His Defiant Desert Queen

She tipped her face up to him, frowning at the amount of time he’d be traveling, first by camel, and then by car. “Won’t it take you all day to get there?”

He kissed her again, this time on her brow. “I have a helicopter here. The pilot’s ready. If we leave now, I’ll be back this evening.”

“And you have to go?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding very decisive.

“Be careful,” she said.

He kissed her one last time, this time on the lips. “Always.”

* * *

It seemed as if it would be a long day with Mikael gone, but Jemma’s maid led her to the Emerald Chamber, with the wall of antique leather-bound books.

Jemma studied the spines, delighted to discover that many were in English, and many were written by her favorite English authors. Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, E.M. Forster, and more.

Jemma selected Mansfield Park by Jane Austen and curled up in bed to read. She read the afternoon away and was still reading when the maid appeared to help Jemma dress for dinner.

“Is His Highness back?” Jemma asked, reluctantly putting the book down.

The maid shook her head. “No.”

“Then why do I need to dress for dinner? Can’t I have dinner here, in bed?”

Jemma finished the novel over dessert and promptly began Sense and Sensibility but ended up falling asleep over it.

She was still asleep, holding the novel, when Mikael arrived at midnight.

He stood over the bed for a moment watching her before carefully plucking the book from her hand, drawing the covers up to her shoulder, and turning the lamp out next to the bed.

He showered in the marble bathroom and then after drying off, joined her in bed. He was naked. But then, so was she.

* * *

Jemma woke up in the night and reached out to her side, relieved and delighted to discover Mikael there.

She moved toward him, and he opened his arms to her, drawing her close.

She pressed her face to his warm chest, breathing in his scent. He was back and he felt good and smelled good and she lifted her face to his, offering her lips. He kissed her, taking her mouth and then rolling her onto her back, to thrust deep inside her.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, taking all of him, wanting to hold him as close as possible, aware that things were changing. She was changing.

She...loved...him.

She loved him.

All of a sudden it made sense. She was happy because she was in love.

* * *

They fell back asleep and then woke up sometime in the morning to make love again. This time Jemma didn’t fall back asleep but slipped from bed to head to the bathroom to shower.

Mikael watched Jemma cross the bedroom, naked, her beautiful body so familiar to him now.

Maybe that’s why his chest felt heavy and tight as he watched her disappear into the bathroom.

Maybe that’s why sex had felt different last night and this morning.

Maybe it’s because she was familiar to him. Important to him.

But she was different, too, he thought. She hadn’t merely been in his arms, but with him...in him...which didn’t make sense, as it was his body filling hers, but somehow she’d gotten inside of him. He had felt her, feeling her not just with his body but his heart.

The emotions and sensations had made the sex more intense.

She’d felt so alive beneath him, so fierce and fragile, so beautiful that he couldn’t get close enough to her, and he’d tried, God knew he’d tried.

Slow, deep strokes, hands holding her down, and still so he could kiss her, ravish her, draw her all the way into him.

And it hadn’t been enough. He couldn’t get enough. Even after one, two orgasms...hers, his.

Before, when he’d pleasured her, he’d wanted to blow her mind, enslave her through passion, make her yield to him. Belong to him. If she was going to be his, she should be happy with him.

But today it’d been something else.

There had been more heat than ever before but the heat wasn’t about skin or erotic zones. It wasn’t about the orgasm, either.

It was her. Wanting her. Holding her. Being with her.

And he could have sworn she’d been into him. Not the act. Not the friction and tension, not the positions, either.

Somehow the game of seduction had changed and become something more. More real, more honest, more raw. Suddenly, the stakes seemed higher than ever. Could he make Jemma happy? Could he keep her here with him in Saidia?

And if he could, was it fair to her? Or to those in her family?

* * *

Mikael threw back the covers, and headed for the bathroom where he could hear Jemma showering.

Hot steam filled the white marble bath, thick fragrant clouds hanging in the air.

