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

Her pulse pounded, her blood turning fizzy in her veins. And if he did? If he did, she didn’t think she’d refuse him. Quite the opposite. He was in her already, mingled in who she was, like the grains of sand in the vase.

“Just … just a moment.” She turned and headed to the punch table, giving a finger wave to a cluster of women she’d gone to school with.

“Katharine?” One of the women, Katharine couldn’t remember her name, stepped to the forefront of the group. “You aren’t going to live in Hajar now, are you?”

Katharine frowned. “Of course I am. We’ll still be here sometimes, of course.” Especially if Zahir had to fulfill his duties as Regent. Most of it could be done remotely, especially with parliament in the solid shape it was in. But there would be traveling.

The other woman narrowed her eyes. “Won’t you have to wear a veil there?”

Katharine shook her head. “No. Women aren’t veiled in Hajar.”

One of the women in the back, Ann, Katharine remembered, because she’d always been awful, snorted a laugh. “It’s not the women who need to be veiled, though, is it?”

Katharine stiffened, anger rolling through her. Anger and the need to strike out, to wound as she was wounded. Because the comment seemed aimed at her heart.

Everything in her itched to slap the smug smile from the other woman’s face. But with press everywhere, it would be the slap heard around Europe. And while part of her found that very attractive, she knew it would end up being much more trouble than it was worth.

“If that’s your assessment it’s clear you don’t know what true sex appeal is, Ann,” she said, keeping her voice as soft and even in tone as possible. “And my husband has it.”

“In that case,” Ann returned, “you had better hope you have it in you to hold on to him. I remember how you were in school. Trust me, sweetheart, rule following isn’t sexy. And a shy little virgin like yourself, and no point pretending you aren’t, is hardly going to hold the interest of a man who’s done so much … living.”

A sharp slug of anger and insecurity jabbed at her. She knew Ann was just taking strips off her because it was what Ann did, but that didn’t erase the small amount of damage her remarks had done. It didn’t help that Zahir didn’t seem to have too hard a time resisting her. That he’d been in bed with her, toying with her body, bringing her past the point of reason and control, and then simply walked away hadn’t been the biggest ego boost anyway.

Ann’s eyes widened and Katharine turned sharply, into the warmth of Zahir’s solid chest. His fingers curled into her arms, pulling her more tightly against him, the strength in his touch reminiscent of the day in the market.

She looked into his eyes, black wells of anger, and she knew he was still with her. But he was not happy.

And judging by the wide-eyed fear registering on Ann’s face, she knew it.

“If you have upset my bride, I will have no choice but to see you out. And I will not bother to send for the guards,” he said, his voice hard.

“It’s fine, Zahir,” Katharine said, unaccustomed to having someone stand up for her. It touched her, though, made her feel warm. Drew out the venom from Ann’s insult.

“Ready, latifa ?” he asked, the darkness radiating from him in palpable waves.

“More than,” she said, caressing his arm lightly before following him out of the knot of people.

When the guests noticed they were leaving, there was major fanfare, and they lined the sides of the ballroom, flinging white petals onto the marble floors. A pathway for the bride and groom, a symbol of new beginnings.

As they made their way out of the massive room she felt Zahir tensing beside her, felt the burning heat of his rage as it warmed his skin.

When the heavy doors closed behind them, Zahir ran his hands over his short dark hair and stood still for a moment, not looking at her, before he turned and stormed out the door that led into the gardens.

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