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

The last thing he wanted. He needed her life and his life to remain separate, for his routine to be uninterrupted. He needed to keep his control, his order. He didn’t need her making him want to … comfort. Because when the heat spread through him, his control slipped. And when his control slipped …

“How much money will be saved annually by the trade agreements our marriage will enact?”

Confusion flashed through her eyes. And he felt nothing. He embraced that. Embraced the void and the security it offered.

“Ten billion, conservatively.”

He chose his next words carefully, designed to keep distance. Designed to make her as disgusted with him as she should have been from the start. “That is all I need to know about you.”

She looked at him for a moment, eyes glittering, a determined set to her jaw, arms crossed beneath full breasts. “I’ll be there. In the dining hall in half an hour.”

Zahir cursed himself as he buttoned his shirt midstride, making his way through the maze of corridors toward the dining hall. What had happened to routine? And distance?

He cursed again.

He rarely ate in the formal dining area. Only if he was forced to entertain visiting dignitaries. Even then, he tried to send his advisor in his place. He wasn’t the best face to put forward for Hajar. Most of his people—at least those in control of the media—would attest to that. He was no diplomat, no master of fine negotiations. He was a strategist, a planner. He had built up his nation’s economy from behind the doors of his father’s office. But when it came to physical meetings …

He was not the man to handle things in person.

He only had to think of Katharine’s face when he’d slammed his bloody palm down on the table to drive that point home. He had frightened her. And he cared. He had no idea why he cared. Or why the image of her sitting at the table alone in that knee-length, red silk dress she’d been wearing made him feel … anything.

And yet it did. And he could not afford it. He knew it, knew the cost of a weak moment. A weak moment, a lax moment, could mean the difference between life and death. It had for his family. And now … a weak moment could mean the loss of his control.

Still he had come.

He walked through the arched doorway into the ornate dining area. The table was low with cushions lining it on all sides. Katharine was there, at the head of the table, naturally, her pale legs curled beneath her, her expression neutral. Her plate was empty, despite the fact that there was an abundance of food laid out on the table.

He knelt at the other end. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No, you’re not. You’re late on purpose.”

“No. I’m here on accident,” he said.

She laughed, an annoyed laugh, if there was such a thing. “What does that mean?”

“That I wasn’t going to come.”

“I see.” She stood up and took her plate with her, walking slowly down the side of the table until she was right in front of him, the view of her legs from his position on the cushions an intoxicating and unexpected sight. She was close enough that he could reach out and touch her. Feel if those long legs were as soft as he imagined.

He had a brief flash, an image in his mind and he braced himself for the inevitable. But it wasn’t a picture of chaos and violence. It was him, curling his fingers around her calf, pressing a kiss to her thigh, running the tip of his tongue up along her skin until …

He clenched his teeth together, fighting to keep himself, his body, on its tight, self-imposed leash.

She sat next to him, her arm brushing his, and his fantasy was disturbed.

“I’m not sitting across the room from you.”

“Why not? Most people would.” He picked a tray up from the table and put some figs, meat and cheese on Katharine’s plate before serving himself.

“I’m not most people.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

She always met his eyes. Always looked straight at him. No one did that. Not even staff who had been here before the attack. Though there were few of those left. It had been too hard for them to stay. Too frightening. Always wondering if the same people responsible for killing his family would come for Zahir. If they would be caught in the cross fire.

Amarah hadn’t been able to look at him. She had tried. She’d worn his ring, was meant to be his wife, had professed to love him. And she had tried to take on the responsibility of caring for him.

He’d been half out of his mind then. Not wholly in the past or present. Not certain of what had happened. Sometimes sickeningly certain of what had happened, everything playing in his mind with horrifying clarity. From beginning to end, like a film he couldn’t stop.

Even now, he only kept it all down with years of practice. Of keeping total, full control over his mind at all times.

