Читать книгу The Royal Collection - Annie West, Rebecca Winters - Страница 56
ОглавлениеHE SHOOK HIS HEAD. “We don’t need to speak of it. Not now.”
She nodded slowly, keeping her hand on his arm. She didn’t speak for a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she looked back up at him. “You’ve really never been with a woman before?”
“No.”
“Have you... What...what have you done with...other people...?”
“No one. Nothing. I cannot remember the last time I was touched at all before you.” And suddenly the weight of her fingertips on his arm was like a brick. So heavy it was nearly unbearable.
“You were very good,” she said. “You should know that.”
Never in his memory had anyone said something to him out of interest of sparing his feelings. But he wondered now if that was the case. “There is no need for you to lie. In fact, it is best if you don’t. I need to learn how to please you.”
“You did. I’m not lying to you. Trust me, I wouldn’t. I was not a... You know I was with my husband. He was the only one. But...I say that to tell you I understand how important communication is. Especially in the bedroom.”
“I imagine he did not need instruction.”
“No,” she said, looking down. “He didn’t. Though, in some ways, he did. Anytime you’re with someone new you must learn them. All bodies are not the same. Being with you is different.”
“And does it please you?”
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes, leaving off any sarcastic asides.
“If I had known...if I had known what it would be like, I never could have resisted you the day that you touched me.”
A smile curved her lips. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I am a terrible liar. If I suffer from anything, it might be too much honesty.”
“I’ve noticed that. I find it quite refreshing.”
“Why is that?”
The smile inverted, a slight crease appearing between her brows. “I’m not sure. Maybe because I have spent very much of my life around careful people. I’ve spent much of my life being careful and suffering consequences when I wasn’t. I quite like that you aren’t.”
“I suppose carefulness might be a valuable skill to cultivate.”
“If I teach you, you have to promise never to use it on me.”
“An odd request.”
“Maybe I’m odd.” She tilted her head to the side, something about the motion making his heart feel slightly overlarge for his chest.
“I think of the two of us, I am the strange one.”
“Possibly.” She lay back on the bed, temptation personified. He could easily get lost in her. Make love to her until they both fell asleep.
And what will happen when sleep comes?
Ice replaced the blood flowing through his veins.
“It is time, I think, for you to go back to your room,” he said.
“What? I just thought...”
“For many reasons, not the least of which being that I have yet to solve the sleepwalking-with-weapons issue, I think it would be best if we kept to our separate quarters.”
She nodded slowly. “I anticipated that we would have separate rooms in general, but I thought perhaps tonight...”
“There is the issue of the sword.”
“Perhaps chuck it out into the hall?” she asked, one brow raised.
“I could, but then what else might I get hold of? I’m very resourceful.”
She raised her other brow. “Are you? I feel as if I’ve just benefited from some of that resourcefulness.”
That cool top layer of hers was back in place. It was because he’d hurt her in some way, and he could sense that. But he couldn’t fathom what he might do to fix it. Not when her fingers on his arm were crushing him now. Not when he needed space. Not just from her, but beyond these walls. Out in the desert.
But failing that, he just needed to be alone. He needed time to process. Time to rebuild. He couldn’t do that with her here.
“Please do not take this personally,” he said. “Please don’t be hurt.”
She shook her head slowly, removing her touch from him. “It doesn’t work that way, Tarek.”
“Why not?” Not even he was that obtuse when it came to interacting with people. Still, it seemed unfair.
“You can’t call a bullet back after it’s been fired. I would think that’s something a warrior would understand.”
“But I didn’t mean to fire at you.”
She put her hand on his cheek. “You know that doesn’t matter, either.”
“It is for your safety.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I’m sure it is. Good night, Tarek.”
She slipped from his bed, taking her wedding gown from the floor and slipping it back on, holding the front closed, not bothering to collect anything else. Not her bangles, not her veil, not her belt.
She had entered the chamber a bride, and she was leaving a wife. An unhappy wife.
But he had to set limits, even now. It was best she learned. When it came to sharing his body, he had determined to give. Because he could do nothing else, in truth. But there were other things that must remain off-limits.
He had whittled the focus of his soul down to a sleek, streamlined arrow, with all of the excess shaved away. He could not go back. He would not.
Yes, his body he could afford to share. But never his soul. He could never, ever expose her to everything he’d been through. Never share the creation of his scars.
She was far too lovely for him to ever present her with something so ugly.
Difficult, when the ugliness was written all over his body.
And one more reason to stay out of her bed tonight.
