His Defiant Desert Queen(78)

                It was good to be away from him this evening. It was good to have time to herself, to find herself, and most of all, to remember how she’d come to be here, at the Bridal Palace, in the first place.

                She’d been forced here. She’d been forced into this marriage. And she’d been forced to surrender to Sheikh Karim.

                She had to remember that. Had to remember the facts, and reality, next time Mikael showed up, and touched her, and kissed her and made her want nothing but him.

                She fell asleep, with the light on, determined to be strong when he arrived. She would resist him this time. She wouldn’t melt for him. She wouldn’t ache or need or shatter in his hands. Not anymore. Never again.

                As her eyes closed she counted the days and nights she’d been here. Tonight was the third night. That meant there were just five more and then she’d be free.

                * * *

                Jemma woke up, blinked. It was morning. She looked around, pushing her long hair back from her face, and tugging the strap of her filmy purple nightgown back up onto her shoulder.

                She was alone.

                Good.

                Good, she silently insisted. She’d gone to bed alone so it shouldn’t surprise her that she was the only person in the bed, but she’d dreamed about Mikael all night, dreamed of Mikael kissing her, making love to her, and it’d felt so real. She woke up feeling as if he had been there, with her.

                But he wasn’t. It was a figment of her imagination. A dream.

                She stretched her arm out across the empty bed, suddenly terribly homesick.

                Day four, she told herself. Just four more days, and four more nights, and she’d be home.

                The thought should have pleased her, reassured her, instead her heart fell, and her eyes burned. She missed Mikael. She shouldn’t miss him. She should hate him.

                The wooden door to the en suite bath creaked. Jemma sat up, startled.

                Mikael appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but loose cotton pajama pants that hung deliciously low on his hip bones. He raked a hand through his dark hair, making muscles ripple in his arms and chest.

                She stared at his lean flat abdomen, each muscle hard and distinct.

                “You’re awake,” he said, walking toward her and giving her the most devastatingly wicked smile.

                Her heart lurched. “Where did you come from?”

                “The bathroom.”

                Her heart did another funny little tumble. Just looking at him made her feel a pang. She didn’t understand why he did that to her. She frowned. “How?”

                “I walked.”

                She made a face, rolling her eyes. “Yes, but when?”

                “Just a few minutes ago.”

                Her mouth dried. Her pulse was doing crazy, wild things. “But you weren’t here. I fell asleep waiting for you.”

                “You might have fallen asleep before I arrived, but I did come to you last night. I slept with you last night. I promised you I’d be here, and I am.” He drew back the covers and slid in next to her. “You don’t remember last night?”