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His Defiant Desert Queen(45)

By:Jane Porter


                “You’re wrong, Your Highness. You actually never listen.”

                “I’m sure that’s not right. It seems like you talk a great deal.”

                “That’s maybe because you’re not used to a woman who has a brain and wants to use it.”

                “I see.” It required effort not to give in to the smile. “That might explain it, but I’m wondering if talking now will maybe interfere with our pleasure tonight? Perhaps we should wait and talk later.”

                “Most men probably never want to talk, Your Highness, but we must.”

                “Fine. You talk, and I will listen, provided there is no more of this Your Highness when we are in private. You’re my wife, about to come to my bed. I understand you must call me Your Highness in public, but we are alone at the moment, and my name is Mikael.”

                She blinked and wet her lips, her face awash in rosy color, her eyes a brilliant green in her lovely face, flashing fire.

                “Now, what is it you had to say?” he added, reaching out to touch her pink cheek.

                She just looked at him with wide green eyes and he savored the moment. “What is it?” he persisted. “Tell me.”

                She drew a quick breath. “I want you to make me a promise.”

                She was negotiating with him. Interesting. “Yes?”

                “I want you, as the king and leader of the Saidia people, to promise me that you will honor Saidia tradition, and the custom of your tribe.”

                He could see from the tilt of her chin that she expected him to fight her. She expected a problem. She was preparing to battle.

                “I always try to honor Saidia tradition,” he said.

                “Then promise to honor this tradition.”

                “Perhaps you need to tell me what it is, first.”

                She looked into his eyes and then away. She seemed to struggle to find the right words, and then she shrugged, and blurted, “If you cannot make me happy in the first eight days and nights of our honeymoon, I want you to promise to send me home, to my family. My people.”

                She’d shocked him. For a moment he could think of nothing to say.

                “During the tour you explained why the honeymoon is so important,” she continued. “It made sense to me, and it made me respect your culture more. I am grateful you come from a culture that believes a woman should be happy, because I, too, believe a woman should be happy. I believe all women should be happy, just as I believe all women should have a say in their marriage, and future.” She drew another quick breath. “I need to have a say in my future. I need my voice heard. You must give me my voice back.”

                “But you have your voice. I hear you quite plainly.”

                “Then give me a gift I will cherish, the gift of your word. Promise me I will be free to return home if you cannot make me happy.”

                “You doubt me?”

                “I won’t if you promise me I can trust you.”

                “I’ve told you my word is law.”

                “Then say to me, ‘Jemma, if you aren’t happy in eight days, I will put you on a plane, and send you back to London.’” Her green eyes held his. “That is all you have to do, and I will believe you, but I need a promise from you, or it is impossible to give you my body, or my heart, if I’m afraid, or full of fear and doubt.”