Amarah hadn’t been able to endure it. Had not been able to handle the changes that had happened in him. If the woman he loved, the woman who loved him, couldn’t stay … couldn’t face him … it was no surprise when no one else could, either. He was glad, in a way, that no one had ever tried. There was no point bringing them into his personal hell.

“This is my favorite,” she said, reaching past him and picking up a platter. “Obviously it’s not like my mother made it for me, but our chef did. Wild rice with pecans. Not a state dinner type of thing but … sort of comfort food for me.”

“I’ll try it.” He lifted his plate and she served him a portion.

He wasn’t certain he’d ever eaten this way before. It was strangely intimate, serving her, having her serve him. His family had been formal. Distant in many ways. And yet their absence was profound.

“I don’t suppose your mother did the cooking, either?”

The thought of his mother, always so beautiful and serene in her long, jeweled robes, her black hair pinned up in an ornate style, made his chest feel tight. “No. She was good at delegating, though.”

Katharine laughed, happier this time, a sound that worked to loosen the knot inside him. “Oh, me, too. Notice I didn’t claim to cook any of this.” She paused then tilted her head to the side, a shimmering, red-gold wave cascading over her shoulder. “Maybe I will cook someday.”

“Once you reach the light at the end of your tunnel?”

“Yes. Maybe then. I’m going to move out of the palace. Traditionally, an unmarried princess would continue to live there, under the protection of her family, but I suppose a divorcée might do what she wants.”

“You suppose?”

“No one in my family has ever divorced.”

“No one?”

She shook her head, her strawberry waves catching the light. “No. I will be unique.”

“I’m certain you already are.”

“Perhaps too much, to the despair of my father.”

“And you aren’t concerned how that will be received?”

“My mother died when I was ten. My father will be gone soon …” Her voice was thick with sadness. “Only Alexander will be left and he won’t care what I do. You know how younger brothers are.”

He did. He had been one. Looking on Malik with nothing but respect. Never once had he envied him his position. Never once had he wanted to be him. And now look at him. He had stepped into his brother’s life. He was even marrying his brother’s intended bride.

The thought was like burning steel in flesh. Nothing fit in this life. Nothing was his. A constant reminder that the wrong man had lived through the attack on his family. It should have been Malik sitting here with Katharine. Ruling the country as their birth order dictated.

“I do.”

“So, he’ll accept what I’m doing with my life and be … happy for me, I suppose.”

“Have you always resented your duty?”

She sat still then, the only motion the fluttering of her pulse at the hollow of her throat. “I have always accepted that I would marry someone for the sake of my country. When I met Malik … I felt good about what I was doing. It felt right. He was a good man and the alliance between the countries would provide so much protection for both of our nations.”

“And when he died?”

“My heart felt torn in two.”

Katharine looked down at her hands. It was the truth. The day she’d found out about the attacks, she’d felt that it had happened to her own family. She’d grieved the loss of the S’ad al Dins. Had grieved for the country, for the one who was left.

She hadn’t loved Malik, but that didn’t mean his death was painless for her. He had been a good man, one she’d been confident would do the best by his country and hers.

It had been devastating to lose that. And she’d felt aimless. Like she’d been searching for new purpose. Because she’d known, from day one, that it had been her duty to marry advantageously for Austrich.

With that gone, she’d had to find something new.

She had. The past five years she’d had more freedom, more aim than ever before. She’d made changes, had made valuable friendships. Had worked at proving herself in a way that went beyond her worth as breeding stock.

Coming back to the marriage part, that had been jarring. But again, she knew her place. But now … now that she’d tasted something else, something that was hers … it made her want more. It made her want to find out if she might find some contentment there.

“I did not know you felt so strongly for him,” Zahir said, his words stiff, his dark eyes closed off.

“I felt very strongly about the arrangement. That’s one reason I fought so hard for it. It’s the right thing.”

“And yet … since I will give you an out, you’re more than willing to take it.”

Shame made her face hot. “Yes,” she said, the words a whisper.

