Olivia Gates - Midnight on the Sands

Even now. With all of his rage directed at her, she felt something else vibrating between them. Something even more powerful.

“Have you come to show me how sorry you are with that beautiful body of yours?” he whispered the words, his lips touching her earlobe lightly, a slight tremor in his fingers. “How appropriate. A virgin sacrifice to appease the Beast.” He flexed his hand, fingers spreading wide on her waist, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted him to let her go. And she wanted him to pull her tightly into his body.

He stayed like that, his face so close to hers, his breath feathering against her cheek, hot and intimate. He slid his finger over the line of her jaw, the gesture so gentle and subtle, at odds with the rage vibrating from him. Rage was the surface emotion, but when she looked in his eyes, she saw something else. Need. So raw and real it was a palpable force.

He dropped his arm from her waist, pulling back sharply, the sudden shock of cold as the distance widened between them making goose bumps break out on her arms.

“I don’t need your pity,” he spat, taking another step back.

Anger boiled in Katharine’s stomach, anger and unsatisfied desire, and she had no idea what business either of them had existing beside the other. Although, it seemed it was the same for Zahir. That, at least, provided its own satisfaction.

Zahir’s eyes were cold on her, glittering in the dim room.

“You don’t have my pity,” she said tightly. “I’m sorry for what happened to your family, I’m sorry that you had to go through it. No man, no woman, no one, should ever have to see the things you’ve seen. But right now, you’re just a jackass. And I don’t pity a man who acts like a jackass just because he thinks he can get away with it. We’re getting married in eight weeks. I’m willing to help you. But no matter what you choose, you need to think of a way to civilize yourself. And the flashbacks have nothing to do with that.”

Zahir watched Katharine turn on her heel and stride from the room, her posture stiff, her footsteps hard and loud on the marble floor.

A flood of regret, so real and unfiltered it shocked him, filled him. He gritted his teeth against anger, and the painful arousal that was still making its presence felt.

Five years and he hadn’t felt the slightest twinge of sexual desire. Nothing. But Katharine had brought it roaring to life the first time she’d come into his office. And when he’d come in from his ride in the desert he’d seen her, bending over his bed, her tight butt on display for him, looking like every man’s perfect fantasy … it had been too much.

The need to take her, to push her onto the bed and shove that little dress up around her hips … it had been so strong he’d honestly wondered if he stood a chance of resisting. It had tugged at his control, tearing the threads of it, leaving a mangled mass of desire and lust.

Before, he would have showed his interest. He would have seduced her, and he would have been confident in her desire for him. He’d been a playboy, at least until he’d met Amarah. And women had been easy to come by. Willing and fun, giving of their bodies and pleasure, as he gave of his.

But the man he was now … If there was even a woman willing to bed the Beast, a woman who roused his desire, he would deny it. Because as important as sex and release had been then, control was needed now.

And Katharine had shaken it. If he gave in to the lust, threw off the shackles he had willingly locked onto himself, he didn’t know what might happen.

If she wanted to heal him, she was welcome to it. The truth was, he did have to stand up at their wedding without being assaulted by flashbacks. And he would do it. He wasn’t foolish enough to think it was a simple matter of being strong enough, though he wished it were. It went beyond that. But he would do what he had to.

He would master it. And he would master his feelings for her.

There was no other option.

“What is it you propose we do?” he asked, walking into the courtyard the next morning.

Katharine was already there, her hair pulled up into a neat bun, a cup of coffee frozen midway between the table and her mouth as she looked up at him, green eyes owlishly wide. She set the mug down. “Excuse me?”

“What is it you propose we do to stop the flashbacks. You seemed to have an idea yesterday?”

“And you seemed to be on the verge of throwing me out of the palace last night.”

“That was last night.”

“And so it doesn’t matter?”

He waved a hand in dismissal of her words. “Not anymore.” He was moving past it. Past that strong wave of lust and the anger that had been tangled up in it. He was ready to fight now, like the warrior he was. The warrior that had been lost in the guise of a king for the past five years. Control wasn’t enough. He had to strike out, take the things holding him back by the throat and crush them.

“It does matter. Because it matters to me. I’m not your enemy, Zahir. Your enemies have been dealt with, haven’t they?”

He nodded curtly. Those memories were clear. The men who had thrown grenades beneath his family’s motorcade had been dealt with in the harshest terms the laws allowed.

“I am not one of them. I’m not fighting against you. I’m fighting for my country, for yours. For my brother. And I need a man who is capable of being a strong Regent for Austrich.”

“I am capable. More than. Have you taken a look at the progress that has been made in Hajar since I was appointed?”

“Of course I have. I’ve known …” She averted her eyes. “I’ve known for a while now that there was a possibility I might have to marry you. I’ve been paying attention to what you were doing.”

“While avoiding ever seeing me.”

“It’s not like you’re renowned for your lavish and lively parties.”

“Point taken.”

“And I was ignoring this part of my job,” she said.

“Job?”

“Don’t you consider being Sheikh a job?”

“Of the most demanding variety. Paperwork that never seems to end, and constant … trivial-seeming things that take every last moment of time,” he said.

“And it’s the same for me, even if my responsibilities are different. Marriage was always in the job description. Marriage to forge alliances, at the very least, at most for the reason we’re marrying.”

“But you were ignoring it?”

“Yes. When it was delayed I … took the delay. For as long as I could. In truth, I left it too long because I waited until we were at a crisis point. It was wrong of me.”

“It was better that you did. Wait, that is, because it was your crisis that decided for me.”

“It was?”

“Trade is one thing. It’s advantageous, of course, and it’s important. But I could not condemn your country to civil war. To more spilled blood. I could not face having more on my hands.” He flexed his hands into fists as he said it. He felt the stains there. He should have been able to stop it. At the very least, he should have shielded his brother.

“There isn’t any blood on your hands, Zahir. I’m not your enemy, and you’re not the enemy, either.”

“Enough,” he said, shutting the door on the discussion. On the memories. He couldn’t afford to think about it now, to lose focus. “Back to the original reason I’m here. How do you plan on preparing me for the wedding?”

“I have a few ideas.”

She met his eyes; they were so deep, so lovely and green. Still so filled with emotion and possibility.

“We’ll beat this. We’re going to keep fighting.”

“Ready?” Katharine looked at Zahir’s strong profile and she knew that there was no way he would ever claim to not be ready. His pride wouldn’t permit it.