Royal Sins: Bound to the Warrior King / Protecting the Desert Heir / Pursued by the Desert Prince

CHAPTER EIGHT

A WEEK SINCE his encounter with Olivia had done nothing to cool the arousal in his blood. She tempted him, she tempted him beyond the need for anything else. He had been in dire straits in the desert. Sometimes without food, sometimes without water. And yet, now he craved her more than he craved either of those things. And it was unacceptable.

He was determined not to succumb to this. This wild need that was like a prowling animal inside him, tearing at years of well-practiced restraint.

Even now, he could taste her on his lips. Could recall exactly the soft, delicate feel of her mouth beneath his.

He had nearly crushed her beneath his need. He had been rough. He despised himself for that. For his lack of restraint.

He paced the length of his chamber. He had set the wedding day today. Had told his advisor that everything would need to be planned and set into motion for a ceremony to take place in two weeks’ time. He’d had a notice sent to Olivia. He imagined she would be quite annoyed with him.

He didn’t care. He was quite annoyed with her.

With all that she made him feel.

She expected sex. Of course she did. She had been married before, and she had no reason to expect their relationship to deviate from what she considered normal.

Nothing about him was normal.

He considered himself the furthest thing from an innocent. After all, he had endured grief, loss, torture. He had taken the lives of enemies when necessary. There was no place for innocence when you had watched a man’s soul depart from his body at your own hand. No, no room for it at all.

And yet, while he considered himself devoid of innocence, the word virgin hung large as an accurate description for his state of being. Indeed, he had never even kissed a woman until that moment with Olivia. There had never been opportunity. Or perhaps there had been. There had been many women in the Bedouin camps, widows who probably would have appreciated a bit of comfort and company. But he had never allowed his focus to stray. Had never allowed the impulses of his body to control his actions.

That focus, that determination had been paramount to his survival. Releasing his hold on it was never an option.

Whether he was a virgin or not had never mattered until now. Sexual desire was simply another appetite he’d cast off.

But he was discovering that introducing the desire for sex, the appetite for it, was much different than an appetite for food. He had managed to find ways to keep himself fed without allowing himself to desire rich flavors. Without allowing himself to be controlled by specific cravings.

Now that he had tasted Olivia, he wondered if there was any way to satisfy sexual need in a basic way. One that wouldn’t consume.

He doubted it now.

Of course, part of the issue was that he remained uneducated on the subject.

He had seen a great many animals copulate. Knew what that looked like. Knew the mechanics. And yet, the way Olivia looked at him, the way she responded to his touch, the way he had watched his brother abandon all for the sake of hedonistic appetites, told him that there was much more to it than that.

And beyond that, the gnawing hunger that had taken residence inside him from the moment he had first seen Olivia told him there was more.

Preparation. That was what always helped a new soldier. Doing drills, learning everything there was to know about the enemy.

Preparation made events seem less remarkable.

Of course, there was no way for him to acquire physical practice. But when practical experience couldn’t be had, reading would suffice.

He walked across the room to the vast library housed in the other end of the chamber, certain there was a book here that would satisfy his curiosity. After all, his brother had purchased a great many of the books.

His brother had been a bit shorter than he was, so Tarek looked slightly lower than eye level scanning the center shelves for anything that seemed to pertain to the subject. He was not disappointed.

He opened the volume, his eye immediately drawn to the detailed sketches of anatomy on the first pages. Yes, he could see he had a great deal to learn. He turned the page and there was a drawing of a man caressing a woman’s bare breasts. He thought of Olivia, the way she had felt pressed against his body. The soft, feminine shape of her and how she had fitted so perfectly against him.

Need bloomed hot and low in his stomach.

In that moment, he had a great many of his own fantasies. But he wanted to know all of the possibilities. He wanted to miss nothing.

He squashed that thought. This wasn’t about him. It was about her. Fulfilling his obligations as a husband and nothing more.

More important even than fulfilling obligations was mastering his need. He must form a strategy so that when faced with his opponent, he would not waver.

She was so soft. And his hands, warrior’s hands, so rough. When he placed them over her body he had to be sure he would deliver only pleasure. Had to be certain he would not...break her.

Of course he knew the mechanics of sex. He’d been fifteen when he’d left the palace after all. But fifteen-year-old boys might nudge each other and talk about women’s bodies. But they did not discuss a woman’s pleasure. Did not discuss control.

He needed to understand both of those things. For Olivia had known the touch of another man. She deserved pleasure.

And he required control.

An hour later, he had made it halfway through the book and was not feeling at all like education had done anything to lessen his desire. Certainly, he had some ideas that were new. And very, very interesting.

