by Jane Porter
“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.
He shifted, and leaned back on the blanket, and drew her on top of him, settling her slim hips between his thighs, so that his arousal pressed thickly against her.
Jemma sighed against his mouth, and he felt her yield to him, her body softening, shaping to his, her lovely full breasts crushed to his chest, her nipples peaked, hard, and he reached around to cup her bottom. She sighed again as he palmed her buttocks, his fingers kneading the smooth muscle. She groaned deep in her throat as he pressed her down against him, rubbing her pelvis against him, feeling her softness cup him. He nearly groaned, too.
She felt so good. He stroked her hips, her rounded bottom, her inner thighs, all while driving his tongue into her, an insistent rhythm that made her writhe helplessly against him, her body trembling in anticipation.
She strained to get even closer, her breath coming faster.
His hands slid up her thighs, until his fingers brushed the fabric of her bikini bottoms. She was hot, wet, and her heat scorched him. He rubbed across her, feeling her softness through the fabric, finding her sensitive spot.
Her eyes widened and she panted. He loved the way she did that...gasp, shudder, pant. She was so beautiful and sensual. He loved that she could forget her inhibitions and lose herself in him. In them.
He caressed her between her thighs again and again, feeling her grow hotter, wetter. She jerked, nerve endings exquisitely sensitized, and flung her head back, her eyes emerald, cheeks flushed. With her dark hair still wet and the halo of sun above them, she looked like a goddess from the sea and he had to have her, now.
He rolled her over onto her back, and tugged her damp bikini bottoms off of her. His thighs parted hers and he sank into the cradle of her hips, nudging her soft folds, eager to be inside her. His tip stroked her smooth, secret places, her creamy heat calling to him, drawing him in.
Mikael entered her with a thrust, slipping deeply inside her tight body.
He loved her the way he knew she liked to be loved—deep, slow, hard—and with his body he tried to say all the things he’d never be able to say in words.
That she mattered too much.
That she was too valuable.
That she deserved so much more than he could give.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JEMMA LAY IN his arms on the blanket in the sand, resting comfortably, happily. There was no place she’d rather be than here, in his arms, against his chest. “What day is this?” she asked, lifting her chin, to look at him.
“I think I’ve lost count,” he said, smoothing her hair back from her brow.
She lifted a brow. “Really? I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“So what day is it?”
“Day eight. The last day and night of your half of our honeymoon.”
She waited for him to say something. He didn’t.
“Tonight you are still in control,” she added, blushing a little. “But tomorrow I take over. Tomorrow I’m in charge for the next eight days and nights.”
She smiled into his eyes, waiting impatiently for him to say something, something warm and sexy. Something encouraging. Something.
&nbs
p; But he didn’t speak. He just looked at her, his dark eyes somber, expression grave.
Her heart did a funny double beat. Nervous and uncomfortable, she chewed the inside of her lower lip. “You’ve gone awfully quiet,” she murmured.
His jaw shifted, his lids dropping, hooding his eyes. “I have been thinking a great deal about tonight.”
“So have I. I think it’s time you let me pleasure you.”
“I don’t think there is going to be a tonight.”
Jemma froze. Blinked.
“There is just...today,” he added quietly.
For a second she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything at all.
“I married you so you wouldn’t have to remain in Haslam under house arrest for seven years. But the eight days are up. I have fulfilled my responsibility as a groom, and I can now return you to London, without losing face.”
She still couldn’t take it all in. She took his words apart, bit by bit, processing them. Digesting them.
He didn’t want an eighth night. He didn’t want to be married to her. He intended to put her on a plane for London.
She licked her lips, her mouth dry. Parched. “I’m confused,” she whispered.
“I did what needed to be done,” he said carefully, after an endless moment, a moment where the silence cut, wounded.
Jemma slowly pulled away, and then scooted away, and sat up. She crossed her legs, hiding herself. “You never intended to keep me as your wife?”
“It’s not feasible. Nor realistic. My mother wasn’t happy in Saidia. You wouldn’t be happy here, not long term. You’d be better marrying an American or a European man. Someone Western with Western thought processes and beliefs.”
“So all this time...these eight days and the past seven nights...what was it about? Just sex?”
He shrugged. “Please.”
“But you said pleasure could lead to more. You said pleasure could lead to love.”
“I was wrong.”
She looked at him, then away, trying to ignore the panic in her head and the sickening rush of hurt and pain through her veins.
This wasn’t happening, not now. She’d fallen in love with him and she’d given herself to him.
“Why?” she whispered, staring out at the white sandy beach and the sea beyond. “Why do this to me? Why go through all the motions and seduce me and pleasure me and pretend to care? Pretend to want me?”
“I do care about you. I never had to pretend to want you. I still want you. I still desire you. But I’ve realized I care too much about you, to trap you here in Saidia. You need more than this desert and my palaces. You need the world you grew up in.”
“This isn’t about me,” she said, interrupting him. “This is about your mother. It’s about her relationship with your father, not about you and me.” Jemma drew a rough, unsteady breath. “I am not your mother. I am not sheltered. I am not a naive young American girl thinking she’s being swept off by Valentino. I’ve experienced hard things and known tremendous pressure, and public criticism, and personal shame. So don’t think for me, and don’t make decisions for me, at least, not without consulting me, because, Mikael, I know what I want and need, and I want and need you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I don’t know who you were in the past. I never knew you as a boy or a young man, but I know who you are now. You’re smart, courageous, honest. Brave. You have strong morals and values, and a fierce desire to do the right thing. I love that about you. In fact, I love you.”
