His Defiant Desert Queen

A knock sounded on her door and it opened to reveal Mikael, dressed in casual khaki trousers and a white linen shirt, with a scrap of hot orange fabric in his hands.

“For you,” he said, carrying the sheer tunic to her where she lay in bed.

She blinked at him, this new him, still finding it difficult to reconcile the intimidating sheikh with this very sexy man who looked as if he’d be incredibly comfortable without anything on.

Her hands shook as she unfolded the tunic. The neckline was again jeweled and bundled in the center was a tiny blood-orange bikini.

“We’re swimming?” she asked, lifting the bikini top, and noting that the silky cups looked very small.

“Only if you feel like it. We’re having breakfast outside in the center courtyard, next to the pool. It’s already hot today. You might want to swim.” He gazed down at her. “You don’t have to wear the suit, either. I wasn’t sure how comfortable you’d feel swimming naked.”

Heat rushed to her face. She grabbed the tiny bikini. “I’ll wear the suit, thank you.”

* * *

It was a very lazy, self-indulgent day. Jemma felt as if she were on holiday at a luxurious resort. She’d been in and out of the pool a couple times to cool off, but now she stretched out on a plush lounge chair, sunbathing, while Mikael lay on a lounge chair next to her, reading.

She couldn’t help sneaking glances at him every now and then, astonished to see him in swim trunks. Astonished by his abs, and his long muscular legs, and the thick biceps. He was nothing like the sheikh she’d met three days ago. He seemed nothing like a sheikh at all.

She looked past him to the pool that sparkled in the sun. She could see one of the staff walking toward them with a tray of fresh chilled towels and more lemon flavored ice water, along with little cups of something.

The little cups contained sorbet, a delicious pineapple sorbet that Jemma ate with a tiny spoon. Mikael didn’t eat his. But he sat up to watch her lick the melting sorbet from her spoon.

“You make me hungry,” he said, his dark gaze hooded, his deep voice husky.

She blushed and pretended she didn’t understand, but it was impossible not to understand what he meant when he stared at her mouth as if it were edible.

“You have a sorbet here,” she said. “It’s melting quickly, though.”

“Perhaps I’ll just pour it on you and lick it off.”

A wave of heat hit her. She suddenly felt scorching hot. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

She sucked the tiny bit of fresh pineapple from the tip of the spoon, assessing. “Where would you pour it?”

“You play with fire, laeela.”

She squinted up at the sun. “It is hot out.”

“Very hot,” he agreed, his deep voice now a rumble.

Her tongue flicked at her upper lip, sweeping the sticky juice off. “Maybe you should get into the pool and cool off.”

“Maybe you should stop eating your ice as if you were desperate to have sex.” He saw her expression and shrugged. “Just a bit of friendly advice.”

“You’re trying to help me, are you?”

“Protect you.”

She sucked hard on the little spoon before looking at him, winged eyebrow arching. “From whom?”

“Maybe from what,” he replied, his dark gaze now sweeping her as if he could eat all of her from head to toe.

It was thrilling. Her pulse quickened and Jemma felt a little frisson of excitement race through her. “Which is...?”

“Ravishment.”

“Ah.” She swallowed hard, and pressed her thighs and knees together, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe normally.

She couldn’t remember the last time being ravished sounded appealing. In fact, being ravished had never sounded appealing until now.

It was time something exciting happened. She’d sat here all morning in her tiny blood-orange bikini and wanted his attention. Now that she had it, she wasn’t ready to lose it.

“Would it hurt?” she asked. “Being ravished?”

He considered her, his dark gaze raking her. “No,” he said at length. “It’d feel very, very good.”

Jemma squeezed her knees tighter. “How do I know? You’ve never even kissed me.”

His eyes lit. His hard features shifted, his jaw growing harder even as his mouth curved. He looked dangerous and gorgeous.

She wanted him to pounce on her, devour her.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, his eyes so dark and hot and intense that she felt like the sorbet, melting into a puddle of sweet sticky juice.

