the first time in years he had craved something sweet to eat, a sumptuous, well-appointed bed. And to see what was beneath her clothes.
That was why he had pushed her away. Contained in that one simple touch had been a weakness so complete, so repellent, he had no choice but to turn away from it.
Though she spoke the truth. Were they to be married, there would be no turning away from his duty as a husband. His duty as a sheikh.
He needed an heir.
Still, all would be possible. It was simply a matter of refocusing his purpose. And he was in the process of doing just that. They had spoken about his intentions as a ruler the other day, and as much as he would like to do nothing more than resent her presence, he had to acknowledge that she was helping. He scarcely recognized the man he saw in the mirror now. Far from the beast he had been when he had first arrived here, he now resembled someone he could imagine sitting on the throne.
His hair had been cut short. He was still getting used to the feel of it.
He felt like a man who had been pulled up out of the pit. Still orienting to the sunlight. To being aboveground.
Of course, his ability to avoid Olivia and continue to regain his equilibrium would end today. She had arranged for him to be dressed. As though he was a doll. She had been insistent that clothing was important, and when she had applied it to herself, he could well see her point.
She wore thin dresses made of luxurious fabrics that settled over her sleek, fascinating curves in an easy manner. It was difficult to look away from her, in part because of the cut of her clothing, he was convinced. She did indeed convey authority, a sense of belonging. She could have materialized from the gems and gold in the walls of the palace, precious metals come to life.
In that way, she would make a wonderful sheikha. At least one of them would look as though they had been born to serve in a palace.
For his part, he would protect his people. That much he knew.
The doors to his bedchamber burst open wide and in came the object of his thoughts, followed by another woman he had never seen before. That woman was pushing a rack full of clothing, her expression of determination mirrored by Olivia.
“This is Serena. She is now the official dresser here in the palace. You will make use of her. Starting now.”
“Hello, Olivia. It has been a few days since we’ve spoken,” he said.
“Hi,” she said. “I assume that screen over there will do for you to dress behind.”
He looked between the two women, processing the idea that he would need to change behind a screen. He had no modesty to protect. He imagined, therefore, that it was for their own comfort.
He thought back to the other day. To Olivia placing her hand on his chest.
Perhaps the screen would be wise.
Serena moved the rack to the ornate divider and Tarek followed suit. He stepped behind it, grabbing the first bundle of clothing from the rack and set about undressing, and redressing. He could hear Olivia and Serena speaking in hushed tones. He had no real desire to know what it was they were discussing.
He paid no attention to what he was putting on. He had no way of assessing suitability. He simply had to trust Olivia’s senses.
Serena approached him, the measuring tape in her hands, a determined expression on her face. She placed her hands on his shoulder, stretching the tape across them. And he waited. Waited for a feeling similar to the one he’d had when Olivia had touched him. But it didn’t come.
There was no heat. Nothing but the cool pressure of the tape and her touch buffeted by the layers of clothing.
Olivia moved nearer to him, her hand on her chin, her expression assessing.
“Do you have a comment, my queen?”
“This works for you. Though it definitely needs to be fitted.”
“I suppose it’s the kind of thing I should wear to the coronation party?”
Her blue eyes flew wide. “You have a coronation party?”
“Yes.”
“How is it that you haven’t mentioned this before?”
“We have only had two conversations. Possibly three. One of which ended poorly.” Serena knelt down in front of him, drawing the length of the tape down the inside of his leg. Olivia looked down, then back up at him, her pale brow arched. She said nothing. “Did you have something to say, Olivia?”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Do you really care?”
She pursed her lips, looking as though she was chewing her words thoroughly. “Of course I care. As your prospective fiancée. But then, as your prospective fiancée I also might have wanted to know about a major public event. There is media to consider, Tarek. We must decide whether or not we should appear together as a couple. I, for one, vote that we should.”
“We have not decided what to do about our union, or lack of one.”
“You have not decided,” she said, her voice determined. “My decision is made. This is...where I need to be.”
“Is this all about power for you?” His chest tightened, rage bleeding through him like a hemorrhaging wound. “Power corrupts, my queen. The need to rule simply for the sake of it destroyed my country once, and I will not allow that to happen again.”
“That isn’t what I mean. You told me once that you were a weapon. I am a queen. It chafes when you are not used as you ought to be.”
“Perhaps you could fill your time as head of some sort of committee.”
“That isn’t what I want.”
“Do you have some sort of emotional attachment to Tahar? To its success?”
She fixed determined, blue eyes on him. “I could create it.”
“I don’t think that’s good enough, Olivia.”
She took in a sharp breath, her eyes glistening. “I want a...” She looked away, then back up at him. “A home, Tarek. More than anything, I want a home that I belong in. One that isn’t empty. One where I am not extraneous. You need me here. And I want to be needed. Allow me to use my skill. Allow me to be what I can be.” Serena was still going about her work calmly while Olivia stood there, breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling on each indrawn breath.
“The only way to be what you want is through marriage, Olivia?” He studied her closely as he spoke. “What a frustration that must be for you. You have so little control. Or at least, this requires you to share it. Your future is dependent on my decision.”
He could see Olivia’s pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. Like a panicked bird trapped in a cage. He had the overwhelming urge to place his thumb over the top of it. To feel the intensity with which it beat, the velvet softness of her skin.
That simple,