* * *
Olivia was playing petulant games, and she knew they would come to nothing with Tarek. Removing herself from her first husband’s bed for a certain length of time when she’d found him irritating had typically resulted in the desired apology. Because Marcus didn’t want to be without sex, he would say whatever he needed to in order to restore harmony in that area. Tarek, of course, wouldn’t understand. She was attempting to manipulate a man who was impossible to manipulate. Not because he was so strong, but because he simply didn’t understand subterfuge.
She felt wretched.
But he had torn her open on their wedding night, laid her bare in more ways than just the physical. The way he had looked at her... As though she was special, as though she was the only one. Her heart seized tight. It was because she was the only one. The only woman to ever touch him. The only woman to ever kiss him, to have him inside her body.
It forced more unfavorable comparisons between him and her first husband.
Marcus had been skilled. He had been with countless women before she’d come into his life. For him seduction had been about knowing exactly where to touch, exactly how.
He’d left her feeling as if she was floating on a cloud, left her feeling sated and satisfied.
Tarek had left her bruised. Aching. Desperate for more.
There was something so impolite about the way he had ravished her. Like the man himself. In contrast, Marcus had unfailing manners, always. But Olivia couldn’t escape the thought that it was a testament to how little it mattered which female was in his bed at any given time.
She had spoken to Tarek about how they would both have to learn. Of course she would have to take the time to watch his responses, to feel what made him shake. What made him moan. What made him hard. But then she’d realized that hadn’t been the case with Marcus. He had never learned her in that way. He knew women. That was different.
Not that she had cause for complaint; not that she never asked for more.
It was pointless to stand here and compare two men who were completely different. Particularly when one was dead, couldn’t give more even if she begged him to. And she hadn’t. When he’d been alive she’d asked him for nothing beyond what he gave.
Unlike Tarek, Marcus had never pledged fidelity.
She’d never asked him to.
You didn’t ask Tarek to, either.
And yet he had.
None of this made her wonder what was wrong with Marcus. Rather, she was beginning to wonder what was wrong with herself. Why she had never pushed for more. Because she and Marcus had professed love for each other, and still he had given her less than half. And she had accepted it. Not only had she accepted it, she’d been comfortable with it. Had he made eye contact with her as he thrust deep into her body the way that Tarek had, she probably would have curled in on herself and retreated.
Intimacy meant reaching deep. It meant sharing and changing. Turning over things that were wrong and discovering how they could be fixed. Facing problems head-on.
That had never gone well for her in the past. The potential cost felt too great.
For that reason, she hadn’t wanted that sort of intimacy with the man she’d once called her husband.
She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted it now. Because that intimacy was the reason she was avoiding Tarek’s bed in a fit of pique. His rough, unpracticed movements, that it was all for her, only for her, had stripped a layer of skin from her body, left her raw and exposed. And then, after all that, he had asked her to leave. When she had wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his waist and curl up beside him, bury her face in the curve of his neck. Lie with him until her breathing matched his, until they both drifted off to sleep.
He had denied her that.
She was still angry. Still angry, even knowing she had to get into a limousine with him and go down into the capital city for him to make a speech at a monument of war to commemorate a day in the nation’s history. It was, in her understanding, a celebration of the founding of the country. The unification of the primary tribes into one sovereign nation. And of course Tarek would need to be there, again speaking of unity, and of the new future for Tahar.
And she, as the new sheikha, had to accompany him and stand just behind him, staring at him adoringly while she really wanted to eviscerate him. Possibly with her teeth. All right, she was being both dramatic and bloodthirsty.
She walked through the throne room of the palace to the antechamber that led outside. She paused, adjusting the scarf she had wound over her hair and loosely around her neck. Then she walked outside, putting on a pair of large sunglasses to protect her from the glare, and from Tarek’s gaze.
He was already standing there, in front of the limousine. He was wearing a dark suit jacket and perfectly cut trousers, his hands stuffed into the pockets. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and not even the superbly cut pants could disguise the perfection that was the musculature of his thighs. She thought it was funny how quickly he had taken to wearing European-style suits. He seemed to like them. Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to bother to have anything else tailored. That could be it. Nothing off the rack was going to fit him. He was too tall, too broad.
She was obsessed with his body. Which wouldn’t be so much of an issue if she wasn’t also obsessed with the man. A man who was nearly impossible to reach.
“Good morning,” she said, opting for the first thrust so that it was his job to parry.
He turned and her stomach lurched. She chose to imagine him still as the great hairy beast-man she had initially encountered in the throne room. But considering that, she sometimes forgot just how beautiful he was. It was easy to focus only on the raw magnetism and forget that he was objectively the most handsome man she had ever seen.
“You are speaking to me, Olivia,” he said, his eyes flicking over her.
