His Defiant Desert Queen. Jane Porter
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danced on the walls, stretching tall across the tiled floor. He didn’t like her. Didn’t admire her. Didn’t feel anything positive for her.
But even in the dim lighting, he recognized her great beauty.
She wasn’t merely pretty, she was stunning. Her face was all hauntingly beautiful planes and angles with her high regal brow, the prominent cheekbones, a firm chin below full, generous lips.
She was pale with fatigue and fear, and her pallor made her eyes appear even greener, as if brilliant emeralds against the ivory satin of her skin.
Sitting so close to her, he could feel her fatigue. It was clear to him she was stretched thin, perhaps even to breaking.
He told himself he didn’t care, but her beauty moved him. His mother had been a beautiful woman, too, just as Mikael’s father’s second and third wives were both exquisite. A king could have any woman. Why shouldn’t she be a rare jewel?
Jemma was a rare jewel.
But she was also a rare jewel set in a tarnished, defective setting.
He now had a choice. To save the jewel, or to toss it away? It was up to him. Sheikh Azizzi had given Mikael the decision.
“Well?” Jemma whispered, breaking the tense silence. “What did he say?”
Mikael continued to study her, his thoughts random and scattered. He didn’t need her. He didn’t like her. He’d never love her.
But he did desire her.
It wouldn’t be difficult to bed her.
He wondered how she’d respond in bed. He wondered if she’d be sweet and hot or icy and frigid.
His gut told him she’d be hot and sweet. But first, all the Copeland taint would have to be washed away. “I am to decide your punishment for you,” he said finally. “I’ve been given a choice of two sentences and I must pick one.”
“Why?”
“Because Sheikh Azizzi knows me, and he knows I wish to do what is right, but what is right isn’t always what is popular.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am to decide if I should follow ancient law, and tribal custom, or choose a modern punishment for you.”
“And have you made up your mind?”
“No.”
“What are the choices given to you?”
“Seven years house arrest here in Haslam—”
“Seven years?”
“Or I take you as my wife.”
“That’s not funny. Not even remotely funny.”
“It’s not a joke. It’s one of the two choices presented to me. Marry you, or leave you here in Haslam to begin your house arrest.” He saw her recoil and her face turn white. “I warned you that Sheikh Azizzi would not be lenient. He is not a Copeland fan either. He knows what your father did to my mother, and he wanted to send a message that Saidia will not tolerate crime or immorality.”
“But seven years!” She reached for the edge of the table to steady herself. “That’s...that’s...so long.”
“Seven years, or marriage,” he corrected.
“No. No. Marriage isn’t an option. I won’t marry you. I would never marry you. I could never marry you—”
“You’d rather be locked up for seven years?”
“Yes. Absolutely!”
Mikael leaned back, studying her pale face and bright eyes. She was biting down, pressing her teeth into her lip. “I don’t believe you.”
“Not my problem.”
“I’m a king. I can provide a lavish lifestyle.”
“Not interested.” Her eyes burned at him, hot, bright. “Seven years of house arrest is infinitely better than a lifetime with you.”
He should have been offended by her response. Instead he felt vaguely amused. Women craved his attention. They fought for his affections. Ever since he’d left university, he’d enjoyed considerable female company, company he’d turned into girlfriends and mistresses.
Mikael enjoyed women. He was quite comfortable with girlfriends and mistresses. But he was not at all open to taking a wife, despite the fact that as king it was his duty to marry and produce heirs.
Something he was sure Sheikh Azizzi knew. But Sheikh Azizzi, like much of Saidia, was eager for the country’s king to marry as quickly as possible.
Sheikh Azizzi also knew that nothing would pain the Copeland family more than having the youngest daughter forced into a marriage against her will.
It was fitting punishment for a family that believed itself to be above the law.
But in truth Mikael didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want children. He didn’t want entanglements of any kind. It’s why he kept mistresses. He provided for them materially and in return they’d always be available to him, without making any demands. Mikael was torn between his duty and his desires.
He studied Jemma now, trying to imagine her as his wife.
Without her make-up he could see purple smudges beneath her eyes and her naturally long black eye lashes. She had a heart-shaped face. Clear green eyes. Full pink lips.
The same pink as her nipples.
His body hardened, remembering her earlier, modeling, and naked beneath the fur coat.
She had an incredible body.
He would enjoy her body. But he’d never like her. Never admire her. She wasn’t a woman he wanted for anything beyond sex and pleasure.
He pictured her naked again. He’d certainly find pleasure in her curves and breasts and that private place between her legs.
“So it’s house arrest,” Jemma said. “Seven years. Would the sentence start tonight? Tomorrow?”
“I haven’t made up my mind,” he answered.
Her green eyes widened. Her lips parted and for a moment no sound came out and then she shook her head, a frantic shake that left no doubt as to her feelings. “I will not marry you. I will not!”
“It’s not up to you. It’s my choice.”
“You can’t force me.”
“I can.” And silently he added, I could.
Just like that, the idea took root.
He could marry her. He could force her to his will. He could avenge his mother’s shame. He could exact revenge.
For a moment there was just silence. It was thick and heavy and he imagined she must hate it. She must find the silence stifling because she was completely powerless. She had no say. He would decide her fate. She would have to accept whatever he chose for her.
He found the thought pleasing.
He liked knowing that whatever he chose, she would have to submit.
She with the lovely eyes and soft lips and full, pink tipped breasts.
“But you do not wish to marry me,” she whispered. “You hate me. You wouldn’t be able to look at me or touch me.”
“I could touch you,” he corrected. “And I could look at you. But I wouldn’t love you, no.”
“Don’t do that to me. Don’t use me.”
“Why not? Your father used my mother to bring shame on my family name.”
“I’m not my father and you’re not your mother and