His Defiant Desert Queen

“There is nothing you need to do. It’s all been done,” he said.

“It can’t all be done,” she said, noting the change, but trying to tease him. “The Kama Sutra refers to hundreds of positions, and we’ve only tried—” she scrunched her eyes closed, as if thinking very hard “Four or five?”

“I think you’ve practiced plenty.”

She feigned shock. “You’re sick of sex?”

His smile was crooked. “No, but I think we need to get out. Go and do something. I’ve a picnic packed. Get your suit. We’re heading to the beach.”

“Camels to the beach? Now that would be interesting.”

His mouth quirked, reluctantly amused. “We’ll take the helicopter to Truka, and then my car to the beach town of Tagadir.”

In the helicopter, on the way to Truka, Mikael explained that the Karim family owned miles of a beautiful private beach in the ancient resort town of Tagadir. There had once been an elegant nineteenth century villa in Tagadir, but the villa had been torn down by Mikael’s father who planned to build a new one, but the new one was never constructed. However, the beach was still there, with its soft white sand and beautiful warm water.

They reached the entrance to the Karim estate just after noon, passing through tall black, wrought iron gates. The long driveway toward the water was bordered with blooming hibiscus hedges in pinks and bright corals, but on reaching the end of the drive, right where one would expect to see a grand building, there was nothing but the ruins of a cement foundation, with stone steps leading down to the beach.

The driver delivered the picnic basket and blankets to the beach and then returned to the car. Jemma stood on the last step and surveyed the private cove. A small, but elegant stone pavilion rose from the sand. Otherwise there was nothing. The beach truly was lovely, and private.

After lunch, Mikael and Jemma swam. They dried out on their blanket and then returned to the water to cool off when the sun became too fierce. Mikael was back on the blanket now, watching Jemma float and splash.

Her skin glowed golden after these past few days lounging at the Kasbah pool. The touch of gold in her skin brought out the green of her eyes. In her white bikini she was beyond stunning.

He watched as she waded in, stepping from the surf to wring the water from her long dark hair.

He loved looking at her and talking to her and making love to her. He loved her company and enjoyed her laughter. The laughter was good, and needed. He had a tendency to be silent and stern but she brought out a more playful side in him. He hadn’t always been hard.

Loving Jemma had opened him up, softened his heart.

He needed to send her home, back to her family, back to those who loved her and wanted what was best for her like her mother, and Branson, her brother, and the sisters who all adored Jemma.

Mikael wasn’t sure that Jemma would understand. He hoped she wouldn’t take his decision as a rejection. He wasn’t rejecting her, but protecting her.

This was the time he could return her to her people, without shame or stigma. After the eight days and nights, before the official sixteen days of honeymoon ended.

He couldn’t wait, either. He didn’t want her to become too attached. He didn’t want her to confuse lust and love. She was dazzled by pleasure, seduced by endorphins and chemicals. Orgasm tricked women’s brains, flooding them with chemicals that made them attach...feel...need.

There was a reason Saidia men made love to their captive brides for eight days without ceasing. The sex, the pleasure, it was a drug. The frequent and intense orgasms helped the woman bond to her man so by the end of the honeymoon, the bride didn’t want to leave her groom. The bride had become attached, even addicted to her groom, craving his scent, his touch, his feel, and each coupling would reinforce the attachment, and aid in procreation.

Mikael knew all this. Jemma didn’t.

It was time he told her.

She dashed across the hot sand to join him on the blanket. She was laughing as she tumbled down onto the blanket, dripping water on him, making him wet.

“Wicked girl,” he said, reaching for her.

She wrinkled her nose at him, making fun of him. His chest grew hot and tight. He had to have her, needed to touch her. He slid his hand into the long damp strands of her hair, the sea making her hair gritty, and he rolled her onto her back, and settled over her, kissing her, drinking her in.

He could taste the salt water on her lips and the cool ocean on her breath and it heated his blood, making him hungry. He deepened the kiss, his tongue parting her lips. Mikael teased her tongue, stroking it, stroking her mouth, delving into it until he felt her shudder and arch against him.

He shifted, and leaned back on the blanket, and drew her on top of him, settling her slim hips between his thighs, so that his arousal pressed thickly against her.

Jemma sighed against his mouth, and he felt her yield to him, her body softening, shaping to his, her lovely full breasts crushed to his chest, her nipples peaked, hard, and he reached around to cup her bottom. She sighed again as he palmed her buttocks, his fingers kneading the smooth muscle. She groaned deep in her throat as he pressed her down against him, rubbing her pelvis against him, feeling her softness cup him. He nearly groaned, too.

She felt so good. He stroked her hips, her rounded bottom, her inner thighs, all while driving his tongue into her, an insistent rhythm that made her writhe helplessly against him, her body trembling in anticipation.

She strained to get even closer, her breath coming faster.

His hands slid up her thighs, until his fingers brushed the fabric of her bikini bottoms. She was hot, wet, and her heat scorched him. He rubbed across her, feeling her softness through the fabric, finding her sensitive spot.

Her eyes widened and she panted. He loved the way she did that...gasp, shudder, pant. She was so beautiful and sensual. He loved that she could forget her inhibitions and lose herself in him. In them.

He caressed her between her thighs again and again, feeling her grow hotter, wetter. She jerked, nerve endings exquisitely sensitized, and flung her head back, her eyes emerald, cheeks flushed. With her dark hair still wet and the halo of sun above them, she looked like a goddess from the sea and he had to have her, now.

He rolled her over onto her back, and tugged her damp bikini bottoms off of her. His thighs parted hers and he sank into the cradle of her hips, nudging her soft folds, eager to be inside her. His tip stroked her smooth, secret places, her creamy heat calling to him, drawing him in.

Mikael entered her with a thrust, slipping deeply inside her tight body.

He loved her the way he knew she liked to be loved—deep, slow, hard—and with his body he tried to say all the things he’d never be able to say in words.

That she mattered too much.

That she was too valuable.

That she deserved so much more than he could give.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JEMMA LAY IN his arms on the blanket in the sand, resting comfortably, happily. There was no place she’d rather be than here, in his arms, against his chest. “What day is this?” she asked, lifting her chin, to look at him.

“I think I’ve lost count,” he said, smoothing her hair back from her brow.

She lifted a brow. “Really? I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“So what day is it?”

“Day eight. The last day and night of your half of our honeymoon.”

She waited for him to say something. He didn’t.

“Tonight you are still in control,” she added, blushing a little. “But tomorrow I take over. Tomorrow I’m in charge for the next eight days and nights.”

She smiled into his eyes, waiting impatiently for him to say something, something warm and sexy. Something encouraging. Something.

But he didn’t speak. He just looked at her, his dark eyes somber, expression grave.

Her heart did a funny double beat. Nervous and uncomfortable, she chewed the inside of her lower lip. “You’ve gone awfully quiet,” she murmured.

His jaw shifted, his lids dropping, hooding his eyes. “I have been thinking a great deal about tonight.”

“So have I. I think it’s time you let me pleasure you.”

“I don’t think there is going to be a tonight.”

Jemma froze. Blinked.

“There is just...today,” he added quietly.

For a second she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything at all.

“I married you so you wouldn’t have to remain in Haslam under house arrest for seven years. But the eight days are up. I have fulfilled my responsibility as a groom, and I can now return you to London, without losing face.”

She still couldn’t take it all in. She took his words apart, bit by bit, processing them. Digesting them.

He didn’t want an eighth night. He didn’t want to be married to her. He intended to put her on a plane for London.

She licked her lips, her mouth dry. Parched. “I’m confused,” she whispered.