“What’s changed?”

“The thought that maybe I could have something else. Something more.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “And in the meantime, you make yourself a human sacrifice.”

“Haven’t we both?”

“True. I know why you do what you do. Do you know why I am the Sheikh of Hajar? Why I didn’t pass it to one of my distant relatives?” His voice was rough, his words halting. “Because I am the only one left to fight. And even if I have to fight for my people from a desk, I will do it until there is no more breath in me. Because I’m all that’s left.”

Her heart seized in her chest, the aching, emptiness of his loneliness swept through her, left her breathless. The move to touch him was reflexive, an instinct she couldn’t fight. She covered his hand with hers and his body jerked, but his hand remained there, beneath hers.

He didn’t speak, he only looked at her. But the look in his eyes became more focused as he did. His gaze drifted down to where her hand covered his, so pale next to the deep golden tone of his skin.

“I am sorry about before,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He was silent for a moment, his hand tense beneath hers. “As am I.”

She slid her hand away from his, but she felt the lingering heat from him. From his skin. “I spoke to my father and brother today.”

“And?”

“My father is thrilled, of course, well, in his way, and … Alexander doesn’t really know the circumstances. I don’t want him to. He’d hate to know that I was doing this for him. He’s only sixteen and he simply wouldn’t understand. And neither of them know that this is … temporary.”

“I see. When did you understand you were to marry a man your father selected?”

She laughed softly. The memory of that day was one she tried her best to block out on most occasions. “Maybe twelve.

It came up at dinner. My mother had passed away just a couple of years earlier and Alexander was just a toddler. My father mentioned that he’d begun looking for … I think he used the words appropriate suitors for me. I was appalled.”

“I would imagine so.”

“I had posters of my favorite singer on my wall and I was going to marry him. Somehow I didn’t think a pop star would pass muster.”

She was gratified when his lips turned up into a slight smile. “I would think not.”

“What about you?”

“Malik was the one who had to think about advantageous marriages.”

“Yes, that was meant to be me.”

He looked at his wineglass. “I was going to marry for love.”

Her stomach tightened. Before the attack, he meant. “You still can. After.”

He shook his head. “I think not. I don’t believe in it anymore. And even if I did, I know I can no longer feel it.” He pushed up on the edge of the table, his movements jerky. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Thank the chef,” she said, trying to suppress the sadness that was mounting in her.

“I will.” He inclined his head and turned away from her, leaving her sitting at the table alone.

CHAPTER FIVE

KATHARINE had been in Hajar for more than a week and the walls of the palace were starting to crush her from the inside out. She was feeling a definite need to get out and see more of the country, or at least see more than the inside of the palace, beautiful though it was.

She’d heard they had some magnificent upscale shopping centers in Kadim, the capital city, but she’d yet to see anything beyond the airport and Zahir’s home.

At least now she was on her way out. She’d spoken to Kahlah that morning about obtaining security detail for a shopping excursion and her needs had been met quickly. Now, just an hour later, she was headed into the city.

She hadn’t spoken to Zahir, but he hadn’t been in his office or the gym, and it wasn’t as though he’d given her a way to contact him. She was beginning to wonder if he ever left the palace.

A sickening weight settled in her stomach. He was like a prisoner in some ways, and yet, he was the one who’d sentenced himself. But she could sense it. Could sense that there was a dark energy in him that was boiling beneath the surface. And that he held it back, along with so many other things.

She could see the skyline of the metropolitan city beyond the highway, providing an elegant and unexpected backdrop to Old Kadim, which was still prominently in the foreground. The buildings made of stone, the narrow roadways lined with open-air markets.

There was a flavor to it, unexpected so near the modern, gleaming brilliance of the city beyond. It fascinated Katharine. Called to her.

As the car passed one of the markets, Katharine craned her neck to see. It was crowded, people out doing daily errands, and tourists who were enjoying the Old World atmosphere of the open-air shopping.