But that had not been the plan.

There was a firm knock on his door, and he cast the book aside. Strange that this was something he felt the need to hide, but he did. He hated needing to admit his lack of mastery.

He stood, ignoring the vague ache in his groin and the tightness in his stomach as he made his way to the door.

He opened the door only to meet Olivia’s fearsome blue gaze. “Yes?”

“I am informed, by a member of staff, by the way, not you, that we are to be married in two weeks.”

“Yes,” he bit out.

He would not allow her entry. His head was entirely filled with the images in that book and the images painted by the explicit instructions. And if he allowed her to get too close, he would only be tempted to put his new education to practical use.

“That’s impossible. It takes months to plan an event of that magnitude. You forget, I have been through this before.”

Yes, she had. In this, and in the things he had just been researching, she had more experience than he did.

But he frightened people. And he found that was more effective than experience at times.

Not with sex, obviously, but in the planning of a wedding, yes.

“It is eminently possible. This will not be like your first wedding.”

“Well, it couldn’t be. Good luck getting five hundred live doves this late in the game.”

“I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I’m not. My first wedding was ridiculous. Beautiful, but ridiculous.”

“I cannot promise this wedding will be less ridiculous. Less extravagant, certainly.”

“Two weeks?”

He arched a brow. “Did you want more time?”

She shook her head resolutely. “No. I am decided. But I’m doubtful that you can pull this off in two weeks.”

“Why would you doubt? I have you to help.”

“I can’t decide if I feel complimented or put upon.”

“Why choose one? You are a woman, and I’m quickly learning that means you can be both.”

“You do learn quickly,” she said.

He hoped so.

“Two weeks,” he reiterated.

“Two weeks,” she said. “But, Tarek, next time, tell me yourself when you set our wedding date.”

He nodded, attempting a smile, because this, he was confident, was a joke of sorts. “Next time.”

* * *

Two weeks passed quickly. Were Tarek a beloved monarch who had been on the throne for years, he could see the point of creating a spectacle out of his wedding. For the media, for the citizens. But as he was not, he felt there were better ways to spend his country’s money than on a lavish event they had not chosen, and one he and Olivia certainly didn’t need.

He had, in the past few weeks, spent time looking at photos of Olivia. It was easier than talking to her to gather information. Perhaps not the most up-front way of going about getting to know her, but he had been avoiding her since the kiss.

During that research he had seen photos of her at many social events. And he had seen her first husband. Polished, as blond as she was. He had seen their wedding. An intricate event that had lasted two days and commanded the attention of the media worldwide.

And then Tarek had seen pictures of her with himself. Mainly unsmiling, definitely not polished.

There was a photo of her holding his face, just after the speech. Her hands were so very pale on his dark skin. Highlighting the differences between them. She had said she did not think of herself as being part of her first husband still, and yet, looking at the pictures, he could see that she had been. They blended.

Whereas he...he did not look as if he belonged with her.

Of course, that was immaterial. They were marrying each other anyway. Today, in fact.

Which meant that tonight he would be out of excuses for not consummating the attraction between them. He gritted his teeth. They were not excuses. He had valid reasoning for resisting the heat that fired in his blood whenever she touched him. What he had said to her about his brother was true. Malik had been a man entirely ruled by his own desires. Tarek was a man made entirely of resistance. A man who had learned to shun everything unnecessary.

Seeing to his wife’s physical needs now fell under the banner of his responsibility, he could not deny that. But giving in to temptation in his bedroom after the speech seemed a violation of everything he was.

He had wanted her then. Hard, and fast. He had known it would be fast.

Heat lashed him like a whip.

He was more prepared now than he had been then. He had read not just one, but several books on the subject. And he had learned a great deal about female anatomy. He was grateful that he had, because he’d had no idea just how intricate the mechanics of the act could be.

Neither had he anticipated just how much his body would be captivated with the promise of it.

He had spent thirty years denying his impulses. His needs.

The prospect of no longer denying certain impulses loomed large. The thought, the very idea, had worked its way under his skin like a bullet, traveling through his body, blooming outward slowly, looking for a place to land where it might destroy whatever it touched.

Not the most delightful analogy. But then, he wasn’t surprised, considering he was rarely delightful.

Olivia’s first husband had been delightful. All of Tarek’s research had brought him to that conclusion. He wondered how quickly she would tire of being with a man who wasn’t. Though he had not coerced her into this. Far from that. She had been the one to come to him. The one to present a case for why he needed her.

Not for the first time he wondered what she was getting out of this. If she had thought to replace what she had lost, to recapture what it was to be royalty, she had most certainly come to the wrong place. Her life in Alansund had been filled with parties, glittering affairs, delightful excursions on the lake, picnics with her husband, the king.

