Hajar's Hidden Legacy Page 7

  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.

  “Yes.”

  Which told her nothing because she’d already known what his answer would be. “Good.”

  The driver pulled the car forward and out of the palace, heading toward the city center. “It isn’t as though I don’t travel,” he said.

  “I know you do. A little bit. And I also know you avoid driving near places like the market, where people might crowd the car.”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said, his words short. Clipped.

  “I never said you were.”

  “You think it. There is nothing for me to be afraid of. I have faced death and if it came again, I would fight it, and if I couldn’t fight it, I would embrace it. What I don’t like is having my mind taken over. Having no control over what I see. Over what I do. I would much more happily face death.” His entire body was tense, each muscle tightened. “Do you know what it’s like … to have to spend so much energy keeping the demons at bay? To never have one moment of peace? I relive it. Daily. Not to the degree you witnessed in the market, but it is never truly gone.”

  She swallowed, her throat tight. “Why?”

  “I … I have to remember it,” he said, his voice rough.

  “No, Zahir, you don’t.”

  “Everyone is dead, Katharine. Malik, my mother, my father, the guards in the motorcade who were there to protect us. How can I let it go? Should I get over it? They never will. They’re gone.”

  The pain in his words burned into her, marking her. In that moment, she understood. He carried the memory of his family’s last moments because he felt that not doing so would diminis
h the tragedy. She understood, because she felt like she had to shoulder some of his pain. That she had to share. So he wouldn’t be alone.

  “They are gone,” she said softly. “But you’re here. And I need you. Your people need you. And that’s why you’ll beat it.”

  He focused on his palms. “I thought I had.” He looked away. “No, I knew I had not. But I thought I had them managed. The two I’ve had since you’ve arrived were the first true flashbacks I’ve had in over a year.”

  She tried to force a laugh. “So … it’s me then.”

  Dark eyes locked with hers. “You make it hard to concentrate, that much is true. And yet somehow—” he looked away again “—your voice … your face … brought me back.”

  Emotion rose in her fast and fierce like a tide. “Good. We’ll go with that.” She rested her hand on the seat between them. “Hold on to me if you feel it coming.”

  He looked down at her hand, a dark eyebrow arched, his expression filled with pure, masculine stubbornness. It was welcome compared to the bleak, grief-stricken look that had come over him when he’d spoken of his family. “I will block it out.”

  “If it were that simple that’s what you would always do.”

  His expression was fierce. “It should be that simple. I should be stronger.”

  “You should be stronger? You should bear all this weight and somehow heal at the same time? How should you be stronger, Zahir? You survived. Not only that, you’re ruling your country in a way that would make your father and Malik so proud.”

  “They were made for this life. They were born to it. Men of diplomacy, men of the people.” He laughed, a sound that was cold and humorless. Laced with a kind of bitter pain that was so real and unvarnished it hurt to hear it. “We both know I am not a diplomat, to say the least.”

  “You care for your people. Just because you don’t spend your life in the public eye doesn’t mean you don’t. Just because it isn’t as easy for you doesn’t mean you don’t do just as well as Malik would have.”

  “Why exactly do you want to fix me, latifa?” he asked, ignoring her earlier words.

  There it was again. Beauty. The entire sentence was dripping with insincerity, and yet she found herself clinging to that one word, turning it over. She’d been called beautiful so many times, mostly by the press. The same press that might turn around and call her ugly the next day if she wore a shade of yellow that didn’t flatter her skin tone. It had never mattered. If the insult could be a lie, so could the compliment.

  Her father used it, too. Sincerely, and yet it always seemed to undermine any value she had as a person. It had become an annoyance. A near insult in its own right.

  But for some reason, hearing it from Zahir’s lips made something happen inside of her. A warm kind of tingling that spread through her body, pooling low in her stomach.

  She blinked and looked up at him, into his flat, black eyes. “I … because I have to. The wedding. We have to show strength.”

  Her words were clumsy. And they were wrong. There was so much more to this now, to what she was feeling. But she didn’t know what else to say. Always, she had worked for her country’s betterment. Even her time in the hospitals had been in service of their military men. She didn’t really know how to separate what she wanted from what she was supposed to do.

  Except for those light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel moments where she had some vague, exhilarating sense of freedom. Whatever that meant.

  Although now, sitting with Zahir, even with the tension and sadness, she felt peace. A kind of peace she never felt.

  The car turned, taking the more densely populated route that would lead them into the heart of the city. She sensed Zahir tensing next to her and stretched her hand out so that her fingertips rested against his. She’d said the wrong thing, but the physical touch seemed like the right thing.

  And he accepted it.

  The road narrowed and became more crowded with vehicle and foot traffic as they neared the market, and everything slowed to a crawl. She could sense Zahir’s anxiety as the people closed in on the car, weaving around them so they could cross the street.

  “Look at me,” she said.

