His Defiant Desert Queen(46)
He said nothing.
“Mikael,” she added more softly, persuasively, “I need to know that I can trust you. I need to believe you will take care of me. Your promise is the gift of dignity and honor. Your promise means I feel safe and respected, and that gives us the basis for a future. Otherwise, we have nothing. And how can you build a future on nothing?”
She was like a queen, he thought, watching her. Beautiful and regal. Proud, slender, strong. With her dark hair and stunning green eyes, she could easily be one of the great Egyptian queens. Cleopatra. Nefertiti. Ankhesenamun.
If they had met under different circumstances, he would have made her his lover or mistress. He would have enjoyed spoiling her with gifts. He liked to spoil his woman, liked to please her. But he didn’t love. He didn’t want to love. Love complicated relationships. Love wasn’t rational.
He was determined to be rational. He was determined to be a good king.
She reached toward him, her hand outstretched. “Mikael, I need to know you have not just your best interest at heart, but mine, too.”
He stiffened. “As king I have all my people’s best interests at heart.”
“As my husband, you must have mine, too.”
“I do.”
Her hand lightly settled on his chest. “Then promise me, and I can meet you tonight with calm, and confidence, and hope.”
He glanced down at her hand where it rested so lightly on his chest, just above his heart.
He captured her hand in his, holding her small fist to his chest. His thumb swept her wrist. He could feel the wild staccato of her pulse. She was afraid. He didn’t like her fear. “You’ve no need to be afraid.”
“That is not the same thing as a promise.”
“You are still getting to know me, but you will discover I am a man of my word. I do not make rash promises, nor do I break my commitments.”
She bit her lip and looked at him from beneath her long dark lashes. “So what does that mean?”
“It means I have eight days to make you happy.”
He could see her bite down harder, her pink lip turning white in the center, where her teeth pressed into the tender flesh.
He both envied and pitied the spot.
Once she was completely his, he would suck and lick that poor lip to make amends. His body hardened in anticipation. He would very much like to suck and lick all of her. He would like to feel her tighten beneath him, and then shatter. “But I also understand your mistrust of men. Your father abandoned you, and then your fiancé did the same. You’ve been surrounded by men who only think of themselves, making rash promises, which is why I can safely give you my word that I will make you happy.”
“And yet, if you cannot, you will let me return to London?”
His dark gaze raked her, appreciating the jut of breasts and swell of hips beneath the thin kimono. “Yes.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BACK IN HER ROOM, Jemma couldn’t look at herself as she stepped into the beautiful fitted white satin gown. It was too soft and sensual to be a wedding gown, and yet the slinky satin somehow managed to give the impression of a long and Western style bridal gown. The wedding night without the traditional wedding ceremony.