His Defiant Desert Queen(60)

But today it’d been something else.

There had been more heat than ever before but the heat wasn’t about skin or erotic zones. It wasn’t about the orgasm, either.

It was her. Wanting her. Holding her. Being with her.

And he could have sworn she’d been into him. Not the act. Not the friction and tension, not the positions, either.

Somehow the game of seduction had changed and become something more. More real, more honest, more raw. Suddenly, the stakes seemed higher than ever. Could he make Jemma happy? Could he keep her here with him in Saidia?

And if he could, was it fair to her? Or to those in her family?

* * *

Mikael threw back the covers, and headed for the bathroom where he could hear Jemma showering.

Hot steam filled the white marble bath, thick fragrant clouds hanging in the air.

He could just make her out through the wisps, her long hair piled high on her head, her hands on her breasts, spreading the bath gel across her lovely pale skin. He hardened, wanting her, craving her again.

He should be sated by now. He should have had his fill.

How many times did a man need a woman?

And yet watching her dark head dip, as she looked down her long, slim torso, to the suds running from her breasts to her belly, his body tightened, his arousal surging upright.

He couldn’t stay away. He needed her. Again. He’d have her, too.

Mikael pushed open the glass door to the sunken shower, steam rising, embracing him.

Jemma turned toward him, startled, her lips parting in surprise.

Her eyes, those lips, her face...

Hunger raced through him. Hunger and the need to have her, hold her, keep her. He reached for her, and pushing her back against the wet marble wall, pressed his chest to hers, feeling the slippery film of soap suds between them, skin slick, enticing.

He rubbed his chest across her soft breasts and felt her nipples pebble. He inhaled sharply, as something wrenched in his chest.

This was new, this need. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand this desire. It was bigger than before, fiercer, wild in a way that baffled him, knocking him off balance.

Sex did not confuse him.

Women did not confuse him.

But he was confused now.

Confused by Jemma with the green eyes and soft lips and sweetness that pierced his heart and made him want to please her and protect her, keeping her safe, keeping her from harm’s way.

With the water coursing down she lifted her face to his and he couldn’t resist her lips. His head dropped, his mouth slanting across hers, hands framing her face.

Beautiful Jemma.

Beautiful woman.

Beautiful heart.

His chest burned. His eyes stung. He leaned in, crowding her, trying to take the upper hand. He was the master here. He was in control. He would prove this was just sex.

He broke off the kiss and turned her around, pressing her breasts to the warm slick marble even as he pulled her bottom toward him. His hand reached between her legs, finding her softness, and heat. He pushed up against her bottom, stroking her, feeling her legs quiver as his body strained against her.

She was so hot, so wet. He wanted to bury himself in her, wanted to have her surround him, hot and tight, but he was too rough right now, and he couldn’t hurt her. Couldn’t force her. She’d given him so much earlier, it would be wrong to just take her now—

“I’m waiting,” she said, her voice husky, her hips rocking against him. “Stop teasing me. You know I want you.”

The sex was hot and Jemma left the shower satisfied, but Mikael did not.

That wasn’t right, taking her like that. But was bringing her to the Kasbah in the first place right? He’d kidnapped a foreign woman. Forced her to marry him.

He toweled off slowly, guilt beginning to eat at him, even as a little voice in his head whispered, you are wrong. This is wrong.

He didn’t like the little voice, didn’t want the little voice. The voice represented the past, and weakness. But Karims must be strong. Karims must be above the law.

* * *

Mikael spent several hours at his desk on phone calls and in meetings before changing into comfortable clothes to meet Jemma for dinner in the grand courtyard. The pavilions and pools had been lit with sapphire and pink lights.

Jemma wore a long deep blue kaftan with silver and gold embroidery. The inky color of her dress made her green eyes even more brilliant. He sat across from her at dinner to see her, but the table between them meant he couldn’t touch her too easily.

Instead he watched her face and her eyes as she talked during their meal. Her green eyes shimmered when she laughed. She laughed easily, her expression dancing.

She was so warm. And good. She deserved good things, and good people.

He was not a good person.

Powerful, yes. Wealthy, exceptionally so. But good? No.

During dessert and coffee he remembered he had a gift for her, and he pulled the velvet box from the pocket in his robe.