She wondered if she should have worn a dress. Or perhaps something more traditionally Tahari. She thought perhaps her cream-colored harem pants, gold blouse tucked into the high waist and long, loose linen jacket might not be the appropriate attire. If he noticed, he didn’t say.
“You do not have to cover your hair,” he said, jerking open the door to the limousine.
“I know. Wind.” She breezed past him and got into the car, sliding to the other side and buckling herself with a resolute click.
And Tarek insulation, but he didn’t need to know that. For that same reason, she kept her sunglasses in place.
“We will be staying in the city tonight,” he said, joining her in the limo, closing the door behind him.
The car began to move away from the palace as she processed this piece of information.
“I didn’t bring anything.”
“It was taken care of for you.”
Of course it was.
“You are angry with me,” he continued. “You haven’t spoken to me in two days.”
“Very good, Tarek. Next we’ll move on to the more advanced human emotions.”
“I explained to you why I didn’t want you in my room.”
“I don’t believe you,” she bit out. Her words lingered in the air, bitter, desperate to her ears.
“You want to stay with me?”
“Yes. I do.”
The admission was difficult, which she despised. Exposing all of her neediness, all of the desire in her that had gone unmet for so many years. Because of herself. Because she had never asked for more. Because she had been terrified of more. She still was. But she also felt as if she had been breathing stale air for too long, and Tarek was like the very wind she’d claimed to be trying to protect her hair from. A rush of something fresh, necessary, that she could not control or harness. But it wasn’t her hair she was concerned for.
It was her heart. That caged, protected creature that she had locked behind golden bars years ago. Because she had been so tired of feeling the hurt every time her parents missed something special of hers because they needed to be with Emily. Because what kind of monster did it make her if she wanted the attention stolen from her sick sister and directed at her? It was why she had been able to accept Marcus’s love for what it was. Why she had been able to love him in return while knowing almost nothing about him, and sharing almost nothing about herself.
She didn’t like any of these revelations. Not in the least. Any more than she liked the revelation that Tarek had disrespected the cage. Had stuck his hands right between the bars and grabbed hold of the thing she’d been coddling the most.
Bastard.
He didn’t even know. Hadn’t even been aiming for her affected organ, she knew. She supposed that was the danger of sleeping with virgins. They were so honest. And everything they gave was all for you.
As a woman who had never had anything that was just for her, she’d been unprepared for what it would do to her.
Marrying a stranger, a feral stranger, who lived across the world, who had completely different customs and practices than she did, surely should have been a recipe for continuing on in the manner she had become accustomed to. Surely he was the last person on earth who should have ever been able to reach her.
She was wretched indeed. And irritated that she was having these realizations while sitting next to him in a car. It wasn’t as if she could jump out of the moving vehicle to escape him.
On second thought, at the moment it sounded preferable to continuing to be enclosed in this tiny space with him.
Alas, she wasn’t going to take a chance on a tuck and roll at this moment.
Which meant she simply had to endure.
The limousine wound down a narrow street that widened into a highway, leading them from the outskirts of the city down into its heart. It was much more urban than Alansund, and while she had known that, seeing it was an entirely different matter. Living with Tarek as she did, in a palace that was a relic from another time, it was easy to forget that the country itself was a major world power. A capital of finance and technology.
They moved down deeper into the central business district, the buildings rising around them like sharp, slate-gray waves, threatening to close in on them. She had been raised in New York, upstate, but also partly in Manhattan. She was accustomed to cities. And yet, right now this felt a more foreign landscape than the barren desert that provided her view out her bedchamber at the palace.
It was strange how quickly that place had become her home. Her world.
Strange how quickly Tarek had managed to weave himself around her existence.
The entire car ride was silent. Filled with tension, her head filling with things she would never speak. Finally, they arrived at the memorial statue of a man riding a horse, symbolizing the nation’s strength. This was where his speech would be held. Already a crowd had assembled, and security detail was on hand.
The bodyguards approached the car, opening the doors for them and flanking them both as they made their way to the podium that was prepared for Tarek’s speech. She removed her sunglasses as they walked to the front, taking her position at his right shoulder, a pace behind him. She knew this pose. The pose of any royal spouse or politician’s wife. She had assumed it many times for Marcus.
But it had felt different.
Because now, watching Tarek speak, words she didn’t readily understand due to her poor command of the language, she felt a burst of pride unlike anything she ever experienced before. This wasn’t easy for him. This was not his forte. He was a man who had barely spoken to people for the past fifteen years, much less spoken in front of a crowd of them. And yet he was doing it. Because he loved this country, because he cared for it.
He was changing everything about his life, everything about himself, to become the leader that Tahar needed.
