The Royal Collection. Rebecca Winters

      He stiffened beneath her touch. But he didn’t pull away, and nor did he turn.

      “I am very likely the one who should be sorry,” he said.

      “I don’t know what to do with you.”

      “If you are lost, I don’t know what hope the rest of us have.”

      She smoothed her hands over his chest, the water making his skin slick. “What does that mean?”

      “You always know what to do, Olivia.”

      “Not right now. Right now, I’m just as lost as you are.”

      He shifted then, turning and backing her against the wall, his erection hard against her hip, his dark gaze intense on hers. “I know what I want.”

      “What?” she asked, her voice thin.

      “You.”

      “Have me.”

      On a growl, he lowered his head, kissing her, harder than he had done out in the living area. This wasn’t a kiss filled with anger, but of desperation. Desperation that reflected her own. She smoothed her hands down over his back, the scar tissue beneath her hands obvious now. She had missed it the first night they’d made love. She’d had her hands on his shoulders as he’d thrust deep inside her, but she hadn’t realized what it meant. She did now. And she ached, not just with the need for him, but the need to heal him. The need to reach him. If she had to crack herself open wide, show him by example, she would. She would.

      She reached down, grabbing hold of his thick arousal, shifting their positions and widening her stance, placing ahead of him the slick entrance to her body. “Please,” she whispered.

      He flexed his hips, finding her center unerringly, moving deep within her.

      Hot water rolled over them, his kisses raining down on her face to match each drop. Tarek was inside her. And she wasn’t alone. Wasn’t separate from him. She opened her eyes, meeting his dark, raw gaze. He saw her. She was not just a body, not simply a pleasant diversion, or a duty. He needed this; he needed her.

      And she needed him. For the first time in her life, that idea didn’t terrify her to her core. She needed him, and it made her feel wonderful. Made her feel beautiful. Made her feel strong.

      Because if she didn’t give up herself, Tarek would never be able to release the walls that surrounded his own heart. She knew it then, as sure she knew anything else.

      She moved her hands down, grabbing hold of his behind, tugging him hard against her, gasping as her orgasm washed over her, the pleasure blinding, like nothing else she had ever experienced. She didn’t hold back the cries on her lips, didn’t hold back anything. She poured herself, all of herself, into it. And when he found his own release, she gloried in it. In the way he trembled, in the way he held her, his big hands braced against her hips, holding her steady as he rode the wave that threatened to consume them both.

      Afterward there was no sound except for the water hitting the tile, their breath echoing in the small space.

      “Let’s go to bed,” she said, her voice soft, firm. “Together.”

      He let out a ragged breath, kissed her neck. “For a while,” he said, his tone cautious.

      He turned the water off, and they got out of the shower. She took a crisp, folded white towel and began to drag it over his skin, erasing the water drops that covered his body. And he stood, allowing her to do it. As she did, she explored the scars that covered him. Memorized them. She felt honored to witness them. To feel them. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, to look away, to pretend she hadn’t seen them.

      But that was wrong. Someone had to see this. Someone had to care.

      And she had to stop being so afraid to care.

      Because she could no longer pretend that caring meant never asking questions, never asking anything of each other. That was benign neglect at best, masquerading as love simply because there was undemanding sex thrown into the mix.

      A sharp pain worked its way through her, starting in her temples and spreading down, the ache blooming in her throat, then hitting hard in her chest. She had loved Marcus. She couldn’t deny that. Not when the loss of him had thrown her into months of darkness, serious anxiety that had been difficult to shake. A feeling of loss and hopelessness that had been very real.

      But she doubted in this moment if she had ever been in love with him. Their relationship hadn’t allowed for feelings that cut half so deep. They had been partners, lovers, but it had been nothing like this. Tarek’s pain lived inside her. Her triumph felt bound to his.

       Do you still think of yourself as with him?

      She flashed back to that question he’d asked her weeks ago during the coronation party. The answer had been simple. And it had been no. Because she had not been a part of Marcus.

      Tarek was a part of her. Whether she was that for him or not, he was for her.

      If she lost him, she knew very well that it would be like having her heart wrenched from her chest. It would be much harder to go on living. And that was the cost of love.

      She loved him.

      She wished, very much, in that moment, that she did not.

      He took another towel from the counter and made it his mission to dry her. And by the time he was finished, by the time he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back into the bedroom, placed her gently on the bed, she knew that whether she wished it away or not, it was true. There had been no protecting herself from this. Nor from the pain that it could potentially bring.

      Her desire to breach his defenses had caused her to lower her own.

      She lay down on the bed, completely naked, unashamed, watching as he lay down beside her.

      “Tell me about your back,” she said, her voice hushed.

      Because she wanted the hard things. Because she wanted everything. Even if it was hard; even if it hurt. Even if it made her vulnerable.

      “I told you. He tortured me.”

      “Why?” she asked, knowing she sounded broken, devastated. Perhaps that wasn’t fair, when he spoke of it so calmly, but someone had to weep for him. It would be easy for her to do so.

      “He said...he said the death of my parents was caused by weakness in the nation. He said I would have to be made strong. He said he did it because he loved Tahar. Because he loved me. He said it was the only way to protect the both of us.”

      “What did he...?”

      He reached out and touched her breast, his thumb gentle as it slid over her nipple. “You are so soft, Olivia. So beautiful. I do not want to fill your head with the things that were done to me. There is only darkness and ugliness there. Nothing more.”

      “Don’t hide from me. Please. I don’t want that. I’m tired of pretending that someone lying next to me means I’m not alone. Especially when I realize that it isn’t true.”

      “I don’t understand. If you’re lying next to someone, clearly you aren’t alone.”

      “No. Trust me. Someone can lie next to you and still be miles away.”

      “Marcus?”

      “This is our bed,” she said, “I mean, this isn’t our bed, it’s the hotel’s. But you know what I mean. I don’t wish for him to be between us.”

      “I understand. But is that what you’re talking about? Answer my question just this once.”

      “Yes. Him. But don’t blame him. I never asked for more. And he never offered. I think he was protecting himself, as I was.”

      “There is certainly wisdom in protecting yourself.”

      Yes, but she was starting to see that she had been keeping