His Defiant Desert Queen(53)
Mikael sat up, muscles tightening across his chest, rippling down the length of his bare, lean torso. “You don’t think a son wants his mother safe? Protected?”
“I know Branson. He wouldn’t allow you to do such a thing.”
“He would, if he understood we had done it together.”
Jemma grew still. “You told him about...us?”
“I told him you were here with me, and that I intended to make you my queen.”
“And he was okay with that?”
Mikael nodded and lay back down, arms folding behind his head. “Better than okay. He was very pleased for both of us and offered to throw us a party in London, as soon as we could visit. I told him we’d be there soon, probably before the end of the month.”
She squeezed the pillow tighter. “You sound so smug.”
“You should be happy I helped her, not angry.”
“You can’t do these things, though.”
“Why not? I am your husband. It’s my duty to provide for you and your family.”
“A family you hate.”
“Things have changed. You are my wife, and my family now, and I seek to honor you, and your family—”
“But what happens when I leave here in four days? What happens when you send me back? You promised you would, if I wasn’t happy—”
“Are you unhappy?”
Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Was she unhappy?
It was strange to be asked that question now, so bluntly, because no, she wasn’t unhappy. She was actually happier than she’d been in months, maybe even years.
“That’s not the point,” she said, sliding off the bed to pace the room.
“It’s not?”
“No.” She paced back toward him, confused, frustrated, no longer sure of anything.
“Then what is the point? Because I thought I had eight days to prove to you that I could make you happy, and I am making you happy, so what is the problem?”
She threw out her hands. “This!” she cried, gesturing at the purple walls with gold stencil. “This,” she added, plucking at the silk nightgown. “This,” she said, pointing to the bed, where he lay so supremely confident and comfortable, looking every bit a king. “None of this is real. None of this is my real life. It’s just a dream. It’s surreal. It’s not going to last!”
“Says who?” he asked tersely, revealing the first hint of impatience.
“Me!”
“And you are an expert on reality? You, with the model for a boyfriend and the plan to enter Saidia on a stolen passport?”
“It wasn’t stolen, it was my sister’s, and you’re hateful to throw Damien in my face. You know I loved him, and you know he hurt me. And you’re just jealous because you can bombard me with expensive gifts but you know deep down, you’ll never be able to buy my love.”
Jemma walked out, pushing through the doors to the central courtyard, and then on to the other side, through a door to the Chamber of Innocence. She grabbed an ivory robe from the bathroom, wrapped it around her, and then walked out, leaving the Bridal Palace in search of her own wing. Her rooms, the ones she’d been brought to on arriving at the Kasbah.
She was done with this stupid honeymoon game. Done being kept locked up like a kidnapped bride. She wanted out. She wanted to go home.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mikael’s deep voice rang out behind her. “We’re not done, laeela.”
“I am.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Maybe not for you!”
“Or you,” he retorted, scooping her up into his arms and dropping her over his shoulder. “You owe me eight days and nights, and we’re only halfway through. I get four more, and I will take all four.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore!”
“Too bad.” He was carrying her back the way she’d just come, walking swiftly, his arm anchored across the back of her legs, holding her in place. “This isn’t a game. You don’t get to run away when you’re tired or your feelings are hurt. This is real, you and me. This is reality.”
He’d kicked open a door down the hall and then kicked it closed behind him. The room was dark and yet he knew where he was going, crossing the floor with long sure strides to drop her unceremoniously on the bed.
She scrambled into a sitting position. “Get out.”
“That’s not happening.”
“I want to be alone.”
“That’s not happening, either.” He untied the sash at her waist, peeled the robe off her shoulders and reached for the hem of her nightgown.
She slapped at his hands. “Don’t touch me!”