Life was always a challenge, even when you were doing all that you had been created for. All that you had been made for.
But how much more challenging must it be to perform tasks you had never imagined being asked to do?
She watched his every dynamic action until he was finished, until thunderous applause filled the air around them. And then, only then, did she look at the faces of those in the crowd. And she saw their hope. Saw their admiration.
Her heart fluttered against its cage.
After that, she was caught up again in the rush of security detail, ushering them back to the limousine. When they were safely inside, Tarek let out a breath she imagined he had been holding for the past twenty minutes.
“You did well,” she said, forgetting her annoyance for a moment.
“Now we must go to a hotel a few blocks downtown. It has something to do with tradition. Some sort of honor for the owner. It is the oldest hotel of its kind in the city. Of course, it has been greatly modernized, I have been assured. Not that I much mind if something isn’t modern. I’m used to caves after all.”
“I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” She looked down. “Did you secure us separate rooms? Or did you give consideration to the gossip that might stir up?” she asked, breaking their momentary truce.
“We have been given the penthouse suite. I imagine that will give us adequate space.”
“I don’t know. I hear you’re very resourceful. Or did you pack your sword?”
“Do not test me, Olivia. I am aware that I have given you the impression that I’m some sort of house cat. Because you have caught me attempting to become domesticated. But I assure you, I am more tiger than tabby. Do not make me demonstrate it.”
“You show rather more restraint than a tiger. You allowed me to spend two days ignoring you, and you never once challenged me.”
She suddenly found herself pressed against the door, Tarek’s hands on either side of her, his body against hers. “Do not think you can manipulate me. You have seen me at a disadvantage, acclimating to a position that I was not created for. But I am not to be toyed with. I am not to be teased. I am not your aristocratic husband. Never forget you cannot play the same games with me.”
“No worries. I am in no danger of forgetting that you aren’t Marcus.” She would let him believe whatever he wanted to about that statement.
“See that you don’t,” he bit out.
The limousine pulled up to the front of the grand stone building. It reminded her more of places she had seen in Europe than she had expected it to.
“A holdover from our brush with colonialism, I believe,” he said.
“I wondered,” she said, because she had. And architecture was a welcome subject change. Really, anything was a welcome subject change at this point. Her irritation with him was betraying too much, not only to him, but to herself. She didn’t want to analyze her feelings as deeply as her anger was commanding.
Tarek didn’t wait for their driver. He opened the door to the vehicle, rounding the back of it and holding hers open, as well. She exited, and he looped his arm around hers, taking hold of her and leading her into the building.
There was little evidence of modernization in the lobby. Golden revolving doors led into a grand marble showcase. Crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, curved staircases flanking either side of the room.
Every member of staff in the room stood at attention, but none approached. It was the owner who made his way through the center of the room, approaching them with a wide smile on his face and his hand outstretched. Tarek shook it, and Olivia did the same.
“Welcome, Sheikh Tarek. Sheikha.” He swept his hand wide, indicating their surroundings. “We are most pleased you have joined us. As you may know, this hotel has housed every member of the royal family since it was built. We have readied our finest room. This is doubly special, as we are not only celebrating a new leader, but a new marriage.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, certain she didn’t sound very convincing at all.
“The suite is on the top floor,” the man continued, handing Tarek a key card. “Would you like us to show you there, or will you make your own way?”
“I think we can make our own way,” Tarek said. She wondered if playing at civility was starting to chafe.
She knew it was for her. She couldn’t stand there smiling at him as though their interaction in the car hadn’t happened. As though the past few days hadn’t happened.
“We will have your luggage sent up directly, after you’ve had a moment to settle in.”
“Appreciated,” Tarek said.
He sounded less than appreciative. But at least he had tried. She was just standing beside him, silent, still. She may as well have been a pillar of salt. But she was a pillar of salt who could walk. She followed Tarek to the elevator bank and stepped into the lift with him, her breath freezing in her chest as the doors slid closed behind them. Here she was again, back in an enclosed space with the man who was driving her crazy.
This was ridiculous. She didn’t get crazy over men. She didn’t get crazy over anything.
Except Tarek. She had already admitted that everything about him was different. That he was reaching places she’d thought unreachable. There was no point playing as if she was confused now.
They completed the elevator ride in silence, and Olivia wondered what had happened to all of her social graces. She’d had them at one point, she was certain. In another life she had been a queen, confident both in her position, and in how to deal with her marriage.
Because you wanted nothing from it. But you need to matter to him. And you want to understand him.