Tarek could honestly say he would not be engaging in any of that.

Sex, however, would not be something he denied her. He was ready now. Preparation always brought a clearer head. Now that he had a plan, he would remain in command of his body, of his impulses when the time came. And in that way, he was determined to please her. Because it certainly seemed more desirable than throwing an increased number of parties.

For a start, it only required there to be two of them in the room. For another thing, Olivia would be naked.

He could not deny that added incentive.

He ignored the tightening in his gut. He could not focus on that. He had to focus on getting through this day.

He turned and faced the mirror, tightening the black tie he wore. When given the option, he had chosen a Western-style suit for the day, seeing as he was marrying a Western woman. He had thought hard about it. Because he cared deeply for his people and for their traditions.

But in the end, it was Olivia he had dressed for.

He had no idea of what she might wear. Part and parcel to his avoidance of her, both in the past couple of weeks, and completely today, as she had informed him coolly during their last brief encounter, that it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the day of the wedding.

He had not told her then that he didn’t believe in luck. Because she very clearly did, and he did not want to hurt her feelings again. He’d been very put out by the fact that he had. In addition to lacking sensibilities, Tarek also imagined that he lacked feelings. His soft, pretty fiancée most certainly possessed more than he did.

Naturally, he did not know how to consider them, as nothing inside him reflected her internal workings. Which meant he would simply have to watch. And he would have to try. He could not trust his dealings with the woman to be intuitive.

The door to his chamber opened slowly and his advisor appeared. “It is time, my sheikh.”

For the first time in memory, Sheikh Tarek al-Khalij felt fear. For today, he would not face down an enemy, but a bride. His bride.

However, much like an enemy attack, it was not something that could be waylaid.

“I am ready.”

* * *

Olivia adjusted her heavy veil, trying to quiet the pounding of her heart she readied herself to walk down the aisle. To pledge herself to a man she still felt she barely knew.

Strange that she was so conscious of that with Tarek. She had to confess, standing there now in her ornate gold-and-white gown, that she wasn’t entirely certain she and Marcus had known each other any better.

What Tarek lacked was the ability to let those around him see just enough that they might be fooled into thinking they knew him. She and Marcus had shared certain things freely. Smiles, their bodies, small talk. Easy conversation. Neither of them ever asked difficult questions. Neither of them had ever asked questions at all.

She shoved that thought aside. This was not the time to think about Marcus.

Though, really, it was inevitable that she would. Think about the other man who had been her husband on the day she was ready to marry another. Maybe, if she was in love with Tarek, she wouldn’t.

As it was, it was difficult not to draw comparison. To grasp at something to make the situation feel less foreign. To recall her other wedding day in an attempt to make this one feel less significant. It was a cheap trick that even she saw through, and yet, that wouldn’t stop her from trying it.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and her heart sank down low. This was so different in every way. There was no way she could use the fact that this was her second wedding to calm her nerves. If anything, highlighting the differences between the two only made this feel more terrifying.

She recalled the bespoke gown she’d worn the first time. It had made headlines around the world. Had set a trend for weddings for the next year.

This gown was weighted down with the tradition of the nation. Long sleeves, intricate embroidery, a thick belt just beneath her breasts, also gold. In so many ways the difference in gown symbolized the difference between the two unions. The other, light, showy, focused on the couple. This one heavy. Focused squarely on the need of Tahar.

And of yourself. Let’s not start pretending you’re too altruistic.

All right, she wouldn’t pretend she was being completely selfless. She quite wanted a place in life. A little bit of security. A purpose.

And then there was...him.

She was so attracted to him. But now that sleeping with him wasn’t a spontaneous thing, she found she was quite nervous about it. Now it was the finish line to a marathon of the day, and that put it in a slightly different light than the natural progression of a kiss, or a touch.

Also in keeping with the theme. Everything concerning Tarek was weighty.

“Sheikha?”

Olivia turned, surprised that Melia was already addressing her as such. The servant inclined her head, betraying no nerves in spite of the import of the event.

“They are ready for you.”

Olivia nodded, wishing she had opted to carry a bouquet. Something, anything to do with her hands.

Alas, she had nothing. So she gripped the front of her skirt, lifting it slightly as she walked through the halls toward the small sanctuary that was in a different wing of the palace.

Her throat suddenly grew tight, a pulse beating in her head. She had to close her eyes against it.

She had no connections in there. Her parents...well, they weren’t coming. Not a huge surprise, but the phone call last night had still left her nearly hollow with pain.