  He turned his head, his forehead glossed with sweat, his jaw set tight.

  “Look at me,” she said again. “I’m here. So are you.”

  His hand drifted closer to hers until it engulfed it, his thumb lightly moving over her knuckles. He tightened his hold on her for a moment, then released, then squeezed again. Her chest felt tight, too tight. Watching him fight like he was, she felt like she was seeing strength beyond anything she’d ever witnessed. Because he was battling inner demons that went well beyond what most men would be asked to face. Beyond what anyone should ever be asked to endure.

  “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she said softly.

  “Just keep doing it,” he said, his teeth gritted. “Because it seems to be working.”

  Her throat tightened. She was angry. So angry that he was dealing with this. That someone had done this to him. And she didn’t know what sort of help or hope she could offer.

  “What did you do last night?” she asked.

  He blew out a breath, his jaw loosening slightly. “Caught an intruder in my bedroom.”

  She felt the corners of her mouth tug up into a smile. “Before that.”

  “I was riding. My horse. She makes up for what I can’t see. And while there are cars with the technology to help with that … it isn’t the same.”

  “No, it couldn’t be. Animals have an intuition that technology can’t possess. I like to ride, too.” She took a breath. Took a chance. “I’d like to go out with you. Riding, I mean.”

  He nodded slowly. “In the evening sometime,” he said. “When it isn’t too hot.”

  “I’d like that.”

  They were through the center of town, through the crowd of people. He relaxed, pulling his hand away and placing it in his lap.

  “Are you ready to go back?” she asked, wondering if they’d pushed hard enough for the day.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  And she knew that he meant it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ZAHIR stopped in the doorway of the library. Katharine was there, sitting by the fireplace, an orange glow bathing the pages of her book, and her pale skin. The fire wasn’t really necessary, even though the desert did get cooler at night. But he had a feeling Katharine had lit it for ambiance, comfort. She was that kind of person. The kind who enjoyed moments, small, simple things. Like flowers in vases.

  When it didn’t irritate him, it amazed him. Made him ache for something he didn’t truly believe he could ever find for himself.

  It made him feel like he should turn away from her. To go back to where things were numb.

  But he didn’t want to. For the moment, he would take the ache with the pleasure of seeing her. “Come riding with me.”

  She looked up at him, a smile spreading over her face. “I’d love to.” She stood from the chair she’d been sitting in and set her book on the side table.

  It did strange things to his stomach, to have her say she wanted to do something with him. And she smiled at him. Very few people smiled at him.

  But then, Katharine was like very few people.

  “Not in that,” he said, looking at the brief sundress she was wearing. It was her standard uniform, and one he wouldn’t complain about, because he could look at her legs all day, but it wasn’t workable riding gear. Even if the thought did make his blood pump faster, hotter than it had in years.

  “I’ll change.”

  She walked past him and his eyes were drawn down to the shapely curve of her hips as they swayed with each step. Fierce hunger gripped him, lust tightening into his stomach like metal hooks, digging deep, painfully so.

  He wanted her with a need that defied logic. A need that defied reality. Katharine had an untouchable beauty, ethereal and earthy at the same time. The kind a man could only dream of tasting onc
e in his life.

  The kind he could never touch.

  And she was to be his wife. But not his wife in any true sense of the word. A woman still so far out of his reach, she might as well be back in her own country. A woman he had no right to touch.

  He’d been crazy to force her to stay in Austrich as part of the arrangement. At the time, he’d been trying to punish her. Now he could see it was only punishing him.

  She had offered herself to him once, offered to have a marriage with him on whatever terms he desired. Right now, he desired whatever terms would make stripping her of that little dress and losing himself in her body acceptable.

  “Just a second,” she said, slipping into her room and closing the door behind her.

  He rested his palm, still raw from the day he’d fallen into the broken vase shards, on the cold, painted wood of the door. It was a poor substitute for the warm, soft flesh of a woman. But it would have to do.

  It had been so long since he’d touched a woman’s skin. But he would rather live as a monk for the rest of his life than force a woman into his bed. Not physically, and not through manipulation. He would have a partner who desired him. An impossible desire, perhaps. Pride still lived in him, as much as his injuries would allow. That, and humanity. He would never sink to such a base level. He might be known as a Beast, but he was still a man. No amount of sexual frustration would strip him of that.

  He curled his fingers in, making a fist that still rested against the cool surface of the door. He was a man. He would not use her need for marriage, her altruistic intentions to save her country, to get her into bed.

  But he was tempted. So much he shook with it. Tempted to disregard what she might want, how she might feel about him, what letting his guard down to that degree might do to both of them, and think of his desire alone.

  “Ready.” She opened the door and stepped out in a pair of figure-hugging sand-colored leggings and a structured olive-green jacket. It was like the runway version of a riding outfit. Fitted, sleek and eye-catching.