“I’d like to stop here for a while, if that’s all right.”

The two men in front exchanged glances, then nodded and the driver pulled the car into the nearest parking spot—a spot Katharine was a bit skeptical was in fact designed for parking, but that seemed to be driving in Hajar. People following their own arbitrary rules.

The security team got out before her, in a move that seemed a touch obvious, then came and opened her door. “Thank you,” she said.

The men were glued to her side as she made her way from the car down into the main hub of the market. “You can walk behind me,” she said. “Just a little bit.”

When she went shopping in Europe she always had security with her, but they weren’t usually so big. Or hulking. Or obvious.

She breathed in, the sharp scent of meat, spice and dust mingling together, tickling her throat. It was loud here. Talking, laughing and music melting together, indistinguishable from each other.

“I’m going this way,” she said to her detail.

They followed silently, their expressions stoic, their manner no less obvious than it had been a moment earlier.

The crowd was thick and people rushed past her, some nearly running into her. Strange to think that this would be her home for the next few years. It was so different to anything she was used to.

She watched as a mother bent down and picked a screaming child up from the ground. So different, but the same, too. She smiled and turned to one of the stalls, touching one of the glittering necklaces that was tacked onto a flat of velvet with a small nail.

“What is this?” Zahir’s voice, hard, angry, cut through the noise of the market like a knife.

She released her hold on the necklace. “This is me … shopping. How did you know where I was?”

“Kahlah. I certainly didn’t hear it from you. Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

People were pausing to stare. Truly, they were gaping openmouthed at Zahir. From what she knew of him, he never made public appearances. He had a face for radio he’d said, and he addressed his people that way. There had also been very few pictures taken of him since the attack, none close up.

But they knew who he was. And it was clear that some were awed, others horrified. Frightened. Because so many of them believed him to be a devil. A beast. Zahir didn’t seem to notice at all. His eyes were on her, and her alone.

He closed in on her and took her arm. “This isn’t safe.”

“I have security with me.”

“I had security,” he roared. “We all had security. It didn’t do any good.”

“Zahir … “

His hand tensed around her arm as more people began to crowd around them, people who had walked through her as though she was invisible. Not now. Add Zahir to the equation and everyone was riveted to the drama unfolding.

He paused for a moment, his body stiff. She saw the same strange, distant look in his eyes, as though he wasn’t seeing her, as though he wasn’t seeing what was around. His eyes locked with hers, bottomless wells of dark emotion. He was like a hunted animal, all fear and rage and primal instinct.

That was when she knew he saw her, unlike the time in his office. But there was something wrong. He wasn’t in this moment. He was in another time, gripped with an emotion so strong that it had dragged him down into the depths of it.

He pulled her away with him, out of the crowd, to one of the crumbling brick buildings behind a market stall. She stumbled, and he held her steady, his strength enhanced by the adrenaline she knew was screaming through him.

They rounded a corner, slipping into a narrow alleyway, and he pressed her against the wall of one of the surrounding buildings, his big body acting as a shield. From what, she didn’t know. His hands were pressed flat against the brick on either side of her, his chest against hers. He was hunched over her, the gesture protective, feral.

His breathing was harsh, unsteady, each gust of air bringing a near growl with it that seemed to rumble through his being. His entire body was rock hard with tension, every muscle, every tendon straining as he fought to keep himself strong against her.

“Zahir,” she said, her voice soft.

He didn’t move, he only stood, braced, a human barrier between her and whatever danger he thought they faced. She lifted her hand and put it on his chest, felt his heart beating hard against her palm. She felt his pain. His fear. It was in her, squeezing around her heart, suffocating. Horrendous.

And she could only imagine what it was to be in Zahir’s body now.

She slid her hand up, her fingers curling around his neck. He lifted his head, his dark eyes blazing with something wild, intense. She moved her hand upward, resting it lightly on his cheek, his skin rough beneath her fingertips. “Everything’s fine. We’re just in the market.”

