Zaid didn’t wrap his hands before swinging at the heavy bag. Doing so would only mar the intensity of what he was feeling. And he wanted to feel it. Every raw, bruised inch of it, every hard snap of his fists against the worn leather exorcising the anger and frustration that roiled inside him.
He indulged in it, that physical manifestation of pain. A pain he could name, feel, compartmentalize. A pain that was more than the hollow ache that threatened to consume him.
He would regret the decision tomorrow. Or maybe he would relish it. Let it serve as a reminder that love – assuming this was, in fact, love – was pain. Always had been. Always would be. A lesson he should have learned by now.
He fought against the heavy bag until the muscles in his arms fell limp, an accurate rendition of how he felt inside. Weary. Powerless. Like he had no control. Like he never would. His soul as battered as his bruised knuckles.
It was a sick, cruel joke. Had the baby been a boy, a future prince, he would still have that control. But a girl couldn’t rule, which meant Zaid had no claim on her, no leverage with which to keep Harper from leaving, from taking the child from him. Soon he would be alone again.
The swirling black and white image he’d seen on the sonogram streamed on a constant loop in his mind, mocking him. He’d scarcely allowed himself to consider the possibility of a female child. His focus had lain solely on a son, to the exclusion of even the most basic rational thought. A foolish miscalculation on his part. One that was now poised to cost him everything that mattered.
He’d never felt so weak before. But now he felt it. Infinitely, impossibly weak.
But then a spark of relief flooded through him, a savage yawp reminding him of who he was. He wasn’t weak at all. He was powerful. One of the most powerful men in the world. He could make her stay. Forever, this time.
The same power that had given his father permission to disrespect his mother, the same power that had allowed Matthias to demand Harper terminate her pregnancy.
A cold chill trickled down his spine even as a savage need coursed through him, a wrath that served as indisputable proof that he was his father’s son. He’d never believed himself capable of it. But he understood now. Power was his weakness. The most perverse weakness he’d never known.
His breath left him, the air cut off not by the arid heat, but by his own self-loathing. He made his way to the gardens, sucking in as much of the warm night as he could take in. Desperate for anything that would rid him of the sick feeling that seemed to coat his skin, threatened to overtake him at any moment. The smooth stones were warm beneath his feet, barely visible in the glow of the moonlit sky. The blush of something floral and spicy, not indigenous to the area, infiltrated his senses and he turned, his breath returning to him as he saw Harper.
“Shouldn’t you be packing?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. Her voice sounded raw, as though she had been crying. A sound that twisted like a knife. “I saw you through the window.” She reached for him, her fingers hovering in the space between them. “Zaid…”
He pulled away from her. “For someone so interested in boundaries, you seem to have no problem overstepping them," Zaid said.
She sucked in some air, her demeanor cooling, even as the concern remained etched in her expression. "I didn't think you would mind. You make yourself quite welcome in my apartment."
"I do mind," he said. "Leave."
She inhaled, a sharp intake of breath. "No." She shook her head. "I refuse to let you order me around like I’m beneath you."
"I'm not ordering you around like you’re beneath me. I'm ordering you around like you're trespassing. Which, at the moment, you are."
"I am your wife."
"On paper."
"Yes, on paper. Legally, I am your wife. Which means I'm no more trespassing here than you are."
He threw her a cautious look. "Do not suppose that the rights of your country apply to you here. You have only as much power as I give you."
And he had given her so much already. Too much. She had the power to seek his ruin at her will, the power to command him on his knees, to make him beg, to break him. She and the child she carried within her.
"I'll take my chances," she said.
"You would do best to take them elsewhere."
Another sharp intake of air, this one the definition of a challenge. She shook her head. "I've given this a lot of thought," she said. "About what could have happened to make you like this. You’re so full of anger...hate…"
"I don't hate you," Zaid said.
Though he wished he could. Wished it would make a difference. End his suffering. But love and hate, for him, were synonymous, flip sides of the same coin. A double-barrel emotion he would gladly cut out of his chest if he could.
"Maybe not. But you are disappointed, aren't you? That she's a girl?"
"Don't be absurd," Zaid said. "Gulzar is conservative. It isn't barbaric."
