Royal Sins. Maisey Yates
flitting through them. “When I first met you, I thought the desert would cause you to wither quickly enough. But you proved to me that first day that you were made of steel. Do not disappoint me now. Not when I have admitted to needing you.”
She straightened, some of the haughty defiance returning to her gaze. “I do not wilt.”
“Excellent. Wilting would be no use to either of us at this point.”
“You are aware that when we walk into that coronation we must look as though we are already a couple. You must be beyond reproach. You must instill absolute confidence in the stability of us as a couple. If you are looking to make us a figurehead, then we must be an infallible one. I have a reputation to stand on. The citizens of my country love me. The union will strengthen trade between Alansund and Tahar. It will be good for the economy, and will provide you with the semblance of experience.”
“That will entail you hanging on my arm, I suppose?”
“I think we can forgo dancing. I highly doubt anyone would fault you. But yes, we will need to look as though we are unified in every way. You will need a speech that outlines your plans for Tahar.”
“I do not have a speechwriter anymore. I fired him.”
“Do you...do you write?” she asked, her voice tentative.
“I do. Though it is not a skill I often use, I admit.”
“Perhaps we can work on this together. If you can lay out your plan, I can help make sure it reads well. You are well-spoken, I will say that for you.”
“Something to do with spending a lot of time alone, I think.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because,” he said, “I spent a lot of time speaking to myself. Keeping language was important to me, every language I learned from my father. I was quite careful with the gift he gave me.” He had often spoken into the emptiness. Run through the words that he might not use with frequency. Anything to make sure he didn’t lose the pieces of humanity that were still embedded in his soul. Like shards of glass, they were often uncomfortable, making them tempting to extract because they were at odds with why he had been out there in the desert. But still, he had clung to them. He was glad now.
Because now he needed it.
Too bad scattered shards were good for little when you were expected to present something unified.
“Good foresight anyway. It will come in handy later.”
“I live to be handy in your estimation, my queen.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” she said, smiling. It was a different smile than the one that crossed her lips when she spoke of her late husband. She was a nuanced creature. And he had never been good with nuance. Weapons of destruction weren’t known for nuance.
Her gaze flickered downward, and he could feel her slow perusal of his body. Then she looked back up, her cheeks red, her eyes locked with his. “You are studying me,” he said.
“I find you fascinating,” she replied.
“What is it about me you find fascinating?” His voice had changed, gotten huskier, deeper. And the heat was back. Heat and fire, and the dark pit of need that he had wished might remain covered.
“Right now? I find your body fascinating.”
She said the words in a measured, deliberate fashion. The color in her cheeks heightened, and at the same time the fire in his veins roared ever hotter.
“I know we tabled this discussion, with marriage as the condition upon which we might speak of it again,” she continued, “but now you have agreed.” She took another step toward him, her hand outstretched. There was a vulnerability in her eyes he could not guess at, but appealed to some unknown, dark part of him that was previously unexplored. Temptation grabbed him by the throat, unfamiliar. And before he could fully process the decision, his body had acted.
That was not unusual. When adrenaline poured through his veins, he trusted his body to do the thinking. It was trained, finely honed, strong.
But this wasn’t a battle. His body didn’t care.
He wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist and tugged her forward, placing her hand flat on his chest, just over his raging heart.
An answering heat flared in her eyes and he released his hold on her, setting her free to do what she wished.
This time, when she began to forge a trail down the center of his chest to his abdominal muscles, he didn’t do anything to stop her. He could not fathom how something so soft could have such a great impact. Like watching a feather land on a mountain, causing it to crumble.
Something tightened like a fist of fire in his gut, building and spreading lower, creating an ache down deep inside of him. He was the master of his body. The keeper of everything he felt, and everything he chose not to. But right now, that control had been wrenched from him. Was being clutched in Olivia’s delicate grasp, those soft, velvet fingertips holding sway over his every breath, his every act. She was, in this moment, the goddess of his universe, manipulating the very air around him.
She took a step toward him, raising her other hand, curling her fingers around the back of his neck. He had seen young soldiers do the very thing he was doing now. Standing there, watching an enemy advance, knowing that fleeing was the best option but holding their ground anyway. The morbid fascination of approaching doom too great to turn away from.
For those young, untrained soldiers, facing death was an anomaly. Facing death was far too common an occurrence in Tarek’s world. It held no curiosity for him in the least. But in this moment, he was much like those green young men facing down a steel-tipped arrow for the first time. Resistance should be the very first response, and yet it never was.
So he stayed, rooted to the spot, transfixed.
Though instead of watching a steel blade draw ever closer, his gaze was locked upon the clear blue of her eyes. Determined. Focused.
She paused, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lush, pink lips. He had the sudden image of pulling her close and completing the task for her. The urge to do so was strong, so strong his entire body shook with the restraint of not completing the task outlined in his mind’s eye.
On the heels of this desire was the incongruous thought that Olivia proved an iron fist was unnecessary to wield power. A delicate touch could accomplish so much more. With it she had reached inside him, exposed cracks in the walls he’d built around himself. Reinvigorated layers of need he had spent years pretending didn’t exist. Hunger became more than a simple need for fuel. It became a craving for flavor, for texture. For food, warmth, softness. For touch, and connection, and for a woman’s body beneath his.
He felt split in two, at war with the desire to seize back his control and pull away from her and to follow the new, darker urges building deep inside him.
Control. Focus. Purpose. That he had to have above all else.
And this, this physical connection with Olivia, was not something he could deny. It would be part of their marriage. But he must learn to take command of it.
For that very reason he stood, allowing her to continue to touch him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to endure. To remain passive with her hands against his skin, her fingers tangling with his hair, the other hand exploring the ridges of his muscles.
He imagined all of the heat in his blood pooling in his stomach, draining away from the other parts of him. There he would keep it contained. There he would keep it controlled.
He drew in a ragged breath of his own accord, not commanded by Olivia, or his reaction to her.
And only then did he step away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It is a very good thing, I feel, that you are fascinated with me. For it seems to be important to you. Still, I think consummation