The Sheikh's Reluctant Queen. Оливия Гейтс

      Silence enveloped the gigantic space, enfolded them. She soaked up its peace and profundity. She couldn’t believe she’d shared with him things she hadn’t even told her best friends. How he’d listened, become involved, interested, letting her unburden herself, letting her come closer.

      If only he’d reciprocate.

      For now he was giving her what she’d never hoped to have. The pleasure of basking in his nearness and communion, the sense of being isolated with him in a world that contained no one but them. She felt sequestered from everything—the past, the future, existing in a sheer state of presence, in his presence.

      Then poignancy passed from soul to senses, took hold… and wrenched. The need to smooth her hands down his scar, over that glorious head and shoulders and chest became an ache. But it was the expression on his half-turned face that had tenderness sweeping through her. It was as if he’d forgotten to put on his mask, as if he couldn’t hold it in place.

      “What are you thinking?” she whispered.

      The expression was gone. “Nothing.”

      “I think it’s a fourth impossibility that your mind isn’t in high gear every single second you’re awake. I bet you’re thinking even when you’re asleep. It feels as if you’re perpetually observing, analyzing, concluding and deciding how to use each and every detail of what’s going on around you.”

      Both eyebrows rose. But he only said, “And the first three impossibilities are?”

      “You don’t know? But it’s a very common saying.”

      “In Zohayd, I assume. Contrary to common belief, Azmahar was never an extension of Zohayd that splintered into oil-fueled if ill-fated autonomy. It wasn’t destined to return to the motherland’s bosom begging to be annexed back. Not until ex-king Nedal, that is.”

      “Whoa. That’s a huge nerve you got exposed there. But sheathe your claws, Rashid. I, of all people, don’t subscribe to any of that. With said king being my uncle, I’m half-Azmaharian through the side of my family who’re responsible for Azmahar’s decline. I can do nothing about anyone’s actions or what they led to, but I’ve always loved Azmahar and am proud to call it my second home.”

      His gaze stilled on her face.

      Was that welcome news? Or was he only adjusting another misconception in that fathomless mind of his?

      He finally exhaled. “You wouldn’t be faulted if you didn’t. Azmahar, as it stands today, doesn’t have much to it to love or to be proud of. It was mismanaged and misrepresented by its rulers and constrained and condescended to by its allies for decades. Most of its people have either forgotten what it is to be proud to be Azmaharian, or never learned it was possible to be so.”

      That urge to touch him, hug him, almost overwhelmed her. “But not you. You’re Super Azmahar Man who’ll rectify all that, now that you’re a candidate for the throne.”

      His expression changed as if a steel door had slammed shut. It made her realize how much he’d opened up. Another off-limits topic?

      When he answered, it seemed she’d imagined all the tension. His shrug was easy. “Candidacy means nothing.”

      “Only winning does, huh?”

      Again he didn’t pursue the subject she’d introduced. Which she was burning to know more about.

      Since her uncle had been forced to abdicate the throne after a long reign of gross “mismanagement,” and his heirs had been rejected for succession, Azmahar had called for a new king. But the country was now divided into three fronts, each supporting a different candidate.

      The other two candidates were Haidar and Jalal, her paternal and maternal cousins. They’d been dubbed the Princes of Two Kingdoms and so many said they were perfect for the throne of Azmahar.

      Which was ridiculous. Though she loved them and they were incredible men and businessmen, she couldn’t see how anyone would consider them, or anyone else, when Rashid was in the picture. Apart from being beyond compare as a man, in her own humble opinion, he was full-blooded Azmaharian and a war hero many times over, and the wealthiest, most successful businessman in Azmahar’s history.

      Rashid’s deep-velvet voice interrupted her musings. “You still haven’t told me what the first three impossibilities are, according to Zohaydan folklore.”

      “I do know it’s not known in Azmahar, but I thought with you once spending so much time in Zohayd you’d be as versed as any of us in local colloquial nuances.”

      “That one must have slipped my omni-awareness.”

      She couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud. He kept surprising her. That combination of corrosive humor and straight-faced delivery was lethal. Like everything about him. It didn’t help to discover he was fun as well as hot as hell. As if she wasn’t already in enough trouble.

      Feeling as if her smile would never fade, she said, “Al ghul wal anqa’a wal khell’lel waffi.”

       The ghoul, the phoenix and the faithful friend.

      His lips curled. “I don’t know about the first two but the impossibility of that last one is certain.”

      That was what he believed? About Haidar and Jalal? The three of them had once been inseparable. More. Bonded beyond even brotherhood. What could have happened to shatter their vital connection?

      Dared she ask?

      No. She’d stepped on too many of his privacy toes for one night. Something of that magnitude had to be reserved for later.

      If there was a later.

      With dejection setting in, she sighed. “Both our issues are tied to those who should have been our closest friends.”

      That again seemed to stun him. “Are you suggesting we have something in common?”

      Her astonishment equaled his. “I’m not suggesting. I’m stating.”

      “It seems more than two years of living in Chicago has dimmed your memory of who you are, princess. And of who I am.”

      Her eyes rolled. “We’re back to princessing me, huh? Please don’t tell me you’re even suggesting that when it comes to status, I’m the one standing on higher ground!”

      “I’m not suggesting. I’m stating.”

      She almost snorted. “Please! You’ve overcome unimaginable adversity and are now a phenomenal self-made success story, with a kingdom begging you to be its king. And what am I? While I made enough money to set up my business, and it’s beginning to take off, it will never be anywhere near as huge as yours. And while my family might have thought they were ‘prizing’ me—what they actually did was hold me back and almost break me down. I’ve barely recovered from a lifetime of emotional abuse. At least when your guardian and his family abused you, you had the comfort of knowing they weren’t your flesh and blood. So no, there’s nothing higher about my status.”

      Again she felt that vast… wrath percolate inside him. It made her shiver, even when she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

      “You’re still a princess,” he finally said.

      “A minor one.”

      “The only daughter of the Aal Shalaans is anything but minor. Your parents are siblings of monarchs. You’re next in status only to those in line to the crown of both kingdoms. If that doesn’t make you a major princess, I don’t know what does.”

      “Take heart. I’m no longer royal on one side, since my mother’s family was ousted from Zohayd and Azmahar. And with Uncle Atef relinquishing Zohayd to Amjad, having only a cousin on the throne distances me from it and diminishes said lofty status.”

      “Whatever the political developments, you’re still royal on both