He could just make her out through the wisps, her long hair piled high on her head, her hands on her breasts, spreading the bath gel across her lovely pale skin. He hardened, wanting her, craving her again.

He should be sated by now. He should have had his fill.

How many times did a man need a woman?

And yet watching her dark head dip, as she looked down her long, slim torso, to the suds running from her breasts to her belly, his body tightened, his arousal surging upright.

He couldn’t stay away. He needed her. Again. He’d have her, too.

Mikael pushed open the glass door to the sunken shower, steam rising, embracing him.

Jemma turned toward him, startled, her lips parting in surprise.

Her eyes, those lips, her face...

Hunger raced through him. Hunger and the need to have her, hold her, keep her. He reached for her, and pushing her back against the wet marble wall, pressed his chest to hers, feeling the slippery film of soap suds between them, skin slick, enticing.

He rubbed his chest across her soft breasts and felt her nipples pebble. He inhaled sharply, as something wrenched in his chest.

This was new, this need. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand this desire. It was bigger than before, fiercer, wild in a way that baffled him, knocking him off balance.

Sex did not confuse him.

Women did not confuse him.

But he was confused now.

Confused by Jemma with the green eyes and soft lips and sweetness that pierced his heart and made him want to please her and protect her, keeping her safe, keeping her from harm’s way.

With the water coursing down she lifted her face to his and he couldn’t resist her lips. His head dropped, his mouth slanting across hers, hands framing her face.

Beautiful Jemma.

Beautiful woman.

Beautiful heart.

His chest burned. His eyes stung. He leaned in, crowding her, trying to take the upper hand. He was the master here. He was in control. He would prove this was just sex.

He broke off the kiss and turned her around, pressing her breasts to the warm slick marble even as he pulled her bottom toward him. His hand reached between her legs, finding her softness, and heat. He pushed up against her bottom, stroking her, feeling her legs quiver as his body strained against her.

She was so hot, so wet. He wanted to bury himself in her, wanted to have her surround him, hot and tight, but he was too rough right now, and he couldn’t hurt her. Couldn’t force her. She’d given him so much earlier, it would be wrong to just take her now—

“I’m waiting,” she said, her voice husky, her hips rocking against him. “Stop teasing me. You know I want you.”

The sex was hot and Jemma left the shower satisfied, but Mikael did not.

That wasn’t right, taking her like that. But was bringing her to the Kasbah in the first place right? He’d kidnapped a foreign woman. Forced her to marry him.

He toweled off slowly, guilt beginning to eat at him, even as a little voice in his head whispered, you are wrong. This is wrong.

He didn’t like the little voice, didn’t want the little voice. The voice represented the past, and weakness. But Karims must be strong. Karims must be above the law.

* * *

Mikael spent several hours at his desk on phone calls and in meetings before changing into comfortable clothes to meet Jemma for dinner in the grand courtyard. The pavilions and pools had been lit with sapphire and pink lights.

Jemma wore a long deep blue kaftan with silver and gold embroidery. The inky color of her dress made her green eyes even more brilliant. He sat across from her at dinner to see her, but the table between them meant he couldn’t touch her too easily.

Instead he watched her face and her eyes as she talked during their meal. Her green eyes shimmered when she laughed. She laughed easily, her expression dancing.

She was so warm. And good. She deserved good things, and good people.

He was not a good person.

Powerful, yes. Wealthy, exceptionally so. But good? No.

During dessert and coffee he remembered he had a gift for her, and he pulled the velvet box from the pocket in his robe.

“For you,” he said, handing her the box.

She looked up at him, dark winged eyebrows lifting higher. “You have to stop.”

“Never.”

She laughed, eyes dancing. “Fine. I tried. I won’t fight you anymore because a gift now and then is rather nice.” Then she opened the box, lifted the stunning sapphire earrings out, jaw dropping in awe. “Oh,” she whispered, giving one earring a slight shake. “These, my husband, are absolutely stunning.”