Midnight on the Sands. Оливия Гейтс
Читать онлайн книгу.
the man he was now … If there was even a woman willing to bed the Beast, a woman who roused his desire, he would deny it. Because as important as sex and release had been then, control was needed now.
And Katharine had shaken it. If he gave in to the lust, threw off the shackles he had willingly locked onto himself, he didn’t know what might happen.
If she wanted to heal him, she was welcome to it. The truth was, he did have to stand up at their wedding without being assaulted by flashbacks. And he would do it. He wasn’t foolish enough to think it was a simple matter of being strong enough, though he wished it were. It went beyond that. But he would do what he had to.
He would master it. And he would master his feelings for her.
There was no other option.
“What is it you propose we do?” he asked, walking into the courtyard the next morning.
Katharine was already there, her hair pulled up into a neat bun, a cup of coffee frozen midway between the table and her mouth as she looked up at him, green eyes owlishly wide. She set the mug down. “Excuse me?”
“What is it you propose we do to stop the flashbacks. You seemed to have an idea yesterday?”
“And you seemed to be on the verge of throwing me out of the palace last night.”
“That was last night.”
“And so it doesn’t matter?”
He waved a hand in dismissal of her words. “Not anymore.” He was moving past it. Past that strong wave of lust and the anger that had been tangled up in it. He was ready to fight now, like the warrior he was. The warrior that had been lost in the guise of a king for the past five years. Control wasn’t enough. He had to strike out, take the things holding him back by the throat and crush them.
“It does matter. Because it matters to me. I’m not your enemy, Zahir. Your enemies have been dealt with, haven’t they?”
He nodded curtly. Those memories were clear. The men who had thrown grenades beneath his family’s motorcade had been dealt with in the harshest terms the laws allowed.
“I am not one of them. I’m not fighting against you. I’m fighting for my country, for yours. For my brother. And I need a man who is capable of being a strong Regent for Austrich.”
“I am capable. More than. Have you taken a look at the progress that has been made in Hajar since I was appointed?”
“Of course I have. I’ve known …” She averted her eyes. “I’ve known for a while now that there was a possibility I might have to marry you. I’ve been paying attention to what you were doing.”
“While avoiding ever seeing me.”
“It’s not like you’re renowned for your lavish and lively parties.”
“Point taken.”
“And I was ignoring this part of my job,” she said.
“Job?”
“Don’t you consider being Sheikh a job?”
“Of the most demanding variety. Paperwork that never seems to end, and constant … trivial-seeming things that take every last moment of time,” he said.
“And it’s the same for me, even if my responsibilities are different. Marriage was always in the job description. Marriage to forge alliances, at the very least, at most for the reason we’re marrying.”
“But you were ignoring it?”
“Yes. When it was delayed I … took the delay. For as long as I could. In truth, I left it too long because I waited until we were at a crisis point. It was wrong of me.”
“It was better that you did. Wait, that is, because it was your crisis that decided for me.”
“It was?”
“Trade is one thing. It’s advantageous, of course, and it’s important. But I could not condemn your country to civil war. To more spilled blood. I could not face having more on my hands.” He flexed his hands into fists as he said it. He felt the stains there. He should have been able to stop it. At the very least, he should have shielded his brother.
“There isn’t any blood on your hands, Zahir. I’m not your enemy, and you’re not the enemy, either.”
“Enough,” he said, shutting the door on the discussion. On the memories. He couldn’t afford to think about it now, to lose focus. “Back to the original reason I’m here. How do you plan on preparing me for the wedding?”
“I have a few ideas.”
She met his eyes; they were so deep, so lovely and green. Still so filled with emotion and possibility.
“We’ll beat this. We’re going to keep fighting.”
“Ready?” Katharine looked at Zahir’s strong profile and she knew that there was no way he would ever claim to not be ready. His pride wouldn’t permit it.
“Yes.”
Which told her nothing because she’d already known what his answer would be. “Good.”
The driver pulled the car forward and out of the palace, heading toward the city center. “It isn’t as though I don’t travel,” he said.
“I know you do. A little bit. And I also know you avoid driving near places like the market, where people might crowd the car.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said, his words short. Clipped.
“I never said you were.”
“You think it. There is nothing for me to be afraid of. I have faced death and if it came again, I would fight it, and if I couldn’t fight it, I would embrace it. What I don’t like is having my mind taken over. Having no control over what I see. Over what I do. I would much more happily face death.” His entire body was tense, each muscle tightened. “Do you know what it’s like … to have to spend so much energy keeping the demons at bay? To never have one moment of peace? I relive it. Daily. Not to the degree you witnessed in the market, but it is never truly gone.”
She swallowed, her throat tight. “Why?”
“I … I have to remember it,” he said, his voice rough.
“No, Zahir, you don’t.”
“Everyone is dead, Katharine. Malik, my mother, my father, the guards in the motorcade who were there to protect us. How can I let it go? Should I get over it? They never will. They’re gone.”
The pain in his words burned into her, marking her. In that moment, she understood. He carried the memory of his family’s last moments because he felt that not doing so would diminish the tragedy. She understood, because she felt like she had to shoulder some of his pain. That she had to share. So he wouldn’t be alone.
“They are gone,” she said softly. “But you’re here. And I need you. Your people need you. And that’s why you’ll beat it.”
He focused on his palms. “I thought I had.” He looked away. “No, I knew I had not. But I thought I had them managed. The two I’ve had since you’ve arrived were the first true flashbacks I’ve had in over a year.”
She tried to force a laugh. “So … it’s me then.”
Dark eyes locked with hers. “You make it hard to concentrate, that much is true. And yet somehow—” he looked away again “—your voice … your face … brought me back.”
Emotion rose in her fast and fierce like a tide. “Good. We’ll go with that.” She rested her hand on the seat between them. “Hold on to me if you feel it coming.”
He looked down at her hand, a dark eyebrow arched, his expression filled with pure, masculine stubbornness. It was welcome compared to the bleak, grief-stricken look that had