His Defiant Desert Queen(49)
“So we know what that means.”
He tapped the tip of her nose. “We don’t know what that means, Miss Smarty Pants.” He moved his hand to her thigh, his palm warm against her skin. “Would you miss modeling?”
“I would miss working.”
“But not modeling specifically?”
She shrugged, and struggled to focus, which wasn’t easy with the warmth of his hand stealing into her thigh. “I enjoyed my job until recently...when everyone dropped me.”
“Could you be happy doing other things?”
He’d begun to draw invisible circles on her thigh, setting the nerve endings on fire.
“Such as?” she asked, her voice growing husky.
“Making public appearances. Talking to girls and advocating literacy. Making love to me. Having babies.”
Every word he spoke was accompanied by another swoop of his finger across her bare skin, flaming the nerve endings all the while moving closer to her tiny purple bikini bottoms.
She was tempted to press her knees together to stop his fingers and yet she loved his touch, wanted more, wanted him to strip the bottoms off of her and part her thighs and settle between them again, and put his mouth on her, using his tongue and fingers to trace the shape of her soft folds and the tight sensitive clit—
“You’re distracted,” Mikael said, leaning in to kiss her, even as his palm slid over her thigh to her hip.
She shivered at the caress and the brush of his lips over hers. He pushed her heavy damp hair from her face and kissed her again, more deeply.
She sighed, as he lifted his head. She wanted more, not less. “Maybe a little,” she agreed. “Where have you been?”
“I had some business to attend to.”
“Out here?” she asked glancing around. “In the middle of the desert?”
“There is technology.” He dipped his head, kissed her again, another tingling, soul-stirring kiss that made shivers race through her.
She reached up to touch his face. “When can I use your technology?”
“When the honeymoon is over.”
“Is this tradition, or your rule?”
“Both. I want you to myself, and tradition says I have eight days to do just that...keep you hidden from the world during my attempt to win your heart.”
“Are you trying to win my heart?” she asked, as his hand stroked up her waist to brush the curve of her breast. “Or win my body?”
“I think I’ve already done that.”
“You sound so sure of yourself,” she said, gasping as his hand slipped beneath the fabric of her bikini top to cup her breast.
“I am.” His head dropped and he kissed her again, even as he kneaded her breast and teased her sensitive nipple.
Desire surged through her, a hot, insatiable current that scalded her skin and made her melt on the inside. She leaned into his hand, her body aching, straining for more contact.
“You’re starting it again,” she whispered against his mouth. “You’re wreaking havoc on my defenses.”
His dark gaze held hers, the irises dark, mysterious. “You don’t need defenses against me.”
“Oh, I absolutely do. If I lose control, all bets are off.”
“If you lose control, you’re still safe with me.” He kissed her again, and then caressed her lower lip, and the hollow beneath. “You will always be safe with me.”
“I don’t know, because this feels pretty dangerous.”
He smiled a wicked smile which made her breath catch and her pulse race, making her heart pound and hum with the rest of her body.
His dark gaze settled on her mouth, and the quiver of her lower lip. “Good. Because this is desire.”
The quiver of her lip intensified, along with the reckless rhythm of her heart. Blood drummed through her veins, warming her, making her skin hot and sensitive.
“And desire is important,” he added, drawing his fingertip from her lower lip, down the middle of her chin, and lower still, down her neck to the base of her throat, and then on to her breastbone. It was such a light stroke, but slow, and long, and he lit every nerve ending he touched. “Desire makes us feel alive.”
“It’s so sexual.”
“Mmm,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curving, and yet it wasn’t a smile. It looked like hunger. “Is that a problem?”
She shivered, and would have looked away if he hadn’t caught her chin, and forced her gaze to meet his. Her mouth dried. She licked her lips, blood roaring in her ears. “Sex without emotion is empty,” she said.
“Is it? Even when you have this intense chemistry?” he asked, stroking the curve of her breasts, avoiding the taut, straining nipple. “How can this be empty?”