His Defiant Desert Queen(56)

                Her tongue flicked at her upper lip, sweeping the sticky juice off. “Maybe you should get into the pool and cool off.”

                “Maybe you should stop eating your ice as if you were desperate to have sex.” He saw her expression and shrugged. “Just a bit of friendly advice.”

                “You’re trying to help me, are you?”

                “Protect you.”

                She sucked hard on the little spoon before looking at him, winged eyebrow arching. “From whom?”

                “Maybe from what,” he replied, his dark gaze now sweeping her as if he could eat all of her from head to toe.

                It was thrilling. Her pulse quickened and Jemma felt a little frisson of excitement race through her. “Which is...?”

                “Ravishment.”

                “Ah.” She swallowed hard, and pressed her thighs and knees together, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe normally.

                She couldn’t remember the last time being ravished sounded appealing. In fact, being ravished had never sounded appealing until now.

                It was time something exciting happened. She’d sat here all morning in her tiny blood-orange bikini and wanted his attention. Now that she had it, she wasn’t ready to lose it.

                “Would it hurt?” she asked. “Being ravished?”

                He considered her, his dark gaze raking her. “No,” he said at length. “It’d feel very, very good.”

                Jemma squeezed her knees tighter. “How do I know? You’ve never even kissed me.”

                His eyes lit. His hard features shifted, his jaw growing harder even as his mouth curved. He looked dangerous and gorgeous.

                She wanted him to pounce on her, devour her.

                “Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, his eyes so dark and hot and intense that she felt like the sorbet, melting into a puddle of sweet sticky juice.

                She was almost twitching in her lounge chair. She felt so turned on and strung out at the same time. “Yes. But only if you kiss really, really well.”

                * * *

                Mikeal hadn’t planned on liking his new bride. He hadn’t even wanted to like her. But she was growing on him. She was by turns smart, funny and fierce, and stunning whether in a formal gown, or a swimsuit by the pool.

                She looked incredible right now, as a matter of fact, with her hair still damp from her last swim, her skin flushed and golden from the sun, her amazing body barely covered in that swimsuit which was the color of his desert at sunset.

                He’d wanted her all morning but her provocative words threatened to push him over the edge.

                She was such a tease. He liked it, though. He liked her fire, wanted to taste her fire. Flame it. Make her burn.

                “If you’re such a great kisser, why haven’t you kissed me?” she asked, tossing her head, sending damp strands of hair over her shoulder to cling to the swell of her breast.

                Desire and hunger shot through him. He ached. He hurt. But he would take this so slow that she would be the one begging for him.