Midnight on the Sands: Hajar's Hidden Legacy / To Touch a Sheikh / Her Sheikh Protector

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 come over him when he’d spoken of his family. “I will block it out.”

“If it were that simple that’s what you would always do.”

His expression was fierce. “It should be that simple. I should be stronger.”

“You should be stronger? You should bear all this weight and somehow heal at the same time? How should you be stronger, Zahir? You survived. Not only that, you’re ruling your country in a way that would make your father and Malik so proud.”

“They were made for this life. They were born to it. Men of diplomacy, men of the people.” He laughed, a sound that was cold and humorless. Laced with a kind of bitter pain that was so real and unvarnished it hurt to hear it. “We both know I am not a diplomat, to say the least.”

“You care for your people. Just because you don’t spend your life in the public eye doesn’t mean you don’t. Just because it isn’t as easy for you doesn’t mean you don’t do just as well as Malik would have.”

“Why exactly do you want to fix me, latifa?” he asked, ignoring her earlier words.

There it was again. Beauty. The entire sentence was dripping with insincerity, and yet she found herself clinging to that one word, turning it over. She’d been called beautiful so many times, mostly by the press. The same press that might turn around and call her ugly the next day if she wore a shade of yellow that didn’t flatter her skin tone. It had never mattered. If the insult could be a lie, so could the compliment.

Her father used it, too. Sincerely, and yet it always seemed to undermine any value she had as a person. It had become an annoyance. A near insult in its own right.

But for some reason, hearing it from Zahir’s lips made something happen inside of her. A warm kind of tingling that spread through her body, pooling low in her stomach.

She blinked and looked up at him, into his flat, black eyes. “I … because I have to. The wedding. We have to show strength.”

Her words were clumsy. And they were wrong. There was so much more to this now, to what she was feeling. But she didn’t know what else to say. Always, she had worked for her country’s betterment. Even her time in the hospitals had been in service of their military men. She didn’t really know how to separate what she wanted from what she was supposed to do.

Except for those light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel moments where she had some vague, exhilarating sense of freedom. Whatever that meant.

Although now, sitting with Zahir, even with the tension and sadness, she felt peace. A kind of peace she never felt.

The car turned, taking the more densely populated route that would lead them into the heart of the city. She sensed Zahir tensing next to her and stretched her hand out so that her fingertips rested against his. She’d said the wrong thing, but the physical touch seemed like the right thing.

And he accepted it.

The road narrowed and became more crowded with vehicle and foot traffic as they neared the market, and everything slowed to a crawl. She could sense Zahir’s anxiety as the people closed in on the car, weaving around them so they could cross the street.

“Look at me,” she said.

He turned his head, his forehead glossed with sweat, his jaw set tight.

“Look at me,” she said again. “I’m here. So are you.”

His hand drifted closer to hers until it engulfed it, his thumb lightly moving over her knuckles. He tightened his hold on her for a moment, then released, then squeezed again. Her chest felt tight, too tight. Watching him fight like he was, she felt like she was seeing strength beyond anything she’d ever witnessed. Because he was battling inner demons that went well beyond what most men would be asked to face. Beyond what anyone should ever be asked to endure.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she said softly.

“Just keep doing it,” he said, his teeth gritted. “Because it seems to be working.”

Her throat tightened. She was angry. So angry that he was dealing with this. That someone had done this to him. And she didn’t know what sort of help or hope she could offer.

“What did you do last night?” she asked.

He blew out a breath, his jaw loosening slightly. “Caught an intruder in my bedroom.”

She felt the corners of her mouth tug up into a smile. “Before that.”

“I was riding. My horse. She makes up for what I can’t see. And while there are cars with the technology to help with that … it isn’t the same.”

“No, it couldn’t be. Animals have an intuition that technology can’t possess. I like to ride, too.” She took a breath. Took a chance. “I’d like to go out with you. Riding, I mean.”

He nodded slowly. “In the evening sometime,” he said. “When it isn’t too hot.”

“I’d like that.”

They were through the center of town, through the crowd of people. He relaxed, pulling his hand away and placing it in his lap.

“Are you ready to go back?” she asked, wondering if they’d pushed hard enough for the day.

“I’m fine,” he said.

And she knew that he meant it.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_c23c6ab1-4b0c-5279-9a5f-509d4c015bb3)

ZAHIR stopped in the doorway of the library. Katharine was there, sitting by the fireplace, an orange glow bathing the pages of her book, and her pale skin. The fire wasn’t really necessary, even though the desert did get cooler at night. But he had a feeling Katharine had lit it for ambiance, comfort. She was that kind of person. The kind who enjoyed moments, small, simple things. Like flowers in vases.

When it didn’t irritate him, it amazed him. Made him ache for something he didn’t truly believe he could ever find for himself.

It made him feel like he should turn away from her. To go back to where things were numb.

But he didn’t want to. For the moment, he would take the ache with the pleasure of seeing her. “Come riding with me.”

She looked up at him, a smile spreading over her face. “I’d love to.” She stood from the chair she’d been sitting in and set her book on the side table.

It did strange things to his stomach, to have her say she wanted to do something with him. And she smiled at him. Very few people smiled at him.

But then, Katharine was like very few people.

“Not in that,” he said, looking at the brief sundress she was wearing. It was her standard uniform, and one he wouldn’t complain about, because he could look at her legs all day, but it wasn’t workable riding gear. Even if the thought did make his blood pump faster, hotter than it had in years.

“I’ll change.”

She walked past him and his eyes were drawn down to the shapely curve of her hips as they swayed with each step. Fierce hunger gripped him, lust tightening into his stomach like metal hooks, digging deep, painfully so.

He wanted her with a need that defied logic. A need that defied reality. Katharine had an untouchable beauty, ethereal and earthy at the same time. The kind a man could only dream of tasting once in his life.

The kind he could never touch.