His Queen by Desert Decree

Molly bristled. ‘You can’t just reorganise my entire life to suit you!’ she condemned.

‘If the reorganisation brings a positive result for many, why not? Is your life in London so much better than it could be here? Is there perhaps...a man involved? Someone you want to return to? I know it was Tahir’s belief that you were unattached but who knows whether you told him the truth on that score?’ Azrael quipped in a raw undertone.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m totally single!’ Molly admitted impatiently. ‘I have friends back home but with the three jobs I had I rarely had time to see them. Now at least two of the jobs are gone. Everything that’s happened here has screwed up my life and my ability to keep myself, so why the heck can’t you just put things back the way they were and fix this problem?’

‘You are a very unreasonable woman. You demand the impossible and then look at me accusingly when I fail to deliver.’

‘So, I’m unreasonable?’ Molly pressed a hand to her chest to emphasise that point. ‘Nobody’s asking you to give up your life and independence!’

‘There is nothing I would not sacrifice for my country,’ Azrael countered fiercely.

‘But you don’t own me, so you can’t sacrifice me without my consent!’ Molly shot back at him tempestuously, green eyes alive with hostility. ‘Oh, no, that’s right, we are currently standing in the most primitive place on earth where women are as much a man’s property as his horse. So maybe you can sacrifice me without my consent!’

The very word ‘primitive’ set Azrael’s blood boiling through his veins. He regularly worked eighteen-hour days in his efforts to pull Djalia out of the past and into the future and in that endeavour he had the full support of his people. Hashem had held fast to barbaric practices and laws that had supported his appetite for helpless women and brutality. He had kept a harem of concubines, young females stolen from their families and literally imprisoned. Azrael had been appalled by the stories he had heard after the palace had fallen, but guiltily relieved that Hashem had died of a massive heart attack before he could be put on trial. His country would not have benefitted from a public washing of that amount of dirty laundry.

‘Stop...shouting...at...me,’ he commanded with lethal quietness.

‘I’m a lot more vocal than a horse would be, aren’t I?’ Molly told him with a certain amount of satisfaction.

‘You are my wife and I will treat you with respect,’ Azrael breathed tautly. ‘But you must treat me with respect too.’

‘Not feeling it right now, Azrael...not feeling it at all,’ Molly confided, trembling with rage. ‘If you marry a woman without her consent, you must roll with the punches when she dares to complain. I am not going to stop shouting because you tell me to!’

Azrael took an almost silent step closer and an ebony brow quirked. ‘No?’ he queried, golden eyes bright as polished ingots between black framing lashes.

‘No!’ Molly shouted emphatically back at him.

And Azrael swooped down on her like a hawk, taking her so much by surprise that she yelped in fright as he snatched her off her feet and up into his arms as if she were a lightweight, which she knew she was not.

‘Lesson one,’ he ground out. ‘Do not shout at me when I am tired.’

He kicked open the bedroom door and dropped her down on the bed. ‘Lesson two, do not call Djalia primitive or backward—’

As her lips parted furiously to add even less welcome adjectives to the line-up, Azrael laid a hand across her mouth. ‘Be quiet,’ he told her without hesitation. ‘When you insult my country, you offend me. Stop doing it.’

Rigid with rage, Molly jackknifed in an effort to throw him off her because he had her pinned to the mattress by his superior weight. He knelt over her, her arms held still by his hands, and he was much too strong for her to fight.

‘I may well be a primitive man because I have had to do many primitive things in my life but I would never treat a woman as a piece of property or physically hurt her. And no, you know I am not hurting you at this moment,’ he growled, lean, darkly handsome features grim with warning as he made that point.

Molly dragged in a steadying breath. ?

??I will not insult your country again,’ she conceded quietly.

‘Thank you...’ Azrael freed her arms and sprang off the bed, giving her a fleeting view of his taut behind in denim that roused unfortunate memories of her glimpse of his naked back view in the cave.

Molly’s face suffused with burning colour. She watched him lean back against the stone wall by the window like a panther lounging in sunlight. He was so incredibly sexy. Something clenched at her core and she dug her hips into the mattress as if she could squash that feeling, but it filtered up through her in a hot liquid surge, a hungry awareness that refused to die.

‘We can work on the shouting. There are ways of learning better control,’ Azrael told her helpfully.

‘Wanting to slap you won’t help me learn better control,’ Molly told him.

‘You are my wife—’

‘Stop it!’ Molly reared up against the tumbled pillows. ‘Stop saying that!’

‘What is the point of arguing with the truth?’ Azrael murmured sibilantly, his entire attention welded to her as her glorious hair shimmered in the sunlight like highly polished copper. ‘Would you truly strike me in anger?’

Molly shook her shoulders and pursed her lips. ‘Probably not. I’m not the violent type, but you do enrage me.’