"But she can't rule. You said as much. And that means she is of no use to you."
"This is far more complicated than you will ever realize."
"Don't patronize me. Just because I'm not from here doesn't mean I can't understand."
"I doubt that.” He doubted anyone could feel what he was feeling, that desperate concoction, fury and need bleeding into each other.
"Believe it or not, we're not that different, you and I."
"You know what it's like to lose everything? Everyone you’ve ever loved?"
"I never said I know what it's like to have gone through what you've gone through. But I know what it's like to have nothing. And I know what it's like to be abandoned by the people who are supposed to love you, supposed to be there for you."
It was as if she had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart. His bruised, battered heart. No amount of physical pain – and he'd felt so much – could have prepared him for that. Could have prepared him for how vulnerable and weak and powerless it made him feel.
And there was nothing he could do to hide it from her. She would be able to tell. The pinch of his eyes, the downturn of his mouth, the slump of his shoulders. He was bared to her, completely. A place he had never been before. With anyone.
The realization dawned in her eyes. "Zaid..."
He turned from her. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't care for you? Don't love you?"
"You think what you’re feeling is love,” Zaid said. “But it isn’t. It can’t be. There is no love between us.”
"That's not true," she said. "I love you, Zaid. I love you. And I know you love me, too."
"I don't," he said. "I can't."
"You do. I know you do. I've seen what lies inside your heart, and it isn't this darkness you’re clinging to."
Zaid clenched his jaw, looked away from her. "I don't have a heart, Harper. All those things you want me to feel…I can’t feel them."
"Of course you have a heart," Harper said, shocked by his words. His heart was huge and open, battered and raw. But it was there. It had always been there. She'd known from that first night at the club, when she'd bandaged his hand, first known the gentleness in his touch. "Here. Let me show you."
"Harper–"
She silenced him, putting a finger to his lips. Then, taking his hand in hers, she pressed them both against his chest.
"Don't you feel that?" she asked. "That's your heart." She tapped out the beat lightly on his skin. "Listen to what it's saying."
"I know what it's saying," he said. "It's saying it's all my fault.”
“Zaid, no…” Even in the dark, with the waning moon casting the garden in a dusky haze, she could make out the concern etched in his features. It pulled at the corners of his mouth, pinched at his brow. The impermeable sadness that seemed to coat every word.
“Do you know why I come out here, Harper?” She shook her head. “My mother loved this place. These gardens, especially. She would walk here, every day. When my father would get in on of his moods, I would hide here, knowing she would find me. And then I left.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Harper said. “What happened to your mother—”
“She died, Harper. Alone. Because I wasn't here. Because I wasn't strong enough to stay, to stand up for her."
"Is that what you think?" Harper asked. "That your mother died because...because you ran away? Zaid, you were practically a child. You couldn't have stood up to your father even if you'd wanted to. What could you have done?"
“I could have been here…I could have called for help when she…”
His voice trailed off, leaving behind a scattershot of grief and pain and regret, so much Harper's own chest ached. She reached for him.
"Zaid...Your mother died because she was very sick. It had nothing to do with you.”
"But if I had stayed, she wouldn't have been alone," he said. "I would have been with her. I should have been with her. And I wasn't."
"The only thing she wanted was to know that you were safe," Harper said. "That's all that mattered. That was all she needed. So this guilt you're holding onto...you can let it go."
"I can't."
"You can. Please."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Things change, Zaid. People change. It doesn't matter if you want them to or not."
She knew this all too well. She'd seen men come and go. She'd seen love turn to hate and affection erode into ambivalence. She'd seen people who had promised to be there for her walk away without so much as a second glance.
And she could see in Zaid's expression that he'd learned this lesson, too. It was the reason he fought so vigilantly, why he was so quick to risk everything, so quick to push everyone away.
Even her.
Especially her.
"Leave." It was a command, an order, and a desperate one at that. One she refused to obey.
"No."
"Harper–" His voice was rough, raw, not at all composed.
"No," she said again. "Believe it or not, you're someone worth saving."
"It's not your place to save me."
