His Defiant Desert Queen(95)

                She looked into his eyes, and she flashed back to that first day on the desert dunes when she’d been melting inside the fur coat and high boots. He’d had the same intense expression in his dark eyes and she’d been afraid...

                Now she was afraid again, but for a different reason. She couldn’t imagine being happy without him.

                “Kiss me,” she whispered, reaching up to his face, placing her hand against his hard, high cheekbone as she pressed her lips to his. “Possess me. Remind me that I’m your wife and queen.”

                * * *

                His wife and queen.

                Mikael stared blindly out through the glass doors, seeing nothing of his courtyard, and seeing only Jemma’s face.

                He, who was so good at creating order, structure, and discipline, hadn’t planned on falling in love with her. He hadn’t planned on wanting her, or needing her, not the way he wanted her and needed her.

                He’d married her out of duty and responsibility but suddenly his marriage was one of love. Trust. Respect.

                He’d known he was growing fond of her these past few days. He’d known he was getting attached, too. It hadn’t troubled him. At least, he hadn’t let it trouble him. He would only allow himself to think of one thing—doing what was right for Saidia. But now he felt a wash of shame. This was wrong chaining her here, to him. He couldn’t trap her in Saidia. He couldn’t do it to her. She deserved so much better than this.

                * * *

                Jemma was in her sapphire room, sitting on the floor, painting her toenails when Mikael entered a half hour later.

                He didn’t knock. But then, he hadn’t knocked on the door in days, taking it for granted that her room was his. That she was his. He was right. It hadn’t even taken eight days to fall in love with him. She’d given him her heart far earlier...maybe even that first day they’d met, when she’d been modeling on the sand dunes.

                He silently watched her paint her pinky toe a foamy mint green. She glanced up at him, smiling. “I remember how much you like the color green.”

                “I don’t remember that at all.”

                “You said you loved my eyes.”

                “Yes, your eyes. Not green toenails.”

                Jemma laughed and dipped the brush into the bottle for more polish. “Are you sure that’s what you said? I worry about your memory.”

                “I worry about you and facts.”

                She grinned, happy. Ridiculously happy. Everything inside her bubbled up warm, and hopeful. Her heart felt good. Mikael made her feel good. And safe. Loved. He might not say the words the way she wanted to hear them, but she felt his love in his actions. She felt his affection and love in the way he touched her, and the warmth and passion with which he kissed her. She saw it in the amusement in his eyes as they talked, teasing, bantering. The fact that he would banter with her, and laugh with her, said it all.

                Lips curving, she added a second coat to the pinky toe, before capping the bottle of polish and setting it aside. She tipped her head back to look up into his beautiful face, with those dark, mysterious and oh so sexy eyes. “What can I do for you this beautiful day, my love?”

                The hint of amusement died from his eyes, his expression shuttering, his jaw hardening. It was a subtle shift. Someone else might not have picked up on the change, but she did. Jemma had spent so much time studying him these past eight days that even the narrowing of his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.