His Defiant Desert Queen(40)
“Tonight is the first of our sixteen nights here. For the next eight nights, I shall pick the pleasure, and then on the ninth night, it becomes your choice.”
He was walking her back to her suite now, and Jemma was glad he was leading. She felt dazed. Lost. Caught up in the most impossible dream.
“Not tonight,” she said as they reached her door. “I’m not ready.”
“A kidnapped bride is never ready,” he said, and yet he was smiling to soften his words. “I also am not insensitive to the strangeness of our situation. I understand you have fears, and misgivings, but I believe it is better to begin sooner than later. You will be less anxious once we know each other.”
“But shouldn’t that happen before physical intimacy?”
“The physical intimacy will bind us together. It is the act of physical love that distinguishes the relationship, separating us from others.”
Jemma pressed her hands together, fingers locking. “One more day. Please.”
“But you had one day already. We had today.”
“I slept most of it away!”
“Which should mean you are rested and refreshed for tonight.” They’d reached the entrance to her suite of rooms. He gestured to her door. “Inside your room you will find several presents from me. You will receive more later. For the next eight days and nights I will shower you with gifts, jewels, and my undivided attention. I think you shall soon discover that these eight days and nights will be everything you ever dreamed...and more.”
His gaze met hers and held, even as his words echoed in her head, making her nerves dance.
Everything you ever dreamed...and more.
Just like that the night crackled, the air hot and heavy, sultry in the exotic pavilion.
Mikael was so close that he made the hair on her nape rise and her skin prickle. All she could think about was the sheikh stretching his big powerful body out over hers. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she fought to control her breathing.
“You are awfully confident, Your Highness.”
“We are married. Don’t you think it’s time you used my given name?”
“I do not feel married.”
“That will change soon.”
* * *
Jemma disappeared into her room, pulse racing. She turned from the door and nearly tripped over the mountain of trunks stacked just inside the entrance to her sitting room.
The young maid was standing next to the trunks, smiling. “For you,” she said. “From His Highness.”
Jemma backed away from the trunks, panicked by the tower of gifts.
She didn’t want presents. Didn’t want to be showered with expensive gifts and jewels.
She wanted the life she had in London. She wanted her friends. Wanted her work. She wanted her own identity and freedom.
The maid watched Jemma, her dark eyes bright, expression cheerful and excited. “Shall I start your bath, Your Highness? We have much to do to prepare.”