“I … It’s complicated. But I would be lying if I said that had nothing to do with it.” It was shaming to admit. She’d never truly imagined any man would question it. Royals tended to have that view of the world. A virgin bride was important, and her being able to qualify as royal bride material had always been essential. A part of her purpose. The biggest part.
It had been ingrained in her that it was the right thing. That it was one of her commodities.
The thought made her sick now. It wasn’t something she dwelled on, not usually. Why would she? She hadn’t exactly had suitors banging down her door and part of her had been afraid that, if she’d chosen to seek out relationships, it would make her father start looking for someone else to sell her to.
She’d been enjoying her reprieve too much to let it end. But when marriage to Zahir had come up as her best option for protecting Austrich, she’d been ready.
“What if you need it later?” he asked, his tone dark.
“I’ll be divorced,” she said. “No one will expect it.”
Her throat tightened. Was she really doing this? All but begging the man to have sex with her? Was she really thinking of sleeping with him now, divorcing him and finding someone else later?
Rage shook her, mingling with a slow, rolling shiver of shame that seemed to start in her stomach and move through her limbs, making her feel weak. Angry. “Get out.”
He inclined his head. “As you wish, latifa.”
He turned and walked out. She wanted to call him back. So she could scream at him. So she could make love with him.
She lay back down and curled her knees into her chest. She’d never felt so out of place in her own body. A body that was still humming from his touch, still lit up with pleasure, from all he had done. And inside … inside was raw. Tender and bleeding.
She thought back to the intensity she’d seen on his face when he’d first walked into the bedroom.
I’m here to show you that there are still ways I can put any man to shame.
He hadn’t been here to prove it to her. He’d been proving it to himself. On the heels of the comment that journalist had made … and then Katharine had defended him. His pride had been on the line and he’d used her body to restore it.
He’d given her pleasure, more than she’d ever imagined possible, but it hadn’t been hers. It had been his. His retribution. His proof.
She pounded her fist on her pillow and let out a growl of frustration. She had been his therapy yet again. She had proven useful.
Earlier today she might have accepted that. She’d been helpful, after all. Worthwhile. But that wasn’t what tonight had been for her. It wasn’t what she wanted it to be. She hadn’t been out to prove her worth, she’d been in it for herself. For the driving need that made her body ache and her heart race.
But she didn’t want to be his bandage. She’d wanted to be his woman. His lover.
And now she was just convinced that there was truly nothing behind the rock wall he’d built around his soul. Nothing but darkness.
Avoidance, it turned out, was easy in the Hajari palace, as long as it was what Katharine wished.
Zahir had hardly seen her in the week and a half since the impromptu press conference. Since he’d come to her room and tortured himself by inches while he tasted and caressed her gorgeous, smooth body.
All he had been able to do was worship her perfection. Because he had not allowed himself to take. He had been too afraid. Of what might happen. Of what he might do or say. Of harming her in some way. Of what might happen if the rock-hard barrier of his control burst and all of the images came pouring through while he was at his most vulnerable.
He had not allowed himself to seek women out. Had not allowed himself to remember the kind of oblivion sex could bring, because oblivion was not kind to him anymore. It made him lose everything. He could not do that to her. Lose himself in her. He would not be a man if he were willing to do such a thing.
He might harm her in the worst case scenario, and in the best, she would find herself without that bargaining chip she had in her virginity.
A shiver of disgust ran through him. He didn’t see it that way, but his barbarian ancestors certainly had. His father, it seemed, had too. He doubted Malik had cared one way or the other. His brother had had such a laid-back manner, such an open acceptance and ease to him.
He was not Malik. That was for certain. Katharine would have been better off with Malik. Or with him, if the attack hadn’t happened. An ache spread through him, fierce, painful. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to think of what might have been if he and Katharine had been able to meet before the attack. If they had simply been a man and a woman.
“But that isn’t what happened,” he said into the empty space of his office.
And all of his reasons for stopping himself from having sex with her remained.
But his body was punishing him for it. He woke hard and aching in the middle of the night, his mind filled with visions of her pleasure-clouded eyes, full, parted lips reddened from kissing. That soft, curvy body. Perfect in every way, nothing to mar to her luscious beauty. The sound of her soft sighs filling his ears.
It was better than images of exploding grenades and the sounds of chaos and screaming.
The door to his office opened and he knew it was Katharine. Anyone else would have knocked. Katharine didn’t behave like everyone else. She didn’t bow and scrape and defer to his every command.
“We leave for Austrich tomorrow.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Well, I thought we should formulate a plan.” She eyed him as though it was his fault there wasn’t one, her pert chin angled out, her lips pursed.
He put his palms flat on his desk and stood, leaning in slightly. Her scent caught him, so warm and inviting. “I am not the one who has been doing the avoiding.”
Her mouth opened and closed, reminiscent of a goldfish. “I have not been avoiding you.”
“Well, you haven’t invaded my bedroom or my gym in nearly two weeks, and it’s been the same amount of time since you’ve invaded my office. Not only that, but you haven’t taken Lilah out for a ride. You’ve been hiding.”
“I don’t hide,” she said stiffly.
“Don’t you?” He looked at her haughty pose, at those steely-green eyes of hers. “You’re hiding now. Behind this facade. Emotionless, forceful, but I know the real woman. I’ve held her in my arms while she came apart with her pleasure.”
Color flooded her pale cheeks. “Just because you gave me an orgasm doesn’t mean you know me.”
“That’s not why I know you.”
He didn’t know why he said it, why he pressed. Except that he wanted her to admit that there was something between them. That there was heat. That she was more than the uppity princess that had stormed his castle over a month ago.
Because she was. He was certain of it.
It should not matter. Whoever she is, she’ll be gone when Alexander is of legal age. She’ll never be yours.
And he didn’t want her to be. It was a cruel joke, the mere thought of it. Because she was perfection. She was light and open and beneath that spine of steel, there was strength.
He was darkness. And he wanted to remain in the shadows. How could he do anything else when no one else involved in the attack was able to do anything? They were gone. They could never move on from it. Why should he? How could he? It seemed his duty, his responsibility, to cling to the memory, but it kept