He shuddered beneath her touch, his eyes closing for a long moment before he opened them again.

She lifted her other hand, resting it on the smooth side of his face, and looked into his eyes. “Zahir.”

He swallowed hard, and she felt him shiver, the muscles in his body spasming. “Katharine.”

He pulled away from her. Katharine was relieved to see that the crowd had dispersed, thanks in part of Taj and Ahmed and their ham-handed style of security, she imagined.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Get in the car,” he said tightly.

She nodded once, moving ahead of him. She kept her head down, ignoring the stares and the conversation in languages she didn’t understand.

“No,” he said. “My car.”

She turned and looked in the direction Zahir was focused on. The sleek black car was identical to the other one, part of the royal fleet, she imagined. “You didn’t drive, did you? Because you shouldn’t drive.”

He shot her a hard look. “I do not drive anymore. I should think the reason for that is quite obvious.”

He jerked the back door open and she slid inside. He rounded the other side and sat next to her, his posture stiff. The driver pulled onto the road and turned back in the direction of the palace.

Katharine’s heart was hammering hard, her hands shaking. Her entire body shaking, from the inside out. From the surge of adrenaline brought on by the whole situation, and from Zahir’s nearness.

Silence filled the space between them. She waited as long as she could before all of the questions swirling in her mind had to escape her mouth.

“How often does it happen?” she asked.

He turned his head to look at her. “Much less frequently than it used to.”

“It happened in your office last week.”

He pushed his hand through his hair, a slight tremble visible to her, making her feel like she should look away. To let him regain his pride. To let him have back what he’d lost in that true, unguarded moment. But she couldn’t.

“A short one.” He didn’t want to talk about it, she could see that. It was written in every tense line of muscle in his body. And yet she had to ask. She had to know.

“Are they … flashbacks?”

“It’s the crowd,” he said, his voice tight. “I saw … I thought you were in danger.” He flexed his fingers before curling them back into a fist. “I’m not insane,” he ground out.

“I know. I never thought you were.” She played the moment over again, his eyes, his face, the true, deep fear in them. It had been real to him, what he had felt and seen. It hadn’t been an overreaction or overprotection. It had been bone deep for him. “I … Is it posttraumatic stress? I’ve volunteered at a lot of hospitals in Austrich. Seen people who have been in accidents. It’s common when someone has gone through something like you did.”

He turned, angled away from her, his eyes on the passing scenery. “It probably is.”

“Haven’t you seen anyone?”

“They gave me medication to help me sleep. That’s all.”

She swallowed. “You don’t take it, do you?”

He let out a short laugh. “Already you know me better than my doctors. No, I don’t take it.”

“Do you sleep?”

The corner of his lip curved up. “No.”

“Maybe you should take … “

“No. Drugs to suppress it. To make me tired. What does that fix? Nothing. It just masks it. Another thing to control me when I … I should … I don’t want this. I don’t want to be affected by it,” he said, his voice harsh.

She wanted to offer comfort, to touch him, and yet, she knew he would reject it. Reject her. “But you are.”

“It’s gotten better.”

“That was not better.”

He snorted. “Sure it was. You should have seen me at first. Ask Amarah how it was.”

Her chest felt tight and she almost didn’t want to ask the question. But she had to. “Who’s Amarah?”

“She was my fiancée. She was there when I woke up, by my bedside. For all of five minutes before she turned and ran from the room. She came back, of course. She tried, for two days she tried, to deal with me, to help the doctors. But I would … I would black out. Or have a flashback and I was … unpredictable.”

Katharine put her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the wave of nausea that washed through her. “Did you hurt her?”

He shook his head. “Never. I was trying to protect her but … how safe did you feel just now?” He laughed, a dark, humorless sound.

Katharine could see how Zahir might be frightening in that circumstance, but she had only been scared for him, not of him. She’d known, from the moment he’d pressed her up against the wall, that he was putting himself between her and whatever danger he thought was there.