"Of course it is." She wouldn't let him pull away from her. Not like this. "Because I love you, Zaid. I love you. And I know you love me, too, even if you can’t let yourself admit it."
He turned from her, angry, frustrated, his insides tearing at the seams. "You're a doctor, Harper. You know how arousal works. It’s a base physical urge. One I thought you were mature enough to understand."
"I'm not the one who lacks understanding. The fact that you are even saying this, that it's purely physical and nothing more, just proves that."
He seized her arm and pressed her against one of the warm stone pillars of the palace, his body closing in on hers. A fluttering bloomed in her stomach, a liquid pleasure that threatened to consume her. She bit down on her lip, grinding out a sound that lay somewhere between shock and arousal as her body reacted to his touch.
"This," he said, grazing her bare neck with the back of his hand. The rough edges of his scarred knuckles bit at her skin, sparking electricity in her veins, "is lust. Physical attraction. Nothing more. I am aware of my instincts, of what I want to do to you, but I am not captive to them as you may think."
She swallowed. "Oh yeah?"
She put her palms to his chest and pushed him away, surprised at how easily it was to move his weight away from hers. Surprised that she could hold herself upright. Her limbs felt like noodles, almost as if they weren't there at all. As if she was having an out of body experience, surrounded by nothing but pheromones and him.
"If you're so sure about that, then show me," she said.
He sucked in a sharp breath. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do. If you're so sure this is purely physical, that this is nothing more than a cocktail of chemicals and hormones, then show me. If you're right, it should be pretty easy to replicate."
He stood, carefully assessing her. His face unreadable, the space between them a heady labyrinth of desire and wanting.
Never taking her eyes off his, she slipped the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground, baring herself to him in the pale light.
A battle of wills played out behind his ice-cold eyes. His body and his mind, his heart and his desire, his longing and his fear, all melded into one. His breathing sharpened as his eyes fell to her breasts. She longed for him to touch her there, to kiss her there, to press his body against hers, to be filled by him again. Filled the way he had filled her on their wedding night, until she couldn't remember where she ended and he began.
She moved toward him, leaving the nightgown in a satin puddle on the ground.
"Show me," she said again. She took his hand and kissed it, kissed the scrapes, the raw places, the places she knew mirrored how broken he was inside. She placed the palm of his hand on the swell of her breast and guided her own down his chest, loosening the drawstring of his sweatpants and reaching inside, taking hold of his thick erection. "Show me how to make love to you."
"Harper–" he said, his voice rough, breath shaky, even as he reacted to the rhythm of her touch.
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't talk," she said, cupping his chin, bringing him closer to her. "Just kiss me."
Her mouth met his and he reciprocated. A low guttural sound erupted in his throat, igniting the pleasure that had been building between her legs. He grabbed her ass and pulled her tightly to him, massaging her breast with his other hand. His thumb grazed her nipple and she stifled a whimper.
“Tell me,” she urged him. “Tell me what you want.”
He pulled his mouth away from hers. "I want to taste you."
She nodded, relinquishing her grasp on him and leaning back against the smooth stone of the palace. He knelt before her, tugging down her panties inch by agonizing inch.
She parted her legs for him, reveling in the sensations as he kissed his way up her inner thigh, his hot breath on the most intimate places of her body. Then he kissed her between her legs, his tongue smooth and hot against her swollen sex.
“Zaid…” She cried out for him, her hunger deepening.
Yes, this is what she wanted. For him to be free, finally free of all the hurt and pain and fear of his past. For him to be with her, only her, completely.
He held her to him. “I’ve got you.”
She arched against him, and he slid a hand beneath her, holding her against him so that she was unable to move, to quicken her release. She was a prisoner to his touch. Slowly, he slid one finger inside her, then another, moving them back and forth within her.
Pleasure like she had never felt before gathered inside her, so tight and so powerful, she didn't know how she could take anymore. But god, she didn't want him to stop. She didn't want him to ever stop.
Her breathing ragged, she laced her fingers through his hair and held him close, trying her best to buck her hips against him.
And then there was release. The sweetest, most exquisite release. Her body clenching around him, wanting more of him. All of him.
