BACK IN HER ROOM, Jemma couldn’t look at herself as she stepped into the beautiful fitted white satin gown. It was too soft and sensual to be a wedding gown, and yet the slinky satin somehow managed to give the impression of a long and Western style bridal gown. The wedding night without the traditional wedding ceremony.
She sucked in a nervous breath as the maid fastened the dozens of tiny hooks in the back of the long dress, and then with shaking hands, she attached the diamond and pearl earrings to her earlobes.
She couldn’t believe how her stomach flip-flopped as she stepped into her white-beaded silk shoes. Designer shoes. They fit like a glove.
Jemma glanced at herself in the dressing table mirror. She looked like a bride dressed for the bedroom.
And wasn’t that exactly what she was? She was being prepared for her husband’s bed. Oiled and scented and bejeweled for his pleasure.
But earlier, in his room, when he’d taken her hand, she hadn’t felt fear. She’d actually liked the way his touch made her feel. He was strong and warm and it was such a small thing, this linking of fingers, and yet significant. Touch was powerful. His touch was surprisingly comforting.
And now she was curious about tonight. But not afraid.
* * *
Mikael arrived at Jemma’s suite of rooms at eight o’clock and he watched her cross the sitting room floor, as she moved toward him, her head high, her eyes wide, the large diamond teardrops swinging from her earlobes, the brilliant cuts in the stone casting tiny dancing lights in every direction. Her gown molded to her body, the delicate straps and cups of the dress revealing smooth shoulders and the swell of her breasts before hugging her flat tummy and the lush curve of her hips and butt.
His narrowed gaze slid over her tall, slender body, appreciating how the satin caressed her, and yet he could also see her without the luscious satin, remembering that stunning glimpse of her when she’d dropped the fur coat during the shoot, and how the full shape of her breasts had been revealed.
The impact of her physical beauty had shocked him. He’d had such a visceral reaction there on the sand dune. He’d been furious—outraged—but he’d also felt a wave of pure possession.
Mine, he’d thought.
He’d wanted to cover her. Take her away from everyone. He’d told himself it was duty, responsibility, a response to a wrong.
Now he wondered if it was more than that.
Mine.
He held out his hand to her. She gave him her hand. It was shaking. He took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers.
He lifted her hand to his mouth, just as he had earlier, but this time he kissed the back of each finger. “Eight days and nights.”
“And it all starts now?”
“Yes.”
He swung her into his arms then and carried her down the connecting halls until they reached the entrance to the Bridal Palace.
“We are here,” he said, pushing the door open and carrying her inside to a room that glowed with hundreds of white candles.
Jemma spotted the bed, surrounded by more candles, and looked the other way. “Are we going to bed now?”
“No.” His deep voice sounded amused. “I’m starving. Haven’t eaten since our late lunch. Wouldn’t you prefer a bite to eat first?” he asked, setting her on her feet.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Please.”
Mikael took her hand and led her past the dozens of candles illuminating the immense bed, to the opposite side of the room, where a door opened to a private courtyard fantastically transformed into a tropical garden with a manmade grotto and splashing waterfall. Dozens of candles lined the walkway, and more candles outlined the steps to the grotto and door.
It was warm in the garden, and fragrant with orchids and lilies and Mikael pulled her close to his side as he led her along the narrow path lined with candles, down an even more narrow stone staircase to a secret room inside the grotto where a table had been set for them among a sea of pale blue silk cushions.
The grotto was made entirely of stone and illuminated with a dozen blue glass lanterns that hung from the pale ivory stone ceiling. Water lapped in a small pool while above them came the sound of rushing water tumbling through over the waterfall.
“This is unbelievable.” Jemma breathed, taking a seat among the cushions, very aware of Mikael as he sat down next to her.
He’d come to her tonight not in traditional Saidia robe and head covering, but in black trousers and an elegant dress shirt and once seated at the table, he proceeded to roll the sleeves of his shirt back on his muscular forearms, and then open the shirt another button at the collar, revealing a hint of bronzed skin just below his throat.
