LITMIR.BIZ

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force of his breath.

      “What are you doing, woman?”

      And suddenly the thoughts that had been nothing more than a niggle in the back of her mind blanketed her completely, suffocating her. What was she doing? He had given no indication he wanted this. She barely knew the man.

      Belatedly, she snatched her hand back against her chest, holding it in tightly. As though contracting in on herself now would make him forget she had ever reached out to him.

      Then she wondered why, why she was allowing herself to feel embarrassed. Why she should bother to cover up the impulse. If they were to be married, they would have to come to an agreement on this. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life pretending to be a different woman. Pretending to want different things than she did. Truthfully, she was a bit shocked she wanted much of anything with him, considering he was a stranger. But she did. And in many ways, it was fortuitous. Being married to a man she wasn’t attracted to would be a hideous fate.

      “I was touching you,” she said, her tone hard. “Is that so shocking?”

      “For what purpose?”

      She stared at him, hard, trying to work out if he was being disingenuous. “Because I wanted to touch you.”

      “Don’t.”

      “If we marry, that could be a problem.”

      “If we marry, we can deal with it then.”

      “Oh, I don’t think so. It’s important that we deal with these sorts of things now.” She swallowed hard. “I expect for this to be a real marriage.”

      “It could hardly be a fake marriage.” He turned away from her, stalking back to the center of the room, bending over to pick up his shirt. “It will have to be legal, obviously.”

      “Paperwork isn’t all there is to it. You have to interact with the person you marry. You have to coexist together. Sexual chemistry and compatibility are important.”

      “If it is important to you, then, should I decide that marriage between the two of us is the most advantageous option, I will ensure your needs are met.”

      His words were so dispassionate, so disconnected she couldn’t think of how to respond. This was not the language of seduction as she knew it. This was a one-sided conversation. He spoke as though it didn’t matter to him. In her experience, sex mattered a great deal to men. And also, in her experience, having a similar appetite to one’s husband was extremely advantageous.

      “It is important to me,” she pressed, mainly because she was so fascinated by his response. Or rather, his lack of response.

      “Then, should we decide on marriage, we will deal with it.”

      He shrugged his shirt on and she stood there, blinking. “I don’t... I’m not certain I understand.”

      “There is nothing to understand.”

      Maybe not for him, but she was confused. Never in her life had a man reacted so neutrally to her touch. Not that she was incredibly experienced. Marcus had been her only lover after all. But she had practiced flirting plenty when she’d been at school, and it had usually gone well. Her first forays into looking for attention from those other than her parents had gone well enough. It had never gone beyond very innocent kissing, but even that had been balm for her parched soul.

      This was... It was far too close to that horrible, dead feeling of standing there, begging for more and receiving nothing.

      Too close to that moment she’d finally told her parents she needed more than walking past each other on occasion in the halls, 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.

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