Her body spent, she closed her eyes and leaned back, releasing the hold on his hair as he drew himself to full height. She reached for him, bringing his hand to her mouth, reveling in the way his eyes darkened as she tasted herself on his fingers.
“Harper…”
He swept her up, not letting go until they were back inside the palace. He set her down gently on the bed and kissed her.
His kiss was deep and demanding, as intimate as the sex act he’d just performed. He pulled away just long enough to rid himself of his clothing, and she cursed the darkness that she couldn’t see more of him. She wanted to fully appreciate the thickness of his erection as he rubbed it between her legs, teasing her.
She shook her head, pressing her palm firmly against his chest and walking him back, toward the bed. "Not yet."
The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he lowered himself into a sitting position. Harper pulled a pillow from the bed and dropped it onto the floor, between his legs. Bracing herself on his knees, she lowered herself into a kneeling position, moving her hands up the insides of his thighs.
His erection twitched in response, and Zaid groaned through gritted teeth.
"We shouldn't–"
"I don't care what we should or shouldn't do. All I know is I want this. And I know you do, too."
He did. More than he dared admit to himself, let alone Harper. More than he'd wanted anything, ever, in his entire life.
She splayed her hands on the insides of his thighs, her lips soft as she kissed her way up his shaft before slowly taking him into her mouth. He held his breath, letting her warmth envelope him, the sensation almost enough to send him over the edge.
He had forgotten what it was like, how it felt to be loved. He'd had his share of liaisons. But he'd never been taken in so fully by someone. He'd never had someone make love to him the way Harper was doing tonight.
“Rohi…” A familiar tightness pulled taught low in his gut, and he cupped her face, easing her away from him.
She stood, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him onto his back as she straddled him, teasing their bodies before lowering herself onto him.
Their bodies caught, and he was momentarily stunned. It was the most perfect sensation he had ever felt. Not a physical one, but something deeper. Something he hadn't even known had existed until tonight. Until Harper had looked at him with those eyes, so hungry, so yearning, and he'd gotten swept away. Pulled under by a tide he'd never imagined had raged beneath his surface.
She leaned forward, taking her weight on her arms as she quickened her pace, a desperate, feral attempt to satiate the longing in her body, to quiet the hunger that roared inside her. That roared inside them both.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me…”
“You feel so good,” she said. “So…perfect.” She trailed off, biting down on her lip, refusing to take her eyes off his as she quickened her pace. Then, exquisitely, she came, her breathing caught, and she cried out, nails digging into his chest as her body tensed around him, every quiver pushing him closer to his own release.
She slowed to a stop and collapsed forward, her body spent and slick with sweat. He brushed her hair back and stared intently at her face. Her beautiful, sex-flushed face. He couldn't remember what he was angry about anymore. Or why. He was completely calm, his body filled with pleasure as he was inside her.
"Do you need to stop?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No. I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop making love with you."
He eased her off him and helped her onto her side, savoring every inch of her body. The swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. He positioned himself so that they were back to front, and slowly entered her from behind, keeping his hips working at a slow rhythm that she found and mimicked with her own body.
He put his hand at her rounded waist, while he kissed her neck, the curve of her jaw, the line of her shoulder. Their movements quickened once more, and she guided his hand between her legs, where she needed him to touch her.
He needed her, too. Needed to pour into her all the hurt and fear and abandoned emotion he'd ever felt. He needed to bury himself in her and take refuge there, the only place where no one else existed but the two of them.
His grip on her hips tightened, pressing her tightly to him as he took her more deeply, his breathing shaky. She came once more, and this time he let himself go, let the tightness of her orgasm swallow him up until there was nothing left.
They lay together for a long while after they were done, neither of them saying anything. Finally, without a word, Zaid pulled out of her.
Harper turned, and cupped his face, holding her palm against his face, searching his eyes for answers.
Answers he couldn't give her.
Answers he refused to give her.
Because he knew the power of what lay between them now.
He wouldn't let anyone harness that power.
Not even himself.
He turned from her, pushing off the bed and heading for the bathroom.
She called to him. "Zaid?"
He paused at the door, unable and unwilling to face her. "I need a shower," he said. "Don't be here when I get out."