She blew out a harsh breath, singularly frustrated with herself. She didn’t want deep personal insight. Not now, possibly not ever. But then, reflecting on the past wasn’t really very helpful, either. Particularly, because when she thought of the past, she felt as though she was pondering a different woman. She barely recognized that woman. In many ways, she barely recognized the woman she’d been when she’d walked into the throne room to tell Tarek she thought they should marry.
Because her reasons had been different then. They had had nothing to do with Tarek and everything to do with herself. With her desperation to find a place in life. To keep herself surrounded by enough things, enough people to feel as if she wasn’t alone. To cover up the yawning pit of need that was in the center of her chest.
Suddenly, Tarek mattered. Suddenly, it wasn’t just about not being alone. Though she was tired of that, too. Because she realized that she’d been alone for a very long time. Even when surrounded by people. Even when sleeping next to the first man she had married.
She watched her current husband, the only one who mattered, walk out of the elevator and up to the only door in the narrow hallway. He used the key card in the lock, the light turning green instantly.
“You know how to use one of those?”
He raised a brow. “It’s fairly self-explanatory.”
“Well, I’m having a hard time figuring out what is self-explanatory for you and what isn’t. The female body, obviously, was fairly self-explanatory. Female feelings, on the other hand...”
He held up the key card, the strip facing her. “I dare say this is a much more simple device than your inner workings. Also, if I could swipe this across your forehead and gain access to your secrets, I would.”
“Are you saying women are complicated?”
“I am simply saying I do wonder sometimes if life is better lived alone. And if sex is perhaps not worth the trouble it causes.”
“One time and you’re an expert in the consequences of sex?”
“I am living them,” he said, his tone telegraphing his foul mood. Well, she was just as foul. Fouler even.
“If it was just sex it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Is it not just sex?”
She shook her head. “No. Don’t you know that?”
“How would I know? I don’t know what only sex is supposed to feel like.” He pushed the door open and revealed an opulent suite, beautifully appointed.
It was indeed the epitome of modern luxury. But as she had spent most of her life steeped in modern luxury, there was a limit to how impressed she could be. Particularly when she had other matters on her mind.
“Are you supposed to feel as though your internal organs were ripped out through your chest and displayed for all the world? Are you supposed to feel like you can’t breathe whenever you remember what it was to be skin to skin with another person? Are you supposed to ache down to your very bones? If so, then I suppose I have an all right understanding of what it means to engage in sex.”
“No,” she said, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. “Just sex makes you feel good. I don’t even know what this is.”
“You will see that I am delighted to be unique to you, my queen.” He sounded nothing close to delighted at all.
“Oh, you could never be anything but, my sheikh,” she said, taking a step closer to him. “I have never experienced anything remotely similar to you.”
“For a start,” he said, his tone brittle, “I do not know how to smile.”
She took another step toward him. “Not well.”
He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and held her fast, dipping his head suddenly and kissing her, hard, deep. The kiss bruised, wounded. And she didn’t mind. Because it reflected what was going on inside her. And then, just as abruptly as he descended, he pulled away. “I need a shower,” he said, turning and walking from the room.
He left her standing there, feeling dizzy. Angry. What was happening to her? Why was this man...this...virgin...causing her so much trouble? She had been married to a man whose skills as a lover were world renowned. Why was she so much more affected, why was she destroyed, wrecked, by a man who had never even kissed a woman before her? Her heart twisted tight. That was why. That was why she was so affected. She was unique to him. She made him feel. She reached him.
Had she ever been special to anyone else in her entire life? Had she ever been special to her parents? Had she ever been special to her husband?
Had she ever been special to herself? Or had she simply been so afraid she’d set about to make herself whatever she needed to be in order to keep from feeling lonely? Keep from feeling exposed? Had she ever mattered enough to her own self to demand a thing?
Not beyond that one failure.
Because in that moment, when she’d shouted her parents down for missing the party she’d thrown for herself, she had to face the fear that she wasn’t worthy of all she craved.
Face it. Live it. Accept it.
But it didn’t stop her from needing. And she’d been so sure that her neediness was wrong, shameful, because no one would ever want to meet it.
But now she was tired of it. So tired of feeling as if she was living behind a wall, with the walls of everyone around her standing between both of them. She was tired. Tired and alone, and she hated it. She wanted to be touched. She wanted to touch someone in return. She didn’t want nice; she didn’t want pleasant. She wanted real.
She stripped her jacket off, letting it fall to the floor, followed by her gold top, and her pants. As she made her way into the bathroom she rid herself of her undergarments, opened the door, stopping when she saw the broad expanse of Tarek’s naked back. He was standing beneath the hot spray, water droplets rolling down his skin.
And she was transfixed. Not just by the beautiful musculature she saw there, not just by his bronzed skin and the perfection of his butt.
It was the scars.