“That’s better,” he said.
She swallowed hard. He’d shocked her earlier in the towel, but it was just as shocking to see him now in Western clothes. He didn’t look like a sheikh. He just looked gorgeous.
He looked at her. “You don’t think so?”
“No, you look...quite...good,” she murmured, thinking good was a total understatement. He looked fantastic.
“Quite good,” he repeated, lips curving slightly. “I will take that as a compliment coming from you.”
“I’m sure you are complimented all the time. You must know you are very beautiful for a man.”
He laughed then. It was the first time she’d ever heard him laugh, really laugh, and the flash of his straight white teeth against his bronzed skin, and the crinkle of his eyes made her heart race.
“I don’t get complimented very often,” he said.
“No? Why not?”
“I think people might be afraid to pay me compliments.”
She arched a brow. “What do you do? Chop off heads?”
“No. But I have a reputation for being no-nonsense.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His teeth flashed again but he said nothing else, and for the next hour staff came and went, bearing platters of food until the low table was covered. Chicken with tomatoes and honey. Lamb cutlets, tangy beef, coconut rice, a tagine of yam, carrots and prunes.
After the past several days of stress, Jemma was glad to just relax, and eat, and sip her wine. Mikael was his most charming tonight. During dinner he told her stories, amusing stories. “You said earlier you’re not a fan of jewels and clothes,” he said, leaning against the cushions. “So what do you like? Art? Antiques? Cars?”
“Books.” She could see she’d surprised him. “I love to read.”
“Fiction?”
“Fiction, non-fiction, everything. Although when I was a girl, I only wanted to read romances. My mother was convinced I’d run off and join the circus or something equally risky and foolish.”
“What will she think when she discovers you’ve married me?”
“She’ll be horrified.”
He didn’t seem to like that. “Why?”
“Because our cultures are too different and she’d be worried that I’d be trapped in a life where I couldn’t be myself, and the lack of freedom would make me desperately unhappy.”
“That’s quite specific.”
“Morgan’s short, unhappy marriage made quite an impression on all of us.”
“And yet the day of her wedding she seemed ecstatic.”
“Exactly. But Morgan was so infatuated with Drakon that she didn’t ask any hard questions about what her life would be like in Athens, and their marriage was a shock for her. She ended up bitterly unhappy as a new bride in a new city and their relationship quickly fell apart.” Jemma smoothed a wrinkle from her satin skirt. “Mother had warned her that life in Greece, as the wife of a Greek shipping tycoon wouldn’t be easy, not for an independent American girl who is accustomed to making decisions for herself. And so I’m quite sure my mother would be even more upset if I turned around and married a Saidia sheikh.”
Mikael said nothing for a long moment. “Even if it improves your situation?”
It was Jemma’s turn to fall silent.
“I’m aware your brother is the only Copeland who has any financial assets left,” Mikael added. “And the only reason he does, is because he lives in Europe, and his assets couldn’t be seized, but your government will go after him. What he hasn’t yet lost due to scandal, will soon be taken by your government.”
“Maybe it won’t happen,” she said, not really believing it herself.
He gave her a skeptical look. “Isn’t that the same thing you said about your mother’s home? And didn’t the government just take that?”
Jemma drew a short breath. It had been one thing losing the house on St. Bart’s and the lodge in Sun Valley, but it was painful losing one’s childhood home. Jemma had lived in the Greenwich house from the time she was six until she’d left for London. And maybe she didn’t live at home any longer, but it was still her home. It was where she liked to picture her mother, where they all came together to celebrate Christmas or a special occasion.
The government shouldn’t have taken the house a month ago. It was her mother’s, from the divorce. But apparently her father’s name was on the title, too, and that was all they needed to seize it.
“It’s not been easy for my mother, no,” Jemma said roughly, unable to look at him, the pain fresh and sharp all over again. “But she’s lucky she has a few friends who have stood by her. She’s relying on their kindness now.”
