Читать книгу Royal Sins: Bound to the Warrior King / Protecting the Desert Heir / Pursued by the Desert Prince - Maisey Yates - Страница 13
ОглавлениеTAREK HAD SUCCESSFULLY avoided being directly involved in Olivia’s machinations for four days. Since coming to the palace, he had craved silence with a severity that bordered on madness. Since Olivia had arrived nearly a week ago it had intensified.
Since the moment she had touched him in his bathroom it had become even worse.
He was not innocent of the ways of the world, not a fool, either. He understood what the heat and fire in his blood meant, understood why she had been touching him. But he had made vows. To the earth, to himself. He was a man of singular purpose, and that had meant eschewing earthly pleasures. When it came to food he ate to survive, and when it came to sex...
It turned out a man did not need it to survive.
In fact, he had survived thirty years without. As a teenage boy banished to the desert, he had been far too broken to care. As a man grappling with his purpose, with the memories that still crowded in at night, echoes of pain that would push any human to the brink of sanity, he had reminded himself what had brought him through. The only way to withstand torture was to focus on what lay beyond it. The bright spot. The hope. The purpose.
He had stripped back his needs to one thing so long ago that he could not remember a day when his desires had been layered. When he had relished the feel of a soft bed, enjoyed the flavor of a meal or fantasized about what it would be like to touch the lush curves of a woman’s body. Memories lost to him, desires destroyed.
Every single one of them had flooded back to him the moment Olivia had placed her soft fingertips on his bare chest.
For the first time in years he had craved something sweet to eat, a sumptuous, well-appointed bed. And to see what was beneath her clothes.
That was why he had pushed her away. Contained in that one simple touch had been a weakness so complete, so repellent, he had no choice but to turn away from it.
Though she spoke the truth. Were they to be married, there would be no turning away from his duty as a husband. His duty as a sheikh.
He needed an heir.
Still, all would be possible. It was simply a matter of refocusing his purpose. And he was in the process of doing just that. They had spoken about his intentions as a ruler the other day, and as much as he would like to do nothing more than resent her presence, he had to acknowledge that she was helping. He scarcely recognized the man he saw in the mirror now. Far from the beast he had been when he had first arrived here, he now resembled someone he could imagine sitting on the throne.
His hair had been cut short. He was still getting used to the feel of it.
He felt like a man who had been pulled up out of the pit. Still orienting to the sunlight. To being aboveground.
Of course, his ability to avoid Olivia and continue to regain his equilibrium would end today. She had arranged for him to be dressed. As though he was a doll. She had been insistent that clothing was important, and when she had applied it to herself, he could well see her point.
She wore thin dresses made of luxurious fabrics that settled over her sleek, fascinating curves in an easy manner. It was difficult to look away from her, in part because of the cut of her clothing, he was convinced. She did indeed convey authority, a sense of belonging. She could have materialized from the gems and gold in the walls of the palace, precious metals come to life.
In that way, she would make a wonderful sheikha. At least one of them would look as though they had been born to serve in a palace.
For his part, he would protect his people. That much he knew.
The doors to his bedchamber burst open wide and in came the object of his thoughts, followed by another woman he had never seen before. That woman was pushing a rack full of clothing, her expression of determination mirrored by Olivia.
“This is Serena. She is now the official dresser here in the palace. You will make use of her. Starting now.”
“Hello, Olivia. It has been a few days since we’ve spoken,” he said.
“Hi,” she said. “I assume that screen over there will do for you to dress behind.”
He looked between the two women, processing the idea that he would need to change behind a screen. He had no modesty to protect. He imagined, therefore, that it was for their own comfort.
He thought back to the other day. To Olivia placing her hand on his chest.
Perhaps the screen would be wise.
Serena moved the rack to the ornate divider and Tarek followed suit. He stepped behind it, grabbing the first bundle of clothing from the rack and set about undressing, and redressing. He could hear Olivia and Serena speaking in hushed tones. He had no real desire to know what it was they were discussing.
He paid no attention to what he was putting on. He had no way of assessing suitability. He simply had to trust Olivia’s senses.
Serena approached him, the measuring tape in her hands, a determined expression on her face. She placed her hands on his shoulder, stretching the tape across them. And he waited. Waited for a feeling similar to the one he’d had when Olivia had touched him. But it didn’t come.
There was no heat. Nothing but the cool pressure of the tape and her touch buffeted by the layers of clothing.
Olivia moved nearer to him, her hand on her chin, her expression assessing.
“Do you have a comment, my queen?”
“This works for you. Though it definitely needs to be fitted.”
“I suppose it’s the kind of thing I should wear to the coronation party?”
Her blue eyes flew wide. “You have a coronation party?”
“Yes.”
“How is it that you haven’t mentioned this before?”
“We have only had two conversations. Possibly three. One of which ended poorly.” Serena knelt down in front of him, drawing the length of the tape down the inside of his leg. Olivia looked down, then back up at him, her pale brow arched. She said nothing. “Did you have something to say, Olivia?”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Do you really care?”
She pursed her lips, looking as though she was chewing her words thoroughly. “Of course I care. As your prospective fiancée. But then, as your prospective fiancée I also might have wanted to know about a major public event. There is media to consider, Tarek. We must decide whether or not we should appear together as a couple. I, for one, vote that we should.”
“We have not decided what to do about our union, or lack of one.”
“You have not decided,” she said, her voice determined. “My decision is made. This is...where I need to be.”
