His Defiant Desert Queen(34)

                “So he was a good father when you were little?”

                “In a young child’s eyes, yes. But during the divorce the battle lines were drawn and I, due to my age, went to Mother. All of us went with Mother, except Morgan, who chose to live with our father.”

                “Do you know why your parents divorced?”

                Jemma hesitated. “I think he wasn’t faithful.”

                “Was the divorce quite bitter?”

                “Not as acrimonious as it could have been. They divided up kids and property and went on with their lives.”

                “But neither married again.”

                “No. Mother was too upset—she’d loved my father—and he didn’t want to lose any more assets.”

                “This is why love marriages are dangerous. Far better to go in with a contract and no romantic illusions, than enter the marriage with impossible hopes and dreams of a fairy tale relationship that can’t exist.”

                “But in an arranged marriage there is no love.”

                “Love isn’t necessary for a good marriage. In fact, love would just make things more difficult.”

                “How shall I fulfill...my duties...without love?”

                For a moment he was baffled, and then amused. Her point of view was so peculiarly Western. As if only those who had a romantic relationship could find satisfaction in bed. “Love isn’t necessary for physical pleasure.”

                * * *

                Jemma saw him rise from the cushions and walk around the table. She swallowed hard as he approached her, not knowing where to look, or what to do. Her heart was pounding and her brain felt scrambled.

                “Marriage isn’t all bad,” he added quietly, circling her. “Our marriage will honor you. You are my queen. The first lady in my land. There will be no more public scorn. No more shaming. You will be protected.”

                His voice was a deep, low rumble, the pitch husky and strangely seductive. Jemma turned her head, watched his mouth. His firm lips suddenly fascinated her. “Until you take your next wife,” she said, feeling almost breathless.

                “Would you feel differently if you were my only wife?” he asked, reaching out to lift a dark strand of hair from her eyelashes and tuck it carefully behind her ear, his fingertips then caressing the curve of her ear before falling away.

                His skin had been so warm, and his touch had been light, fleeting, and yet she’d felt it all the way through her, a ripple of pleasure.

                Aware that she’d never survive, not if she remained this close, Jemma moved away, crossing to the far end of the pavilion where the light was even more dappled. “Are you saying I would be your only wife?” she asked.

                “I never planned on taking more than one wife,” he answered.

                “If you hoped to reassure me, you’re not succeeding.”

                “Do you need reassurance? Is that what this is about?” He was moving toward her again, walking slowly, confidently, relaxed and yet still somehow regal.

                Jemma’s heart hammered harder as he closed the distance. She didn’t feel safe. She didn’t feel comfortable or in control.