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

“Haven’t you gawked long enough? Why don’t you go, sell the tale of your encounter with me to the highest bidder?”

“That isn’t why I’m here.”

“No, of course not, you just want to marry me. Live here, in the palace.” He rounded the desk with long strides and his gait languid for two steps before she noticed a break in the rhythm, before she noticed the slight limp that accompanied his movements. He stopped in his tracks then, arms crossed over his broad chest. “With me. Because how could Princess Katharine Rauch, from her idyllic Alpine country ever resist such an opportunity? Do you imagine you’ll be having grand, Arabian Night–themed balls? Is that it? I am not Malik.”

“I know that,” she said, her throat tightening. She was losing control, losing her footing. She couldn’t lose. She had given her word to her father. And she had made a blood oath to her people from the moment of her birth. She was born a Rauch, she was meant to protect her country. And this was the only way she was allowed to do it.

That sense of duty was like a weight on her shoulders, her chest. Some days it made it hard to breathe. But it was a part of her, of who she was.

Katharine’s heart rate kicked up when he took another step toward her, the light in his eyes dark, his black eyebrows locked together. “If you think it doesn’t matter, the difference between Malik and myself, then you live in a foolish fantasy. The reality is this.” He simply stood there and she knew he meant him. His scars. The scars he’d gotten in the same attack on the royal family that had seen Zahir’s parents, and Malik, killed. Not just the royal family, but citizens who had come to watch the procession through the city.

All because of a power grab from a neighboring country. For money and land. What despicable things men did for both. She was trying to keep the same from happening in her own country.

His lip curled into a sneer, tugging at the scar tissue on his cheek. While part of his lip curled up, the edge of his mouth turned down slightly, fused there by a thick ridge of badly healed flesh. “Is this the man you want in your bed at night? For the rest of your life?”

Her eyes went then, not to his face, but to his hands. Large hands, wide and square, they bore scars too. But they also looked like they possessed strength, confidence. The images in her mind were quick and hot, dark hands on pale skin.

Katharine’s body heated from the inside out, warmth pooling in her stomach and spreading slowly through her. The way that he said it was intended to sound like a threat, but his deep, smooth voice made it sound like a promise. Rather than repel her, it fascinated her on a level she didn’t quite understand. No, he didn’t frighten her, but that feeling did. Foreign and strong, filling her with adrenaline and languor at the same time, weakness and strength.

She didn’t know how it had happened. How simple words had affected her like that. She threw it off, pushed ahead. She wasn’t here to be intimidated; she was here to get what she needed. “There is an agreement.”

“Out,” he said, his voice hard, rough.

“I can’t do that. I need to see that this marriage happens, for the good of both of our people. If you can’t see it, I … “

He took another step toward her, so close now she could feel the heat radiating off his body. And not just heat. Rage. And for one fleeting moment a grief that she could almost feel echoing inside of her. It went beyond the strength of normal feelings, and she had the feeling that if it ever found its hold in her, in anyone, it would fill them completely. Consume them completely. It made her wonder how he was able to stand.

And yet he did. Strong and tall.

“I want to be left alone,” he said, the words flat and cold, final in the stillness of the room.

She looked at him, at his face, at the exquisite bone structure beneath his damaged skin, high cheekbones, square jaw, straight, prominent nose. Smooth, olive skin was still present on one side of his face. Beautiful, compelling, offering a glimpse at the man he had been.

But there was nothing beautiful about the scars that marred the other half of his face. They were evil, ugly things that broadcast his pain to the world.

There was something about his eyes, though. They were still enticing, mesmerizing. Fringed with thick, dark lashes, the color of them so dark they seemed black. Even though it was clear one lacked sight, they were incredible eyes. Intelligent and piercing.

Most importantly, they reminded her that he was a man. Not a beast. She could see him in there this time, Zahir, as he had been before the attack. The man she had once met, so many years ago. She had barely spoken with him, but she remembered him. Always quieter than his brother, his face more serious, sort of aloof. All of him had been beautiful then. Captivating in a way that few people were.

He was still captivating, but it wasn’t in the same way.

“This isn’t about want, Zahir,” she said, using his name to enforce the fact that he was only flesh and blood. Even if he was big, scary flesh and blood. “This is about doing what’s right. It’s about honor.”

He looked at her a long time, his expression unreadable. And yet he was searching her, in her. She could feel it. “You assume, Princess, that I am in possession of honor.”

“I know you are.” It was more of a hope than a certainty, but it sounded good at least.

“Get out.” He spoke the words softly, but the command was as powerful as if he had shouted it.

Failure was a foreign sensation to Katharine. She had never failed. She had spent all her life succeeding, proving that she was worthy of the sort of respect her brother had simply been born with. The highest test results, the most successful fundraisers. If a task was given to her, she completed it.

She hadn’t accounted for what she might do if she failed here. As she’d boarded her family’s private plane that morning she’d done so with confidence, enough that she’d sent both plane and pilot back to Austrich already.

In so many ways, failure was not an option.

“Fine,” she said stiffly.

She turned and strode out of his office, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. He slammed the door behind her and she jumped.

Wretched man. Wretched, wicked, beastly man.

She hadn’t counted on this. Obviously there was a possibility he would say no but … she was right. There was no question. She had thought he would see it. That he would understand what had to be done. Instead, he had … growled at her.

Katharine stood in the middle of the empty hall, arms crossed, trying desperately to hold in the body heat that was leaching from her in spite of the hot desert air. She didn’t quite know what to do next. Where to go. Not home. She wouldn’t be welcome anyway, not with the news of such a massive failure.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor behind her and Katharine turned. There was an older woman walking toward her. She recognized her. She’d been the Sheikha’s personal servant, and had accompanied the S’ad al Din family to Austrich.

She searched her brain for a name. “Kahlah?”

The older woman turned and treated Katharine to a slight bow and a warm smile. There was no surprise visible in her lined face, but Katharine imagined she’d been trained to keep her emotions buried all of her life. She knew the feeling.

“Princess Katharine, it has been too long. Do you have business in Hajar?”

“I …” Technically speaking, she did, even though she’d already dealt with it, and been met with a resounding no. “Yes, I do.”

Katharine’s mind started working overtime. Zahir didn’t want her here, that much was clear, but she needed to be here. Because she wasn’t going home having failed her objective. That was an impossibility.