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

It was a small wedding, by royal standards, at Katharine’s request. That had been out of deference to his issues, he was certain. Something that galled.

Still, small meant at least two hundred guests, filling the ancient stone sanctuary, along with the music of the strong quartet. It was loud. Packed. He could feel it all closing in.

A curvy little blonde in a spring-green dress began her walk down the aisle. She was Katharine’s maid of honor; he nearly remembered being introduced to her the night before, although now, her name escaped him. It had all become very fuzzy. Everything seemed a little fuzzy.

He blinked hard, tried to ignore the metallic tang that coated his tongue. The fear that seemed to be slowly binding his muscle and sinew, making him feel frozen, stiff.

He was not a man given to prayer. But standing there, in a church, he felt it appropriate to send up a request. That he not do this here. He had wanted to do it all on his own strength, and yet it was proving impossible. He would take borrowed strength if he could use it to simply get through.

The sharp change in the music cut through the fuzzy edges of his mind, and he turned his focus to the doors that led from the sanctuary out into the foyer. They parted, and all of his focus zeroed in on the angel that moved through them.

An answer to his prayer.

Katharine looked as though she was floating, her strawberry-blond hair cascading over her shoulders, the frothy, lacy dress flowing and shimmering with each step she took. But that wasn’t what held him captive.

It was her face. The same face that had brought him back in the marketplace. The same face he had watched alter beautifully as he gave her pleasure.

As Katharine came into view everything else faded away. It was as they had planned it, of course. But he had not imagined it would work quite so well.

He extended his hand, and she took it, and in an instant, he was warm again.

He leaned in. “You didn’t have your father give you away.”

She shook her head. “This was my decision,” she whispered.

Good for her. Katharine was running on extra strength today, too, it seemed.

The priest spoke in Latin, and at length. And Zahir didn’t know the meaning of the entire ceremony. But he did know what the bejeweled goblets filled with sand placed near the back of the stage meant. A Hajari tradition, one that he had not thought would be included here.

The vows were spoken in each of their native languages, and before the priest made his pronouncement, he gestured to the two chalices of sand. One filled with white sand, one golden brown, set on either side of a clear glass vase.

“Now Sheikh Zahir and Princess Katharine have chosen to seal their vows with a tradition from the Sheikh’s homeland,” he said, his voice thinner in English, his tone disdainful.

“What is this?” Katharine whispered.

“A Hajari tradition. Your father must have seen fit to add this.” Because he’d known what it meant. An unsubtle reminder, perhaps, that the union was meant to be permanent.

Keeping her hand in his, he led her to the table, where they knelt on velvet cushions.

“What does it mean?” she asked, keeping her voice hushed.

He picked up both cups, and handed the one filled with white sand to Katharine. “The sand represents us, as individuals. Today, we do not leave here as two, but one.”

He tipped his cup over the vase and poured a measured amount inside it. “Now you,” he said.

Katharine did the same, and then he repeated the motion until they had emptied the cups, layering the sand into the vase.

“You are still there,” he said, pointing to a bright streak of sand. “As am I. But, just like the sand, we will be impossible to separate. We are bonded together.”

Katharine’s green eyes looked glassy, her mouth dropped in shock. He leaned in and put his lips near her ear. “I’m sorry. I did not know this would be a part of the service.”

She nodded stiffly. “It’s … it’s all right.”

He led her back over to where the priest stood, her hand trembling in his. The priest made his pronouncement, and gave the command to kiss the bride. A command Zahir was more than happy to follow. Just for another taste, brief though it would be.

He leaned in slowly, watched her green eyes flutter closed as he descended. He pressed a soft kiss against plump, tender lips. The sensation was enough to take him out at the knees. Explosive in every way. Incredible.

And it was only a hint of the kind of pleasure her body offered. He knew, because he’d experienced much deeper torture at her hands. Rather, his own. She had been ready. And he had been forced to deny them both.

She pressed her mouth more firmly against his and he simply rested there for a moment, caught up in her touch. Just a moment of warmth. Of being surrounded by her.

Then he pulled away, his hand still joined with hers and the guests clapped for them as the priest introduced them as a married couple for the first time. He thought he felt Katharine’s fingers tighten on his, almost imperceptibly.

They walked down the aisle together, the crowd a blur as they passed by. And he kept his eyes on Katharine, and his mind firmly in the present.

“Ready?” Zahir asked, his hand extended.

The crowd had made a half circle in the massive ballroom, preparing for the bride and groom dance.

The reception had been a blur from the moment they’d walked in, so many well-wishers, and cake, and a fountain that was spraying punch. It was everything a wedding should be. Except real.

The sand had thrown her. It had been so symbolic, the depth of it a shock she hadn’t anticipated. It was how marriage should be. Their own color, their own individuality still on show, yet entwined with their partner’s. There would be no easy way to separate the sand, and it had struck her then, how hard it would be to separate herself from Zahir.

But she would have to. As long as she remembered that she would be fine. She just couldn’t forget. The sand was just a thing. Just sand. It wasn’t them.

But in that moment …

“Yes, I’m ready.”

They moved into the open area that had been cleared for the dance, and Zahir drew her into his body, one arm banded across her waist.

They had a live orchestra this time instead of the slow, sensual music they’d danced to in the library at the palace. But the guitar music was what she heard in her head. She felt everything recede.

Oh, so dangerous. So stupid. And yet, she found she couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to.

He leaned in, his cheek pressed against hers, the skin rough on hers. But it felt right. It felt like Zahir.

“We made it through,” he said, his voice soft, his breath hot against her neck.

“You did it,” she whispered.

“I looked at you.”

They didn’t speak again, they simply moved with the music while Katharine fought the overwhelming tide of emotion threatening to consume her.

She could feel his heart beating against hers, matching hers. She’d never felt so close to anyone before. Had never wanted so badly to hold someone to her. And she didn’t want to know what that meant.

So she just wouldn’t think. Not now.

When the song ended, Zahir released her. It happened far too soon. If it were possible to freeze a moment, she would have done it with that one. In that moment, the desire to be in his arms was simple. She had accomplished what she’d needed to accomplish as far as the marriage went and she could rest. And be happy for a moment.

“I need a drink,” she said, as they walked back off the floor. “You?”

“I am ready to be done.” The way he said it, the look in his dark eyes … she wondered if he wanted to claim his wedding night. In the most traditional sense of the word.