She was almost twitching in her lounge chair. She felt so turned on and strung out at the same time. “Yes. But only if you kiss really, really well.”

* * *

Mikeal hadn’t planned on liking his new bride. He hadn’t even wanted to like her. But she was growing on him. She was by turns smart, funny and fierce, and stunning whether in a formal gown, or a swimsuit by the pool.

She looked incredible right now, as a matter of fact, with her hair still damp from her last swim, her skin flushed and golden from the sun, her amazing body barely covered in that swimsuit which was the color of his desert at sunset.

He’d wanted her all morning but her provocative words threatened to push him over the edge.

She was such a tease. He liked it, though. He liked her fire, wanted to taste her fire. Flame it. Make her burn.

“If you’re such a great kisser, why haven’t you kissed me?” she asked, tossing her head, sending damp strands of hair over her shoulder to cling to the swell of her breast.

Desire and hunger shot through him. He ached. He hurt. But he would take this so slow that she would be the one begging for him.

His gaze swept over her, admiring the fullness of her breasts, her flat belly, and the bright silky fabric just barely covering her there, between her thighs.

His body tightened with arousal.

“If I start kissing you,” he answered, his voice so deep it was almost a growl, “you wouldn’t want me to stop.”

“You’re so conceited,” she said, nose in the air, but squirming at the same time.

“I’m honest.”

Her cheeks darkened to a dusty pink. “To me, it sounds like a boast. You talk a lot but do very little.”

He loved that he could arouse her so easily. He could feel her humming now, wanting, needing. “You love to challenge me,” he drawled.

“I was just saying—”

He snapped his fingers, interrupting her, and then pointed to his chair. “Come here.”

Her green eyes darkened, widened. She swallowed hard.

“Come, big talker,” he said. “Let’s see how brave you really are.”

And just like that, her courage failed. She ducked her head, bit her lip, uncertain and shy.

He hid his smile. He’d expected as much.

She was a tease. One of those good girls who wanted to be bad.

He stood up, crossed to her chair, and tugged her to her feet. Her green eyes flashed again, worry, excitement, uncertainty.

He held her by the wrist, led her into the red and ivory pavilion behind them, and drew the silk curtains closed, hiding them.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She sat down on one of the low couches that wrapped the wall.

He sat down next to her.

“What are we doing?” she whispered.

“Whatever we feel like doing,” he answered, his head dipping, dropping low, his mouth so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.

Jemma held her breath, waiting for the kiss. She felt as if she’d been waiting forever for this moment. But he was taking his time, his lips lightly brushing across her cheek toward her ear.

She turned her head toward him, wanting his mouth on her mouth but his lips were exploring the high curve of her cheekbone, his lips a caress across her sensitive skin. Hot darts of pleasure shot through her. His mouth felt good on her. He smelled good, too. She wanted more of him, not less.

Jemma turned her mouth to his again, inhaling his scent, relishing the rich spicy fragrance of his skin. He’d shaved earlier, this morning, and his jaw was smooth and firm, his mouth full and so very sensual.

Promising pleasure.

Unable to resist, Jemma put her lips to his, and waited. Waited to see what he would do. Waited to see what would happen next.

If he intended to seduce her, she would let him do the work. She was in the mood to be seduced, too. Ready for pleasure, sensation, satisfaction. Exquisite satisfaction.

His hand moved to her chin, fingers trailing across her jaw in a leisurely exploration, and yet every little brush of his fingers made her insides tighten and squirm and her breasts, already aching, feel excruciatingly sensitive.

She wanted him to touch her there, on her nipples, and touch lower, between her thighs. She sighed, growing impatient.

“You’re not happy?” he asked, against her mouth.

She squirmed as his fingers played with her earlobe, lightly circling the soft tender skin again and again, making her senses swim and her head spin. “This is a bit frustrating,” she answered. “I think it’s time you just kissed me.”