Maisey Yates - Midnight on the Sands - Hajar's Hidden Legacy / To Touch a Sheikh / Her Sheikh Protector

“Not if you … I don’t want to … “

“You told me you’re not fragile. Neither am I,” he said. “I used to dance. I didn’t take lessons or anything, but especially during my university years in Europe, I danced quite a bit.” Not that he’d enjoyed it for its own sake. It had been more of a pickup technique. But it had worked.

“That surprises me.”

“It shouldn’t. Women like to dance and I always liked women.”

“And they liked you.”

“It seems another lifetime ago, but if I can ride a horse, I’m certain I can dance. Unless you don’t want to dance with a man who might limp through the steps.”

She frowned. “That’s not it. I don’t want to tax you, I … “

A shot of competitiveness sent a spark of adrenaline through him. “ Latifa , you are welcome to try to tax me. I doubt you will be able to.”

A stubborn spark lit her eye, an answer to his challenge. Good. He wanted her to challenge him. To see him as a man, and not her patient. “I’d like to see some of these dancing skills,” she said.

“Not up to par with what you’re used to, I’m certain. But I know I still can.”

He held out his hand and she simply stared at it. “I’m not really used to anything. I haven’t done a lot of dancing.”

“That surprises me.”

“Why?”

“You’re a beautiful woman.”

Katharine cleared her throat and looked away, the compliment making her feel self-conscious. “Well, I am a woman who was promised to a sheikh in marriage. And who anticipated being used for another political union so … I was never really encouraged to dance.”

“And you need encouragement to do things? I thought you did as you pleased.”

“I do what my father asks,” she said quietly. “What makes him see some kind of value in me.”

Zahir’s eyebrows locked together, his expression fierce. He leaned in, cupping her chin and tilting her face up so that she had to look at him. “If he does not see the value in you, he is a blind fool. No, not even blind. I can’t see out of one eye, and yet I see your value.”

Katharine swallowed hard, her eyes riveted to his. “Do you?”

“You are the only person who has challenged me, on this side of the attack or the other. You have more tenacity than any man I have ever met.”

“Same goes,” she said, fighting to keep from crying, to keep from melting over the words he’d just spoken. They were balm on a wound she hadn’t realized was so raw. “Now,” she said, trying to change the topic before she dissolved, “dance with me.”

Eyes trained on her, Zahir bent and picked up a flat remote from the side table, pointing it upward and hitting one of the buttons. Slow, sexy jazz guitar filled the air. Not what she expected against the Arabic backdrop, but maybe even more fitting because of that. Because none of this was what she expected.

Zahir advanced on her slowly, his black eyes on hers, his movements languid, despite the limp. He held out his hand and she took it, warmth flooding her when his fingers entwined with hers. He pulled her to him, her breasts meeting his chest, and he wound his other arm around her waist. For a moment she saw it, the playboy he’d been. The man who’d had women falling at his feet, into his bed.

It coupled with the other things she knew about him, the intensity of the trauma he’d undergone. How far he had come since. As sexy as he had been before the attacks, as attractive as he’d been when he’d been a playboy dancing his way through the clubs in Europe, she knew that Zahir couldn’t touch the man he was now.

This Zahir possessed a fire. An intensity. He had clawed over every obstacle in his path. He had emerged with a strength and honor that made her feel so safe with him. That made her respect him in ways she’d never respected another human being.

And on top of all that, when he held her to the heat of his body, she felt a kind of desire she’d never even dreamed possible.

It made her shivery inside.

His movements weren’t completely smooth, his limp impossible to disguise entirely. But he had rhythm, more naturally than she did. Then, as she’d told Zahir, she hadn’t done a lot of dancing. This made her wish she had. Made her wish she’d pursued a little more than what duty asked of her.

This was a layer of life she’d never explored. She was starting to fear that there were many of them. Beneath that thin layer of what royal life offered her, there was so much more. A richness and depth she’d never yet reached.

She’d never been conscious of it before.

He moved his hand from her lower back, around to the curve of his hip, his fingers tightening there, gripping her. She looked up, met his dark gaze. She didn’t want to turn away.

She tightened her arms around his neck, bringing herself in closer. Needing to be closer. Needing to simply be near him. Needing something even more than that, and not quite knowing how to get it.

This wasn’t part of the plan. Any plan. Human touch, human warmth, was unfamiliar to her. And right now, Zahir was hot. And so very close.

She unclasped her hands and wove her fingers through his thick, black hair. A deep rumble echoed in his chest, his eyes hot on hers.

She slid her hand forward, up the side of his neck, cupping his cheek, his skin rough from stubble beneath her palm. She needed more. She needed closer. Needed to satisfy the empty well of longing that had opened up in her. A well she was afraid might be impossible to fill.

But she could try. She had to try.

She stretched up on her toes, pressing her lips lightly against his. It was like an electric shock, the current starting where their mouths met and skittering through her veins, sending a shot of adrenaline straight to her heart.

He was still beneath her lips, his fingers curling around the skirt of her dress, the material bunching in his fist. The rumble turned to a growl, low and feral. Sexy on a level she’d never imagined something like that could be.

Granted, her experience with men and kissing was limited. So limited it could almost be called nonexistent. Because she’d known that she would have to marry for her country. For many traditional leaders a virgin bride would be expected. It had been written into the contract hers and Malik’s fathers had signed.

She wondered why she’d stood for that now. Why she’d calmly let them decree something like that. Something so personal and hers . Because it had seemed right then. Like she had to do the best thing for Austrich, and if that meant not ever having a real relationship of her choosing …

She had done that. Sacrificed ever pursuing a man she was interested in because of a marriage contract drawn up six years ago.

The realization was obvious, but stunning. The sudden understanding of what personal, private things in her life had been controlled by those she trusted.

No one was making her do this. She wanted this.

She deepened the kiss, parting her lips and sliding her tongue over the outline of his top lip, over the slashing scar that ran through it. He shuddered beneath the touch, every muscle in his back shivering beneath her fingertips.

He tightened his hold on her, brought her tight against his body. She could feel his erection pressing firmly against her stomach. She broke the kiss to suck in a sharp breath and he took advantage, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, the curve of her neck. Teeth nipping, his tongue soothing.

He moved his hands from her hips to her waist, his hold tight, but good. She loved the intensity of it, him clinging to her as though she was bringing him life, as though she were water in the desert.

He was to her. His touch, his mouth. It was heady, intoxicating, far beyond anything she’d ever imagined possible. It was like having a veil torn from her eyes, seeing everything clearly for the first time.