His Defiant Desert Queen(63)

“There is nothing you need to do. It’s all been done,” he said.

“It can’t all be done,” she said, noting the change, but trying to tease him. “The Kama Sutra refers to hundreds of positions, and we’ve only tried—” she scrunched her eyes closed, as if thinking very hard “Four or five?”

“I think you’ve practiced plenty.”

She feigned shock. “You’re sick of sex?”

His smile was crooked. “No, but I think we need to get out. Go and do something. I’ve a picnic packed. Get your suit. We’re heading to the beach.”

“Camels to the beach? Now that would be interesting.”

His mouth quirked, reluctantly amused. “We’ll take the helicopter to Truka, and then my car to the beach town of Tagadir.”

In the helicopter, on the way to Truka, Mikael explained that the Karim family owned miles of a beautiful private beach in the ancient resort town of Tagadir. There had once been an elegant nineteenth century villa in Tagadir, but the villa had been torn down by Mikael’s father who planned to build a new one, but the new one was never constructed. However, the beach was still there, with its soft white sand and beautiful warm water.

They reached the entrance to the Karim estate just after noon, passing through tall black, wrought iron gates. The long driveway toward the water was bordered with blooming hibiscus hedges in pinks and bright corals, but on reaching the end of the drive, right where one would expect to see a grand building, there was nothing but the ruins of a cement foundation, with stone steps leading down to the beach.

The driver delivered the picnic basket and blankets to the beach and then returned to the car. Jemma stood on the last step and surveyed the private cove. A small, but elegant stone pavilion rose from the sand. Otherwise there was nothing. The beach truly was lovely, and private.

After lunch, Mikael and Jemma swam. They dried out on their blanket and then returned to the water to cool off when the sun became too fierce. Mikael was back on the blanket now, watching Jemma float and splash.

Her skin glowed golden after these past few days lounging at the Kasbah pool. The touch of gold in her skin brought out the green of her eyes. In her white bikini she was beyond stunning.

He watched as she waded in, stepping from the surf to wring the water from her long dark hair.

He loved looking at her and talking to her and making love to her. He loved her company and enjoyed her laughter. The laughter was good, and needed. He had a tendency to be silent and stern but she brought out a more playful side in him. He hadn’t always been hard.

Loving Jemma had opened him up, softened his heart.

He needed to send her home, back to her family, back to those who loved her and wanted what was best for her like her mother, and Branson, her brother, and the sisters who all adored Jemma.

Mikael wasn’t sure that Jemma would understand. He hoped she wouldn’t take his decision as a rejection. He wasn’t rejecting her, but protecting her.

This was the time he could return her to her people, without shame or stigma. After the eight days and nights, before the official sixteen days of honeymoon ended.

He couldn’t wait, either. He didn’t want her to become too attached. He didn’t want her to confuse lust and love. She was dazzled by pleasure, seduced by endorphins and chemicals. Orgasm tricked women’s brains, flooding them with chemicals that made them attach...feel...need.

There was a reason Saidia men made love to their captive brides for eight days without ceasing. The sex, the pleasure, it was a drug. The frequent and intense orgasms helped the woman bond to her man so by the end of the honeymoon, the bride didn’t want to leave her groom. The bride had become attached, even addicted to her groom, craving his scent, his touch, his feel, and each coupling would reinforce the attachment, and aid in procreation.

Mikael knew all this. Jemma didn’t.

It was time he told her.

She dashed across the hot sand to join him on the blanket. She was laughing as she tumbled down onto the blanket, dripping water on him, making him wet.

“Wicked girl,” he said, reaching for her.

She wrinkled her nose at him, making fun of him. His chest grew hot and tight. He had to have her, needed to touch her. He slid his hand into the long damp strands of her hair, the sea making her hair gritty, and he rolled her onto her back, and settled over her, kissing her, drinking her in.

He could taste the salt water on her lips and the cool ocean on her breath and it heated his blood, making him hungry. He deepened the kiss, his tongue parting her lips. Mikael teased her tongue, stroking it, stroking her mouth, delving into it until he felt her shudder and arch against him.