more than false conversation over a monthly dinner.
She was not going to think of that now.
“I imagined you would have an opinion on the topic. Men usually do.”
“Men, as a species, are weak. They are fallible creatures who have far too many appetites that demand constant satisfaction. A servant cannot have more than one master. I have learned to live for the service of my country. That means I cannot serve my own appetites, as well. Doing so would make me a weak servant indeed. The fact that I am now sheikh changes nothing. I can desire nothing greater than the desire to serve.”
His words made something inside her curl in on itself. Something she hadn’t realized had been trying to bloom.
What was wrong with her? Why did this matter so much?
Why did it feel so desperately personal to be rejected by a stranger?
Stop being so needy.
“I should arrange for your haircut now.” It was automatic for her to get on with the task at hand. Anything was better than lingering in her discomfort and unexpected pain. “And clothing. You need to address your clothing situation.”
“There is something wrong with my clothing?”
“What did your brother wear to various events? Did he wear traditional Tahari clothing, or did he wear Western-style suits? This is important. I need to figure out how to handle your wardrobe.”
“I can see that if I offer you one sweet you will clamor for the whole bag.”
She smiled widely, trying not to reveal the fact that the potential double entendre in his statement had hit her in a vulnerable place. Yes, it would seem that if all of this was a sexual metaphor, if he gave her one little treat, she would try to devour the whole thing. She cringed internally.
Rejection stung. Always.
“That is what I’m here for,” she said, rather than giving in to saying any of the insecure things that were rolling around in her head.
“It doesn’t matter to me what my brother wore. I would prefer to draw a distinction between him and myself.”
“That’s a good place to start,” she said, not asking the questions that arose due to that statement. “What sort of ruler do you want to be? That’s a question only you can answer, Tarek. Though the answer is probably also relevant to me.”
“I do not believe a man is king for his own enjoyment. I believe a man can only serve if he is serving a purpose. A purpose that is beyond himself.”
“You speak about serving so often.”
“Bearing the responsibility of a nation is nothing if not service. If your primary objective is simply to rule, to lord over, then you accomplish nothing.”
She studied him, the harsh, hard lines of his face. “If you disagreed with your brother’s style of leadership, why didn’t you say anything to him?”
“It was not my task. My task was very specific. And an agreement was struck between Malik and myself some years ago.”
“What was that?”
“If he would leave me alone, I would be at his disposal to protect our people,” Tarek said, his words layered with darkness. “A mutual agreement we both respected. He called upon me when aid was needed, and I gave it. Anything else would have been abandonment of my post, of the people I cared for. I am in a different position now.”
“You have the power now. That’s the brilliant thing about being sheikh. What do you want to wear? Who do you want to be?”
“I do not have the capacity to care about such a thing as clothing,” he said, “but perhaps there is a connection I am missing?”
She straightened, indicating the well-fitted white dress she was wearing. “Clothing is important. It presents a certain image. I would like to think mine conveys quiet luxury and sophistication. Something people prize in a queen, or so I was told.”
“I...I see how that could be.”
“Good,” she said. “You care about your people. I know you do.”
“More than my own life,” he said.
Her stomach tightened, that conviction, that bone-deep certainty of his opening up a cavern of longing from deep within. To have someone care about her with that ferocity. With that strength.
She swallowed hard. No. Even letting herself think about that was dangerous.
“We are in a new age in Tahar,” he said, his tone grave. “And I am able to lead us there. I will. Let us show them.”
“Well, seeing as we can’t put you on the back of a white stallion brandishing a sword, I’m going to go with a power suit. I’ll make some phone calls. We will be in touch.”
With that, she walked out of the bathroom, out of the bedroom, and beat a hasty retreat back to her own quarters. She needed some time alone. Needed some time to think. She had to get a handle on herself, because she couldn’t act in such a stupid, unthinking way again.
If nothing else, her own response to him, the emotional fallout of it, was reason enough.
She knew better than to need. Knew better than to depend on anyone.
She simply needed to remember.
TAREK HAD SUCCESSFULLY avoided being directly involved in Olivia’s machinations for four days. Since coming to the palace, he had craved silence with a severity that bordered on madness. Since Olivia had arrived nearly a week ago it had intensified.
Since the moment she had touched him in his bathroom it had become even worse.
He was not innocent of the ways of the world, not a fool, either. He understood what the heat and fire in his blood meant, understood why she had been touching him. But he had made vows. To the earth, to himself. He was a man of singular purpose, and that had meant eschewing earthly pleasures. When it came to food he ate to survive, and when it came to sex...
It turned out a man did not need it to survive.
In fact, he had survived thirty years without. As a teenage boy banished to the desert, he had been far too broken to care. As a man grappling with his purpose, with the memories that still crowded in at night, echoes of pain that would push any human to the brink of sanity, he had reminded himself what had brought him through. The only way to withstand torture was to focus on what lay beyond it. The bright spot. The hope. The purpose.
He had stripped back his needs to one thing so long ago that he could not remember a day when his desires had been layered. When he had relished the feel of a soft bed, enjoyed the flavor of a meal or fantasized about what it would be like to touch the lush curves of a woman’s body. Memories lost to him, desires destroyed.
Every single one