“You don’t love me. You love the pleasure, you love the sensation.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“It’s not. I’ve seduced you with pleasure. I bonded you to me with all the hormones from sex and orgasm.”
“Stop talking,” she said, springing to her feet. “Your words are killing me. They’re poisonous. Toxic. Just get rid of me now. Drop me off at the airport. But don’t say another awful, hateful word.”
He rose, towering over her. “You’re being irrational.”
“I am? Really? You spent eight days seducing me. Eight days making love to me in every conceivable position, showering me with gifts, assuring me that as your wife I’d be protected, safe, secure. Well, your idea of security is very different from mine, Sheikh Karim!”
“I’m sending you home to protect you.”
“From what? Whom? The paparazzi? The media? The bloodthirsty public? Who are you protecting me from?”
“Me,” he ground out, his voice low and hoarse.
She flung her head back, stared into his eyes, furious. “Maybe it’s time you let go of the past, and your self-loathing and hatred. Maybe it’s time to forgive. Because you are so determined to be fair to your country and your people but, Mikael Karim, you are not fair to yourself, and you’re screwing up royally right now. You had me. You had my heart. And you’ve just thrown it all away.”
They didn’t speak on the walk back to the car.
They didn’t speak, either, as the car traveled the long private driveway lined with hibiscus and palms to the enormous black and gold iron gates that marked the entrance to the Karim family’s private beach.
The gates opened and then closed behind them. Jemma turned her head as if to get a last look at the brilliant blue coastline before it disappeared and swiftly wiped away a tear. The sun shone down on the water, and the ocean sparkled. She turned back to face the front, and wiped away another tear, seeing how the red gold sand stretched before them, reminding her of the Kasbah and the Bridal Palace and how Jemma and Mikael had spent the past eight days there.
All the experiences. The sensation. The pleasure. The emotion.
The car picked up speed on the empty highway. There was so little traffic in this part of Saidia that the driver could fly down the black ribbon of asphalt. He did, too.
Mikael stared out the window, lost in thought, and Jemma left him to his thoughts.
One minute all was quiet and the next they were smashed sideways, slammed off the road in a screech of screaming brakes, screeching metal and shattering glass.
The impact knocked Mikael’s car sideways, and the two cars, hit again, and once more, before the red sports car went sailing overhead to land off the road in the sand.
The heavy black sedan spun the opposite direction, until it finally crashed on the other side.
For a moment inside the car there was no sound.
Mikael shook his head, dazed.
“Jemma?” Mikael’s hard voice cut through the stillness as he turned toward her.
She lay crumpled against the door, her face turned away from him.
“Jemma,” he repeated more urgently, reaching for her, touching the side of her face. It was wet. He looked at his hand. It was covered in blood.
* * *
She was flown by helicopter to the royal hospital in Ketama. Mikael traveled with her, holding her hand. Mikael’s chauffeur walked away with cuts and bruises like Mikael, while the driver of the other car didn’t need a helicopter. He’d died at the scene.
Jemma spent hours in surgery as the doctors set bones and dealt with internal bleeding. She then spent the next few days heavily sedated.
Mikael refused to leave her side. Fortunately, he was the king, and this was the royal hospital named after the Karim family, so no one dared to tell him to leave her, either.
The doctors and specialists had all said she’d be okay. She was simply sedated to help reduce the swelling. She would mend better, and be in less pain, if she were sedated, and resting.
Mikael wanted her to rest, but he needed to know that she was okay.
So for three days he slept next to her bed. Nurses brought coffee to him. His valet brought him clean clothes daily. Mikael used Jemma’s hospital roo
m shower when needed.
He struggled with that last day, the beach trip to Tagadir, her reaction when he told her he was sending her away, and then the silent car ride before the sports car slammed into them.
Was the accident karma?
Was this his fault, again?
He leaned over the bed, gently stroked her cheek, the bit of cheek he could reach between all the bandages. The shattered window had cut her head badly. They’d picked glass out for hours before finally getting the side of her head stitched and stapled closed.
He’d been furious that they shaved part of her hair, but the doctors insisted they had to. Now he just wanted to see her eyes open. He wanted to hear her voice. He needed to apologize and tell her he loved her and it wasn’t lack of love that made him send her away, but the need to protect her, and do the right thing for her.
She didn’t understand how much she meant to him. She was laughter and light and life.
She was his soul mate.
His other half, his better half. Yes, his queen.
That afternoon on the beach, she’d said hard things to him, but she’d also spoken the truth.
Mikael’s battle wasn’t with her. His battle was with himself.
He didn’t like himself. Didn’t love himself. Couldn’t imagine her, her of all people, loving him.
And so he was sending her back to a world he wasn’t part of, sending her to people who were more deserving.
Mikael closed his eyes, his fist pressed to his forehead, pushing against the thoughts and recriminations, as well as the memories tormenting him.
He should have been a better son to his mother. He should have denounced his father once he realized his father had lied, that his father had broken his promise to his mother. He should have given his mother the assistance, advice, and support she’d needed.
But he hadn’t. And she’d died alone, in terrible emotional pain. And he couldn’t forgive himself for his part in her suffering.
How could he?
He squeezed his fist tighter, pressed harder against his forehead, disgusted. Heartsick.
She’d be alive now if he’d given her help. She’d be alive if he’d acted when he should have. It would have been easy. Asking forgiveness was not that complicated. It was simply a matter of pride.
