The Royal Collection. Rebecca Winters

had left her bruised. Aching. Desperate for more.

      There was something so impolite about the way he had ravished her. Like the man himself. In contrast, Marcus had unfailing manners, always. But Olivia couldn’t escape the thought that it was a testament to how little it mattered which female was in his bed at any given time.

      She had spoken to Tarek about how they would both have to learn. Of course she would have to take the time to watch his responses, to feel what made him shake. What made him moan. What made him hard. But then she’d realized that hadn’t been the case with Marcus. He had never learned her in that way. He knew women. That was different.

      Not that she had cause for complaint; not that she never asked for more.

      It was pointless to stand here and compare two men who were completely different. Particularly when one was dead, couldn’t give more even if she begged him to. And she hadn’t. When he’d been alive she’d asked him for nothing beyond what he gave.

      Unlike Tarek, Marcus had never pledged fidelity.

      She’d never asked him to.

       You didn’t ask Tarek to, either.

      And yet he had.

      None of this made her wonder what was wrong with Marcus. Rather, she was beginning to wonder what was wrong with herself. Why she had never pushed for more. Because she and Marcus had professed love for each other, and still he had given her less than half. And she had accepted it. Not only had she accepted it, she’d been comfortable with it. Had he made eye contact with her as he thrust deep into her body the way that Tarek had, she probably would have curled in on herself and retreated.

      Intimacy meant reaching deep. It meant sharing and changing. Turning over things that were wrong and discovering how they could be fixed. Facing problems head-on.

      That had never gone well for her in the past. The potential cost felt too great.

      For that reason, she hadn’t wanted that sort of intimacy with the man she’d once called her husband.

      She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted it now. Because that intimacy was the reason she was avoiding Tarek’s bed in a fit of pique. His rough, unpracticed movements, that it was all for her, only for her, had stripped a layer of skin from her body, left her raw and exposed. And then, after all that, he had asked her to leave. When she had wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his waist and curl up beside him, bury her face in the curve of his neck. Lie with him until her breathing matched his, until they both drifted off to sleep.

      He had denied her that.

      She was still angry. Still angry, even knowing she had to get into a limousine with him and go down into the capital city for him to make a speech at a monument of war to commemorate a day in the nation’s history. It was, in her understanding, a celebration of the founding of the country. The unification of the primary tribes into one sovereign nation. And of course Tarek would need to be there, again speaking of unity, and of the new future for Tahar.

      And she, as the new sheikha, had to accompany him and stand just behind him, staring at him adoringly while she really wanted to eviscerate him. Possibly with her teeth. All right, she was being both dramatic and bloodthirsty.

      She walked through the throne room of the palace to the antechamber that led outside. She paused, adjusting the scarf she had wound over her hair and loosely around her neck. Then she walked outside, putting on a pair of large sunglasses to protect her from the glare, and from Tarek’s gaze.

      He was already standing there, in front of the limousine. He was wearing a dark suit jacket and perfectly cut trousers, his hands stuffed into the pockets. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, and not even the superbly cut pants could disguise the perfection that was the musculature of his thighs. She thought it was funny how quickly he had taken to wearing European-style suits. He seemed to like them. Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to bother to have anything else tailored. That could be it. Nothing off the rack was going to fit him. He was too tall, too broad.

      She was obsessed with his body. Which wouldn’t be so much of an issue if she wasn’t also obsessed with the man. A man who was nearly impossible to reach.

      “Good morning,” she said, opting for the first thrust so that it was his job to parry.

      He turned and her stomach lurched. She chose to imagine him still as the great hairy beast-man she had initially encountered in the throne room. But considering that, she sometimes forgot just how beautiful he was. It was easy to focus only on the raw magnetism and forget that he was objectively the most handsome man she had ever seen.

      “You are speaking to me, Olivia,” he said, his eyes flicking over her.

      She wondered if she should have worn a dress. Or perhaps something more traditionally Tahari. She thought perhaps her cream-colored harem pants, gold blouse tucked into the high waist and long, loose linen jacket might not be the appropriate attire. If he noticed, he didn’t say.

      “You do not have to cover your hair,” he said, jerking open the door to the limousine.

      “I know. Wind.” She breezed past him and got into the car, sliding to the other side and buckling herself with a resolute click.

      And Tarek insulation, but he didn’t need to know that. For that same reason, she kept her sunglasses in place.

      “We will be staying in the city tonight,” he said, joining her in the limo, closing the door behind him.

      The car began to move away from the palace as she processed this piece of information.

      “I didn’t bring anything.”

      “It was taken care of for you.”

       Of course it was.

      “You are angry with me,” he continued. “You haven’t spoken to me in two days.”

      “Very good, Tarek. Next we’ll move on to the more advanced human emotions.”

      “I explained to you why I didn’t want you in my room.”

      “I don’t believe you,” she bit out. Her words lingered in the air, bitter, desperate to her ears.

      “You want to stay with me?”

      “Yes. I do.”

      The admission was difficult, which she despised. Exposing all of her neediness, all of the desire in her that had gone unmet for so many years. Because of herself. Because she had never asked for more. Because she had been terrified of more. She still was. But she also felt as if she had been breathing stale air for too long, and Tarek was like the very wind she’d claimed to be trying to protect her hair from. A rush of something fresh, necessary, that she could not control or harness. But it wasn’t her hair she was concerned for.

      It was her heart. That caged, protected creature that she had locked behind golden bars years ago. Because she had been so tired of feeling the hurt every time her parents missed something special of hers because they needed to be with Emily. Because what kind of monster did it make her if she wanted the attention stolen from her sick sister and directed at her? It was why she had been able to accept Marcus’s love for what it was. Why she had been able to love him in return while knowing almost nothing about him, and sharing almost nothing about herself.

      She didn’t like any of these revelations. Not in the least. Any more than she liked the revelation that Tarek had disrespected the cage. Had stuck his hands right between the bars and grabbed hold of the thing she’d been coddling the most.

      Bastard.

      He didn’t even know. Hadn’t even been aiming for her affected organ, she knew. She supposed that was the danger of sleeping with virgins. They were so honest. And everything they gave was all for you.

      As a woman who had never had anything that was just for her, she’d been unprepared for what it would do to her.

      Marrying