Jemma didn’t tell the entire truth.
Yes, a few friends had stood by her mother. But the rest had dropped her. The majority had dropped her. Just like most of Jemma’s friends had disappeared, too. It happened to her sisters as well. She had no idea if her brother, Branson, was abandoned. He’d never talked about it, even though he, too, lived in London. But then, Branson never revealed anything personal. He’d always been private and self-contained, so self-contained, that Jemma hadn’t been comfortable going to her brother this year and asking for help, or a loan, or even a friendly ear. Instead she’d struggled to handle it all—the shame from her father’s duplicity, and the pain of being rejected by the man she loved more than life itself.
She felt Mikael’s fingers on her cheek. She stiffened and drew back, then realized he’d touched her because he was wiping away tears. Her tears.
She hadn’t even realized she was crying.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning away to hide her face.
He turned her face back to him and gently swept his thumb across her right cheek, and then her left. His expression was troubled. Brooding. “Do you cry for your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Just your mother? Or, perhaps you are also still hurting from that spineless Englishman who calls himself a model?”
She made a soft, rough sound. “He’s a great model.”
“But a lousy man.”
She smiled despite herself, and then her smile faded. “My sister Logan said he did me a favor. She said it was better that I find out who he is now, before we married, instead of after.”
“Your sister is right.” His thumb slid across her cheekbone, and then down, along her smooth jaw, his attention fixed now on her mouth. He was going to kiss her. She was sure of it, she could tell by the expression in his eyes, and the way the air sparked and crackled around them, tense, and electric.
She felt raw and emotional. Confused. Everything was changing; the energy between them was different. He’d been so harsh and cold in the beginning but he was different now. He seemed as if he might care.
His head dipped. Her tummy flipped. Her pulse raced. His mouth almost touched hers, but didn’t. His breath caressed her lips. “I am sorry that spineless Englishman hurt you. I am also sorry that I add to your pain.”
Her heart squeezed. She struggled to catch her breath, feeling bruised.
“But I will make you happy, laeela. I promise.”
She stared into his eyes, lost, dazzled.
“You will enjoy being my wife.” He stroked her cheek again. “You will have riches beyond compare.”
Jemma exhaled hard, and sat back, the magic gone.
He didn’t understand her. He didn’t understand that what she wanted, needed, had nothing to do with wealth. “Money does not buy happiness. I’ve no desire for riches, or wealth. I’ve had both, and money can buy things, but not what my heart needs.”
“What about your body?”
“My body?”
His dark eyes gleamed. “What about what your body needs?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Who worships your body?”
Without wanting to, she thought of Damien. They’d had a good relationship, and great sex, but she wouldn’t say Damien ever worshipped her body. She’d never had a boyfriend who’d worshipped her body, and had begun to think after conversations with her girlfriends, that few men did. “No man worships a woman’s body.”
“I fully intend to worship your body.”
“This is incredibly uncomfortable. Perhaps it’s time we discussed your body.”
Mikael grinned. Like his laugh earlier, it was the first time she’d really seen him smile, a real smile and his teeth flashed again, and a tiny dimple appeared on the right side of his mouth. It was astonishing. Not just because he’d smiled, but because of what it did to his face. The smile transformed his hard, fierce features. He looked so approachable, so appealing.
She sucked in a breath, dazzled. “You shouldn’t do that, you know.”
A hint of a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. “Do what?”
“Smile.”
“Why not?”
“It makes you seem almost human.”
“I am almost human.”
“I had no idea,” she retorted, trying to ignore the thumping of her heart and the way he made desire coil inside her.
He smiled again, and his expression was so warm and playful that she suddenly wanted more of him.
Wanted him closer. Wanted him kinder. Wanted him to be good to her.
“I like how fierce you get,” he said.
“You deliberately provoke me.”
The dimple deepened at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe.”