She had examined the front of him, his chest, his abs. Had touched him there. But she realized now she had never really looked at his back. He had been whipped. More than that, tortured. And it was written across that beautiful flesh, as bold as any pen stroke.
Olivia had never hated before. She did right now. Right now, she hated the man who would have been her brother-in-law. Hated him with a scorching fire that would never be satisfied.
He had done this. She knew he had.
She would kill him herself were he not already dead, and not lose any sleep over it.
She said nothing, approaching the shower and opening the solid glass door, stepping inside behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his scarred body. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t know if she was apologizing for the words they had exchanged outside or for the atrocities he had endured. Possibly both. Possibly for everything, even things she didn’t know about yet. Things she hadn’t done yet.
He was unique, this man. So special. And she had been petty. Of course he didn’t respond to things in any way she could anticipate. He was an entirely new creature to her. There was no past experience to call on to help her here.
He stiffened beneath her touch. But he didn’t pull away, and nor did he turn.
“I am very likely the one who should be sorry,” he said.
“I don’t know what to do with you.”
“If you are lost, I don’t know what hope the rest of us have.”
She smoothed her hands over his chest, the water making his skin slick. “What does that mean?”
“You always know what to do, Olivia.”
“Not right now. Right now, I’m just as lost as you are.”
He shifted then, turning and backing her against the wall, his erection hard against her hip, his dark gaze intense on hers. “I know what I want.”
“What?” she asked, her voice thin.
“You.”
“Have me.”
On a growl, he lowered his head, kissing her, harder than he had done out in the living area. This wasn’t a kiss filled with anger, but of desperation. Desperation that reflected her own. She smoothed her hands down over his back, the scar tissue beneath her hands obvious now. She had missed it the first night they’d made love. She’d had her hands on his shoulders as he’d thrust deep inside her, but she hadn’t realized what it meant. She did now. And she ached, not just with the need for him, but the need to heal him. The need to reach him. If she had to crack herself open wide, show him by example, she would. She would.
She reached down, grabbing hold of his thick arousal, shifting their positions and widening her stance, placing ahead of him the slick entrance to her body. “Please,” she whispered.
He flexed his hips, finding her center unerringly, moving deep within her.
Hot water rolled over them, his kisses raining down on her face to match each drop. Tarek was inside her. And she wasn’t alone. Wasn’t separate from him. She opened her eyes, meeting his dark, raw gaze. He saw her. She was not just a body, not simply a pleasant diversion, or a duty. He needed this; he needed her.
And she needed him. For the first time in her life, that idea didn’t terrify her to her core. She needed him, and it made her feel wonderful. Made her feel beautiful. Made her feel strong.
Because if she didn’t give up herself, Tarek would never be able to release the walls that surrounded his own heart. She knew it then, as sure she knew anything else.
She moved her hands down, grabbing hold of his behind, tugging him hard against her, gasping as her orgasm washed over her, the pleasure blinding, like nothing else she had ever experienced. She didn’t hold back the cries on her lips, didn’t hold back anything. She poured herself, all of herself, into it. And when he found his own release, she gloried in it. In the way he trembled, in the way he held her, his big hands braced against her hips, holding her steady as he rode the wave that threatened to consume them both.
Afterward there was no sound except for the water hitting the tile, their breath echoing in the small space.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said, her voice soft, firm. “Together.”
He let out a ragged breath, kissed her neck. “For a while,” he said, his tone cautious.
He turned the water off, and they got out of the shower. She took a crisp, folded white towel and began to drag it over his skin, erasing the water drops that covered his body. And he stood, allowing her to do it. As she did, she explored the scars that covered him. Memorized them. She felt honored to witness them. To feel them. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, to look away, to pretend she hadn’t seen them.
But that was wrong. Someone had to see this. Someone had to care.
And she had to stop being so afraid to care.
Because she could no longer pretend that caring meant never asking questions, never asking anything of each other. That was benign neglect at best, masquerading as love simply because there was undemanding sex thrown into the mix.
A sharp pain worked its way through her, starting in her temples and spreading down, the ache blooming in her throat, then hitting hard in her chest. She had loved Marcus. She couldn’t deny that. Not when the loss of him had thrown her into months of darkness, serious anxiety that had been difficult to shake. A feeling of loss and hopelessness that had been very real.
But she doubted in this moment if she had ever been in love with him. Their relationship hadn’t allowed for feelings that cut half so deep. They had been partners, lovers, but it had been nothing like this. Tarek’s pain lived inside her. Her triumph felt bound to his.
Do you still think of yourself as with him?
She flashed back to that question he’d asked her weeks ago during the coronation party. The answer had been simple. And it had been no. Because she had not been a part of Marcus.
