
It didn’t surprise her that he didn’t immediately grab hold of the invitation. Subtlety was not his strength. She found that charming in a strange way. More and more as the days passed.
“Perhaps we can discuss your speech.”
He gazed down at her, the expression in his eyes unknowable. “If you wish.” He pushed the door open and she followed him in.
He took a seat on a lush divan that was placed against the back wall of his chamber, assuming that same arrogant posture she’d seen during their first meeting in his throne room. With his black tie, black jacket, crisp white shirt and tailored trousers, he was very close to looking civilized. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want him civilized. Didn’t want him hidden by yet more trappings.
That need, the need to have him, became a living beast inside her, growled, urged her forward. She began to walk toward him, watched as his dark eyes assessed her, attempted to anticipate her next move. She lowered her hands to her sides, curling her fingers around the silken fabric of her skirt, tugging it upward, exposing her legs, her thighs, as she continued to close the distance between them.
Then she saw it. A black flame burning in the depths of his eyes, so close to their natural color it would’ve been easy to miss. But it was there, glimmering like an oil slick. He was not untouched. He was not unmoved.
She approached, still clutching her skirt, placing one knee on the edge of the divan next to his before leaning forward, raising her hand on the wall behind him. He remained motionless, his expression fathomless. But of course it was. That was what he did. In a room full of people, he remained untouched. When applause thundered around him, he reacted like a deaf man.
He didn’t play the game. No subtle push and pull. And so this time she wouldn’t stop until she had destroyed his defenses, because that was what it would take. She realized that now, with certainty.
She rested her other knee on the divan, astride him now, sliding forward so that his big body was between her thighs, his heat teasing her, tempting her. He was motionless, as he had been the other times she had touched him. Except for the day he had pressed her palm against his chest. But then he had pushed her away, and she had allowed it. She had stopped.
But this time, she wasn’t going to stop at touching.
She lowered her head, angling slightly, pausing just before her mouth met his. Enjoying the moment. The pause before fantasy became reality.
He smelled like clean skin, the intimacy of the scent hitting her like a punch in the chest. It made her heart beat faster, made her ache. And it stole her last bit of restraint. She closed the remaining bit of distance, fusing her lips to his.
Heat exploded behind her eyelids, burst in her stomach. She hadn’t expected this. Not this instant firestorm that rocked her down deep. She was supposed to be seducing him, but she felt as if the tables had flipped, and there would be no coming back.
His lips were firm, hot, and only just now did she realize, immobile.
She moved her hand, gripped the back of his head and deepened the kiss, tracing the seam of his mouth with her tongue, requesting entry.
Her only warning of his next actions came in the form of a feral growl that rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her lips before she found herself being moved, Tarek’s arm was like an iron band around her waist as he stood, bringing her with him. He moved his hand, fingers buried deep in her hair, his grip so hard it was painful, pinpricks dotting her scalp as he tugged her head back.
With two long strides, he had her pressed against the wall, his hold still tight in her hair and around her waist, his body hard and hot against hers. His breathing was ragged, the look in his eyes that of a hunted animal. Desperate. Intense.
Her hands were trapped between their bodies, her palms against his chest. And she could feel his heart raging out of control.
He wasn’t unreachable now. Not untouchable or protected. It was terrifying. And it was everything she’d been craving.
He lowered his head slowly, his nose brushing hers, the movement deliberate, unpracticed. She let her eyes flutter closed, waiting. The moment stretched on forever, a small taste of eternity dropped into the middle of time.
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Then, finally, he ended it.
When his mouth met hers it was rough, deep and hard. His lips were unforgiving, his tongue boldly pushing between her lips, sliding against hers. This was so far outside her experience. So different from kisses exchanged with careful aristocrats and playboys.
This was not a seduction. This was what it meant to be taken.
And this was where any semblance of stability he had carried with him tonight ended. He was not a man now but a beast. His muscular chest pressed tightly against her breasts, the solid length of his arousal resting against her thigh.
The kiss was bruising, almost painful. The movement of it strange, uneven. It carried with it the desperate quality of a man finding an oasis in the desert, drinking water he’d been deprived of. Absent of skill and social concern. Just the long, frantic satisfaction of a drought that had gone on for too long.
She was being conquered in a fashion that bordered on violence, and the neglected, hollow places inside her allowed themselves to be filled by it.
She was at his mercy, trapped between his body and the wall, held fast to his grip. And she loved it. There was no fear of seeming needy now, because he was holding nothing back. Because he needed her, it wasn’t half so terrifying to prove that she needed this, too. To expose her neediness. How could it be when he was demonstrating that he needed her, too?
She flexed her hips, shifting her position slightly to bring herself in line with his arousal. His grip on her hair tightened when she did, but he didn’t push her away. Her hands were still pressed against his chest, and she used that position to take hold of his tie, to wrench it free of the knot and cast it to the floor. Then she moved on to the buttons on his dress shirt, undoing the top two before sliding her hand beneath the fabric. She’d touched his chest before, and every single time it was a revelation.
Even better now that he was kissing her while she touched him.
His teeth grazed her swollen mouth and she retaliated, closing her teeth over his bottom lip, earning another growl that shook his entire being.