“Is this all about power for you?” His chest tightened, rage bleeding through him like a hemorrhaging wound. “Power corrupts, my queen. The need to rule simply for the sake of it destroyed my country once, and I will not allow that to happen again.”
“That isn’t what I mean. You told me once that you were a weapon. I am a queen. It chafes when you are not used as you ought to be.”
“Perhaps you could fill your time as head of some sort of committee.”
“That isn’t what I want.”
“Do you have some sort of emotional attachment to Tahar? To its success?”
She fixed determined, blue eyes on him. “I could create it.”
“I don’t think that’s good enough, Olivia.”
She took in a sharp breath, her eyes glistening. “I want a...” She looked away, then back up at him. “A home, Tarek. More than anything, I want a home that I belong in. One that isn’t empty. One where I am not extraneous. You need me here. And I want to be needed. Allow me to use my skill. Allow me to be what I can be.” Serena was still going about her work calmly while Olivia stood there, breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling on each indrawn breath.
“The only way to be what you want is through marriage, Olivia?” He studied her closely as he spoke. “What a frustration that must be for you. You have so little control. Or at least, this requires you to share it. Your future is dependent on my decision.”
He could see Olivia’s pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. Like a panicked bird trapped in a cage. He had the overwhelming urge to place his thumb over the top of it. To feel the intensity with which it beat, the velvet softness of her skin.
That simple, brief fantasy did much more to heat his blood than anything Serena was doing with the tape measure.
“Do I have to try on everything, or will your measurements suffice?” he asked Serena.
“There is plenty I can do with the measurements,” she said.
“Then, that will be all. Leave us. Olivia and I have much to discuss.”
Serena scrambled to obey his command. He was accustomed to such things. To people obeying his word. He functioned in life-or-death situations. And he was the one that the tribes looked to for safety. The one his men watched to ensure that this mission was not their last.
In this, at least, he was comfortable.
“I can fetch the suit later,” Serena said. She grabbed hold of the rack and made a hasty exit.
Once the door closed behind her, he and Olivia were alone. Facing each other.
He began to undo the top buttons of the shirt, and he watched as her eyes followed the motion. He was fascinated by this. By the fact that the effects he was experiencing were so closely linked to Olivia, rather than just the female form. Serena had been lovely. Dark haired, with more dramatic curves than Olivia possessed. Though he was not entirely certain if that was more enticing to him. He had given it little thought. Still, it was not outside the realm of possibility that Serena’s touch could have set his blood on fire in the same manner that Olivia’s had.
“From where I’m standing, my sheikh,” she said, her tone icy, “your future, and whether or not you are able to reestablish your nation, is closely linked to me. There was no one else here helping you. Who do you have on your side? Your brother’s old advisers? Those you have recently employed who are new to this position? They were going to let you attend a coronation looking as you did when I first arrived. Your people would have thought you insane. Would have thought you were a man who didn’t know how to dress. One who could not be bothered to shave and represent himself as the face of the nation without looking like an overgrown bush. Have they coached you on how to deal with the press?”
For the first time, Tarek felt a bit of discomfort. For the first time, he felt lost at sea in a different way. He had been focused on acclimating to palace life. To his new position. But he had a plan. He knew what he wanted for his country, and he was confident that he was morally everything Tahar needed in a leader. But the press, a ballroom full of people... He did not know what he would do under those circumstances. He did not know how to carry on a conversation in a civil manner, much less conduct an interview, much less give speeches. He knew how to strike terror into the hearts of his enemies. Could carve a swath of death and destruction through an opposing army with a flick of his sword.
But these things? They were foreign to him.
As foreign as the heat he felt when Olivia’s fingertips brushed against his skin.
He was a man who held command of life and death. A man who had survived bloody battles and great torture.
But he was, in many ways, not a man. He was all that he had been created to be. But he had not been created for this.
He would have to be remade. Again.
Sheikh Tarek al-Khalij had survived immense pain. Had faced down situations that would bring certain death, and triumphed. Very few things frightened him. But the prospect of being melted down again, reformed, did. Ice replaced the blood in his veins, a sick sensation washing over him.
He looked at Olivia, her slender form, her delicate hands. Hands that had already touched his skin. Before Olivia, how long had it been since anyone had touched him? He had had wounds bandaged at the various Bedouin camps. And before that...before that every touch had been agony. Designed to destroy.
But he could not remember the last time anyone had ever touched him so gently.
Perhaps being reformed in Olivia’s hands would be a different experience.
And perhaps she was correct. Perhaps she was all the hope he had.
She had been honest with him. Pain had radiated from her blue eyes as she had spoken of having no place. She needed him. Maybe admitting he needed her would not be so terrible.
“The coronation is in two weeks,” he said. “I do not know what will be expected of me.”
“You set the precedent. You are the sheikh. But you have to understand that if you forgo certain things, it will appear odd.”
“Did you aid your first husband in navigating his coronation?”
“I didn’t have to help Marcus with any of that,” she said, a soft smile on her lips. She softened when she thought of him. “He was born to that life. Created for it. He was an aristocrat on every layer. In a suit, out of the suit, you would never mistake him for anything but what he was. You, on the other hand, will have trouble looking like aristocracy even with the finest suit. I am not being insulting. I am merely stating a fact. No, I didn’t help him. But I did watch him. He, in fact, helped me. I was an heiress from the States, and while I knew plenty about presenting myself at functions, royal functions are entirely different. I’ve walked this road. I daresay it will be longer and harder for you, but I can help you along the way.”
“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.