Tarek was a part of her. Whether she was that for him or not, he was for her.
If she lost him, she knew very well that it would be like having her heart wrenched from her chest. It would be much harder to go on living. And that was the cost of love.
She loved him.
She wished, very much, in that moment, that she did not.
He took another towel from the counter and made it his mission to dry her. And by the time he was finished, by the time he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back into the bedroom, placed her gently on the bed, she knew that whether she wished it away or not, it was true. There had been no protecting herself from this. Nor from the pain that it could potentially bring.
Her desire to breach his defenses had caused her to lower her own.
She lay down on the bed, completely naked, unashamed, watching as he lay down beside her.
“Tell me about your back,” she said, her voice hushed.
Because she wanted the hard things. Because she wanted everything. Even if it was hard; even if it hurt. Even if it made her vulnerable.
“I told you. He tortured me.”
“Why?” she asked, knowing she sounded broken, devastated. Perhaps that wasn’t fair, when he spoke of it so calmly, but someone had to weep for him. It would be easy for her to do so.
“He said...he said the death of my parents was caused by weakness in the nation. He said I would have to be made strong. He said he did it because he loved Tahar. Because he loved me. He said it was the only way to protect the both of us.”
“What did he...?”
He reached out and touched her breast, his thumb gentle as it slid over her nipple. “You are so soft, Olivia. So beautiful. I do not want to fill your head with the things that were done to me. There is only darkness and ugliness there. Nothing more.”
“Don’t hide from me. Please. I don’t want that. I’m tired of pretending that someone lying next to me means I’m not alone. Especially when I realize that it isn’t true.”
“I don’t understand. If you’re lying next to someone, clearly you aren’t alone.”
“No. Trust me. Someone can lie next to you and still be miles away.”
“Marcus?”
“This is our bed,” she said, “I mean, this isn’t our bed, it’s the hotel’s. But you know what I mean. I don’t wish for him to be between us.”
“I understand. But is that what you’re talking about? Answer my question just this once.”
“Yes. Him. But don’t blame him. I never asked for more. And he never offered. I think he was protecting himself, as I was.”
“There is certainly wisdom in protecting yourself.”
Yes, but she was starting to see that she had been keeping herself wounded. Protecting herself from a fatal injury in her mind, but never fully healing the ones she’d already sustained.
“It’s much better to protect other people, don’t you think? You’ve certainly spent enough of your life doing that.”
“With a sword. It’s easy to protect yourself while you do that.”
“I suppose it would be.” She moved her fingertips over his arm, glorying in the feel of his bare skin beneath hers. “My parents didn’t come to my fifteenth birthday. It’s such a small thing compared to this.” She brushed her palm over a raised scar on his arm, continuing, “But it hurt me. Scarred me. Scars you can’t see. Our housekeepers made my birthday cakes. At least I had them. You didn’t, I know.”
“Olivia,” he said, his voice rough. “My pain does not erase yours. Do not make what is so large for you smaller just because I, too, have suffered.”
She swallowed hard. “You are...a wise man.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time alone. I’ve had a lot of time to think.”
“So you have.” She hesitated. “For my fifteenth birthday I made my own cake. My own dinner. I told my family it would be special. I knew...I knew Emily couldn’t come. She’d been in the hospital for a week. Her platelets were low and...anyway, I just asked my parents to come home for dinner. For my party.” She blinked against a dry, painful stinging in her eyes. “They didn’t come.” The words were a whisper. “I waited and waited. They didn’t come.” She could feel his muscles tense beneath her touch. “I threw the cake away. I couldn’t bear to eat it.”
“Olivia...” His voice was rough.
“There’s more. They got home late. And I...I yelled at them. Why couldn’t they spare a couple of hours for me? All I wanted was for them to spend more time at home with me. And my father just looked at me. My mother cried. Then he said...he said it wasn’t like they wanted to be away. They didn’t want to be in the hospital with a dying child. And how dare I want to take any time from Emily when she might die and...I was living. I shouldn’t complain. Everything with them changed after that. It was never the same. Never.”
“And so you left,” he said. “Changed countries.”
“Met a man I didn’t want anything from. That helped. He didn’t hurt me because...because I knew then never to demand anything. Never to make waves.”
“Your parents were fools,” he said.
“No. They were just in an impossible situation. They are.”
“Perhaps you feel the need to be fair. I do not. They hurt you. That, in my mind, is all that matters. I judge them by that sin.”
She took in a sharp, jagged breath, her fingertips trailing over his scarred flesh. “And I will judge Malik by his sins against you.”