In that moment she saw who he might have been had his life turned out differently. Or perhaps, this is how he might have been with her from the start, had she not been Jemma Copeland.
Maybe he really was warm and sexy, charming and engaging. Maybe.
“And my body is very fine,” he said, the smile still lingering in his eyes. “I appreciate your concern.”
Suddenly, she very much wanted to know more about him, who he was, and how he lived. Did he have lots of women in his life? Was he the kind of man who serial dated or did he prefer having a long-term relationship?
“Tell me about your body,” she said, trying to sound off-hand. “Does it see a lot of action?”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“I’m not asking you to divulge names or numbers. I just want to know you. I’m curious about you. It’s the sort of thing a woman wants to know about her man.” She held his gaze. “So, are you a player?”
“I used to be a player. I’m not anymore. I haven’t been for a couple years.”
“Why?”
“Age? Maturity? I just know that around thirty I started to get tired of the chase, and would have just one relationship at a time. How about you?”
“I like having a boyfriend, but don’t need to be in a relationship. I’m picky. I would rather be with no one than just anyone.”
“A woman with high standards.”
“A woman that prefers books to casual sex.”
“You might just be the perfect kidnapped bride.”
There was silence for a minute and Jemma felt a thousand different things.
But then from the first time she’d met Mikael, he’d made her feel a lot. And here, in this...pleasure palace...she’d begun to feel the whisper of a craving for something. She wasn’t sure what it was she wanted, but her dreams last night had stirred something within her and all day she’d felt a restlessness and an ache.
Like a craving for sensation.
Staring into his eyes, she was teased by the possibility. Teased by the suggestion of pleasure. It would feel so good to feel good again. To feel like a woman again. To feel close to someone again.
“If you’ve finished your dinner,” Mikael said rising. “It’s time to come with me.”
They climbed the stairs from the grotto’s secret room to the courtyard of fragrant white lilies and vines clinging to rock. White candles still glimmered against the walls and outlined the walkway. But now in the middle of the courtyard, between the waterfall and door to the Chamber of Innocence stood a narrow table covered in crisp white sheets.
Jemma looked at Mikael, uncertain. “What is that?”
“A massage table. I’m going to give you a massage,” he said. “You’ll lie there, face down—”
“Why?”
“Most massages start with the back.”
“Yes, but why are you giving me the massage?”
“I think you’d enjoy it. And it would help you relax. I want you to relax. I want you to realize that everything that will happen here in the Bridal Palace will feel good. I will never do anything you don’t want. And if I do something that does make you uncomfortable, all you have to do is speak up.” He drew the top sheet back on the table. “Any questions?”
Jemma tugged on her dress. “Do I wear this?”
“No. You’ll take that off—everything off—and then lie down between the sheets, naked.”
* * *
He’d turned around to give her privacy while she disrobed, but she was on the massage table now, tucked between the sheets.
He looked down at her on the table, her dark glossy hair tumbling over one shoulder.
The massage was for her, not him. He wanted her now. He wanted her naked in his bed now. But she wasn’t ready, and he’d meant it when he told her that she had to be comfortable. She had to want him before anything would happen between them.
He placed his hands over the sheet covering her back, letting her feel the pressure of his hands, letting his hands warm her.
After a moment he smoothed his hands over the sheet covering her back.
She felt good. Warm, solid but smooth.
This wasn’t going to be a sexual massage. He’d told her that before they started. It was to show her he could be trusted. He wouldn’t hurt her, or force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
This massage was simply to help break the ice.
Develop awareness. Create ease between them. Stir the senses, too, so that she’d be comfortable with him physically. You couldn’t impose desire. It must come from within.
He concentrated on learning the shape of her back through the sheet, the sheet protecting her, giving her a sense of safety. He had told her that at any point she could stop the massage. If at any point she felt uncomfortable or threatened, she just needed to speak up and the massage would end. But he didn’t expect her to stop it.
