Royal Families Vs. Historicals. Rebecca Winters

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      She looked at him, unbearably curious about what would make a man like him select a piece of jewelry over another. If it had anything to do with her, or with something else. It was like studying a rock wall for secrets.

      And he wasn’t going to tell her. Of course he wasn’t.

      She picked up the ring box and opened it slowly.

      Her indrawn breath settled in the back of her throat, never making it all the way to her lungs. It was a simple ring, with a large square-cut stone the color of the crystal-blue water in the pristine lakes found in Alansund. An oasis in this desert. She couldn’t help but see it that way.

      She had removed her engagement ring and wedding band before leaving Alansund, because there was no point wearing them when she was anticipating wearing another man’s ring. Still, the idea of putting on one that was so different in style was both strange and a relief.

      She wanted to ask him why. Why this ring?

      But she didn’t.

      Instead, she took it out of the box without ceremony and slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. “Even fits,” she said.

      “An accident.”

      “Or a sign,” she said.

      “If you believe in such things.”

      “I suppose,” she replied. The man was impenetrable. And he refused to allow her to form a connection, no matter how small.

      “There is much to prepare before the party.” His forehead wrinkled. “I cannot quite fathom that I am attending a party.”

      She couldn’t help but laugh, and it was a relief. There’d been too much tension inside her. “I can see that you aren’t the most party oriented of men.”

      “I don’t know how to have fun,” he said, sounding completely mystified by the concept.

      A scene flashed through her mind, unbidden, of her hands moving over his bare back, her legs wrapped around his hips as he drove in deep. That, she had a feeling, would be fun. She swallowed hard. “I’m sure you know some ways. Or at least some ways to relieve stress.”

      “I am fond of spending a few hours a day doing drills with my sword.”

      She blinked, biting the inside of her cheek. “Is that a euphemism?”

      “I am speaking of an actual sword. What were you thinking?”

      Her face got hot. “Nothing.”

      “I often feel we are speaking a different language sometimes.”

      “That could be because we’re usually speaking your second language.”

      “I do not think that’s it,” he said, his black eyes intense on hers.

      She sensed it was her opportunity to push for information, but she withdrew. Because she was tired of pressing only to be pushed away.

      “It’s a beautiful ring anyway. See, you did that well. No language barriers.” She determinedly lightened things.

      “It will send the proper message, one hopes,” he said. “That we are moving forward unified, as a couple. For the sake of the nation.”

      “I think it will. I will handle coordinating the staff to organize the menu planning, music, things like that. You just focus on…smiling when people smile at you.”

      He put his hands into his pockets and he smiled. It was the saddest attempt at the facial expression she had ever seen. She found herself helpless to do anything but smile right back. And in that moment, the twist of his lips changed into something much more genuine. And her heart fluttered.

      “Good,” she said, the word tight, rushed. “Very good. You’re going to be fine. All of this will be fine.”

      She wasn’t sure if she was saying it for his benefit or for her own.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      THIS WAS HER DOMAIN. Not the empty, echoing corridors. Not the feeling of being shrouded in a tomb. But this ballroom, glittering, full of people. An excuse to wear one of her beautiful custom-made gowns that had often been front-page news around the world when she was queen in Alansund.

      The ballroom here in Tahar was different. With a high, domed ceiling, ornate golden detail and gems set ablaze by the lights suspended above. Everything was done up to perfection, and uniquely reflected Tahar and its beauty.

      She was at ease here. But it was clear Tarek wasn’t.

      Tarek was solid stone beneath her fingertips. Were it not for the heat radiating from his body, she would have thought he’d calcified entirely. Obviously, while this might be her comfort zone, it wasn’t his. She had expected as much, but she’d also had the feeling that there would be no preparing him for the moment. He simply had to live it.

      She felt strangely protective of him. Odd, because she knew for a fact there was not a single person in this room he could not neutralize physically. But this wasn’t his battlefield. Social settings, the thrust and parry, the sneak attack that came with a tongue and not a sword, were where she was most deadly. And she stood by, ready to defend.

      She sneaked a sideways glance at him and her stomach tightened with unmistakable desire. There was no use pretending it was anything else. He was beautiful. That thought had scrolled through her mind often over the past few days.

      His hair reached the top of his collar, curling slightly, but adding no softness to the shape of his face. His square, blunt jaw was so tempting to touch. She wanted to press her lips just beneath it, on his neck, right where his pulse beat, steady and hard.

      When they were married, she would have that right.

      A sliver of ice slipped through her veins, a shiver working its way along behind it.

      She wasn’t sure at all if he wanted her. She couldn’t read him, the beautiful rock wall of a man. Perversely, that only made her want to rail harder against him. To try to force a crack.

      But she knew better than that. Creating conflict was overrated.

      So many people talked about speaking your mind. Standing up for yourself. What was the worst that could happen, and all that.

      She knew.

      The worst that could happen was you laid yourself bare before the people you loved most and they stared blankly back. Offering nothing. Giving nothing.

      She couldn’t think about that. Not now. Not when so much was going on around them. Not with members of international press stopping them to try to get Tarek to speak. Not with diplomats, politicians, social-program coordinators and businessmen all jockeying for Tarek’s attention while he grew increasingly tense beneath her fingertips.

      This was the physical representation СКАЧАТЬ