“He had me starved.” Tarek rolled onto his back, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “He withheld water from me. To make me stronger,” he said, his voice rough. “Because I would need to spend much time out in the desert, and there I would not always have food or drink. I had to be prepared. He had me beaten. Because I needed to learn strength. He whipped me. And he...” Tarek touched a patch on his arm that was smooth, shinier than the rest of his skin. “He liked fruit. I remember watching him peel the skin from a pear. He was perfectly capable of peeling off a layer of human skin with as much efficiency. I wear the evidence of that.”
“Tarek. No,” she said, her stomach twisting painfully.
“When I returned to the palace it all came back to me. That is why I woke from my sleep. That’s why I walked the halls with a sword. To kill his ghost if he lingered. I could feel everything he’d done to me again. As though he was wounding me afresh. I found his journals. He admitted to having my parents assassinated. He...detailed the work he did on me to make me a loyal soldier. He liked the whips, as you saw. Liked to isolate me, as well. Deprive me of all sensory input, then...flay my skin with something sharp. My brother. My own brother. My parents were dead, and then...and then he betrayed me, and I have truly...truly never felt so alone as I did in that first moment when he tied me down and traced shapes in my back with the blade of his knife. That was when I started thinking of myself as a rock. Because a rock is unmoved. It might be reshaped, but it doesn’t bleed. It will not die. It is simply reformed. And it remains strong. A rock is never weakened.”
Olivia closed her eyes, stifling the sob that was climbing her throat. “How could he have done that to you? How?” They were empty words. Meaningless. And yet they were all she had.
“This is why I turn away from indulgences. From lusts of all kinds because...look at where it brought him.”
“You aren’t Malik.”
“No,” Tarek said, his voice blazing. “I know he did not intend it, but he gave me purpose. He ensured with all he did that I would guard myself against the weakness that infected his blood.”
“Why? Why did he do it?”
“To break me, though he didn’t say it. Strength, he said. It was always strength. Truly, I think he wanted me to rejoice in being banished to the desert. To make me hate the palace so much that I would never want to return. He wanted me too broken to rule. Too broken to realize his true character. Brainwashed. He did a magnificent job. Out there, I felt nothing. I had but one purpose—to fulfill the bargain I had made with my brother. The one that meant he would leave me be. There was clarity there. A beauty in the simplicity. I cherished it. In that way, I suppose he did his job. He made me strong. He made me the rock. He made that existence feel easy.”
“It was a mind game. He didn’t care for you. He didn’t make you strong. You were strong. Any other man would have been broken.”
He looked up at her, his eyes so black, so empty, they wounded her. “Was I not broken, Olivia?”
“No, Tarek. No. You are not broken.” Her throat tightened, tears rolling down her cheeks. She put her hand on his chest, felt his heartbeat rage beneath her fingertips.
“Do not cry for me, Olivia. Not for me.”
“Who else will?”
“No one needs to.”
“That isn’t true. It isn’t.”
“Whatever I was before Malik... Whatever happened before... I am different now. I’m another man. Whether or not I’m broken is immaterial. I am not what I should be. I can never be.”
“You are everything you choose to be, Tarek,” she said, the words ringing with conviction. “He cannot command control over you, not anymore.”
“You don’t understand. You don’t understand the years I spent there. That they were my refuge. You cannot possibly understand what they meant to me, what they did to me.”
“Make me understand. I’m tired of being alone, Tarek. I’m so tired of being alone. Let me see. Let me see you.”
He rolled out of the bed, standing upright, naked, beautiful and unashamed. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice strained. “Tomorrow I will show you. I will make you understand. I am not the man you wish I could be. I am not the man you should have.”
“But you have me,” she said, as close to an admission as she could muster right now.
Pain flashed through his eyes, but almost as quickly as it appeared, it was replaced by the flatness again. “Tomorrow, I will show you.”
“Tarek...” She blinked rapidly, looking down at her left hand, at the blue stone there. “Just...before you go... Why did you choose this ring for me?”
He looked at her, a subtle shift in his face softening his features. “Your eyes,” he said. “The stone was blue. Like your eyes. And I very much liked the look of it. Since it made me think of you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. A simple answer. But from Tarek...it may as well have been poetry. It was the truth. So simple. So perfect. It came from his soul, and touched her all the way down to hers.
Then he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone once again.
But this time, she didn’t feel devastated by the loneliness. Because she wasn’t simply going to lie back and allow it to be her fate. He had chosen this ring. Because of her eyes. That mattered. Because of that, she would fight.
It didn’t matter what had happened before. Her fear had no place. Tarek was brave. A warrior to his soul. She would be nothing less for him. For herself.
With him, she would fight for more. With him, she would fight for everything.
