LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      THIS WAS HER DOMAIN. Not the empty, echoing corridors. Not the feeling of being shrouded in a tomb. But this ballroom, glittering, full of people. An excuse to wear one of her beautiful custom-made gowns that had often been front-page news around the world when she was queen in Alansund.

      The ballroom here in Tahar was different. With a high, domed ceiling, ornate golden detail and gems set ablaze by the lights suspended above. Everything was done up to perfection, and uniquely reflected Tahar and its beauty.

      She was at ease here. But it was clear Tarek wasn’t.

      Tarek was solid stone beneath her fingertips. Were it not for the heat radiating from his body, she would have thought he’d calcified entirely. Obviously, while this might be her comfort zone, it wasn’t his. She had expected as much, but she’d also had the feeling that there would be no preparing him for the moment. He simply had to live it.

      She felt strangely protective of him. Odd, because she knew for a fact there was not a single person in this room he could not neutralize physically. But this wasn’t his battlefield. Social settings, the thrust and parry, the sneak attack that came with a tongue and not a sword, were where she was most deadly. And she stood by, ready to defend.

      She sneaked a sideways glance at him and her stomach tightened with unmistakable desire. There was no use pretending it was anything else. He was beautiful. That thought had scrolled through her mind often over the past few days.

      His hair reached the top of his collar, curling slightly, but adding no softness to the shape of his face. His square, blunt jaw was so tempting to touch. She wanted to press her lips just beneath it, on his neck, right where his pulse beat, steady and hard.

      When they were married, she would have that right.

      A sliver of ice slipped through her veins, a shiver working its way along behind it.

      She wasn’t sure at all if he wanted her. She couldn’t read him, the beautiful rock wall of a man. Perversely, that only made her want to rail harder against him. To try to force a crack.

      But she knew better than that. Creating conflict was overrated.

      So many people talked about speaking your mind. Standing up for yourself. What was the worst that could happen, and all that.

      She knew.

      The worst that could happen was you laid yourself bare before the people you loved most and they stared blankly back. Offering nothing. Giving nothing.

      She couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not when so much was going on around them. Not with members of international press stopping them to try to get Tarek to speak. Not with diplomats, politicians, social-program coordinators and businessmen all jockeying for Tarek’s attention while he grew increasingly tense beneath her fingertips.

      This was the physical representation of the paperwork that stacked up on his desk every day. The verbal version of the written requests he had to process constantly while being so unfamiliar with the task.

      With the added issue of the media being in attendance, watching his every move.

      She wondered if Tarek knew how vicious the press could be. He was very closed off about exactly what had transpired over the past fifteen years. But it was clear he had spent his time away from civilization almost entirely.

      He wasn’t familiar with computers, nor any modern conveniences. She wasn’t certain whether or not he could drive a car. She didn’t know if he’d ever faced the media before.

      Another army that could be more vicious than one carrying weapons.

      Tarek was making the official announcement about their engagement during his speech. And she had felt it would be best for them to open the evening with the speech. That way, people wouldn’t be needling him for information beforehand. At least, that was the idea.

      Also, she was afraid that the anticipation would be nothing more than a slow painful death for her. Maybe she was projecting her concern on to him. Especially as he seemed as immovable as ever.

      But then, with him it was impossible to tell.

      Either he felt less than the average man, really and truly, or he simply buried it deeper beneath the surface.

      She imagined it was the latter, but she wasn’t sure even he knew that.

      In response to that thought, she let her hands drift over his forearm, and she felt him tense beneath her touch. Still, his expression remained the same.

      “Are you ready to give your speech?”

      “Yes,” he said. There was no uncertainty in him. It went a long way in calming her riotous nerves.

      “Good.”

      “What would you have done if I had said I wasn’t ready?” he asked, and if she didn’t know better, she would be certain there was a note of amusement in his voice.

      “I would have rushed the front of the room and created a diversion so you could escape,” she said.

      “Would you have made the speech for me?”

      “If not that, perhaps I would’ve done an interpretive dance.”

      The ghost of a smile toyed with the edges of his lips. “I cannot imagine that.”

      “Liar. If you weren’t imagining it, you wouldn’t be smiling.”

      “Did I smile?”

      “Yes,” she said. Warmth bloomed in her chest, spreading down to her stomach.

      She had been so excited to have the room filled with people only moments ago, and now she wished they would all go away. All the better to focus on Tarek.

      The ache she felt, the intense desire to know him, had only grown over the past week. And unfortunately she had found very little to satisfy it.

      “I do not know any of these people,” he said, looking around.

      “I recognize a few of them,” she said.

      She hadn’t made it public that she would be in attendance. In fact, she had called Anton and requested that he keep any connection between herself and Tarek secret. Things hadn’t been certain, and she didn’t want rumors preceding certainty.

      Though tonight he would make the announcement. Tonight there would be certainty. She would have a place again.

      “Who?” he asked.

      “Well,” she said, “Miranda Holt is a reporter. She covers a lot of society things in the States. I’ve known her for years. She used to attend gatherings my family would throw.” By gatherings she meant grand galas. But details weren’t important. “And over there is the ambassador of Alansund and her husband. Others I know from their attendance at various functions there.”

      “Do you suppose they think it odd you’re here with me?”

      “I’m sure they are curious.”

      “Are you afraid they’ll think you are betraying your husband’s memory?”

      His words burned for some reason.

Скачать книгу