Moving from her shoulders down, he ran his palms from her spine out, smoothing tension away, relaxing the muscles, letting her continue to warm, encouraging her to breathe more deeply.
After several minutes he drew the sheet down, folded it low on her hips, leaving her lovely back exposed. His eyes followed the line of her body, the narrowing of her waist to the soft swell of her hips. The sheet rested on her bottom, hiding the cleft of her cheeks, but again, he knew it was there. He wanted to see it. Touch it. Touch her.
And he would touch her, but not there, not today.
He drew her long hair into his fist, and quickly braided it, before draping the braid over her shoulder, leaving her back bare.
As he stepped away to reach for the oil he could see her profile. Her eyes were closed, her full lips softly parted. Her pale skin gleamed, and his gaze dropped to the side of her soft breast, and then lower to the gentle curve of hip.
He hardened. He’d wanted her for hours. He felt as if he lived in a constant state of arousal around her.
He’d desired many women, and knew how to pleasure his women, but this one made him ache.
Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t have her, not today, or tomorrow, or even the day after that made him hurt.
Pouring warm oil into his hands, Mikael rubbed his palms together, spreading the oil, thinning it, and yet the slippery texture was so sensual that he wasn’t sure he could do this. It was to tease her, but he was teasing himself and he hated it.
He placed his hands in the middle of her back, where he’d rested them a few moments ago when the sheet still covered her, and then he began to stroke her back, with smooth, firm deliberate strokes to relax her.
She was tense but he was patient, and as he worked on her back, he focused on the satin texture of her skin, the supple muscle beneath the skin, and the long elegant lines of her—shoulder, upper arm, spine, hip, thigh to calf.
For the next two hours he rubbed and kneaded, massaging every muscle group, working on her back, and then massaging her front, her arms, shoulders and the upper planes of her chest. Aware of the stiff peaks of her nipples beneath the loosely draped sheet his own body tightened in response. He wanted her.
He would wait until she gave herself to him. Would wait until she asked—no, begged—for release.
His hands stopped moving. He leaned over her, whispered that he was done, and told her to hold the sheet.
She did, and he scooped her up, carrying her into the Chamber of Innocence where he laid her in the big bed.
“Good night,” he said, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. “Sleep well. I will see you in the morning.”
* * *
He’d carried her into the bedroom and then left her.
Jemma rolled over onto her tummy, and pressed her face into the pillow, her body aching.
She ached for more. Ached to be filled, satisfied.
Hopefully she wouldn’t have to lie here like this tomorrow night feeling so...tense. Frustrated. It wasn’t a good feeling. Hopefully tomorrow it would be different. Hopefully tomorrow she’d sleep contented. Because wasn’t that the sheikh’s promise? He was to fulfill her needs, give her pleasure?
Yes, the massage had been nice.
She’d very much enjoyed being rubbed and stroked with warm fragrant oils.
And he’d been a great masseuse, the best she’d ever had. He’d been extremely thorough, taking his time, making the massage last for hours. But that was the trouble.
The massage was supposed to be the start of something. A preliminary to foreplay. She’d expected more. The feel of his fingers working knotted muscles, made her imagine his fingers doing other things...
She’d lay on the massage table knowing that soon he’d touch her, and it wouldn’t be just relaxing, but exciting. Stimulating.
She couldn’t help daydreaming during the massage, couldn’t help fantasizing.
She’d entertained the fantasies, too, because surely she’d need them for the next thing. Sex.
But there had been no next thing.
Just the deliciously long massage by a man who obviously had quite a bit of expertise, and then a good-night.
Most cordial of him. If she’d gone to a spa she’d expect him to be waiting on the other side of the door with a lovely chilled glass of lemon water for hydration purposes. But she wasn’t at a spa. She’d expected the massage to...deliver...
It hadn’t.
The sheikh knew exactly what he was doing.
Turning her on, leaving her high and dry, leaving her wanting more.
Jemma would have something to say to Mikael Karim in the morning.