His Majesty's Mistake Read online

  She blushed and tugged her towel tighter. “I shower alone,” she said primly.

  “Not for long.”

  Cheeks rosy, she disappeared into the closet.

  “Cook has re-created our wedding dinner for us,” Makin called to her.

  “That’s nice of her,” she answered, emerging with a long ivory satin gown pieced together by long ropes of pearls. The dress had such a daringly low back and delicate beaded straps that Emmeline immediately thought of a harem girl. “What is this?” she asked, giving the hanger a shake.

  “One of the dresses I ordered for you.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday when we were flying from Brabant. You were asleep and I was bored so I did a little online shopping.”

  She turned the dress toward her, inspecting the delicate label which she knew had been hand-sewn into the dress as the last step. “It’s couture. This isn’t something you buy online.”

  “I emailed the designer and requested a couple of dresses for the honeymoon.”

  “And how did you get it here so fast?”

  “Had a plane go get it.”

  “Just like that?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you’d look good in it.”

  “That’s a ridiculous amount of money.”

  “I have a ridiculous amount of money.”

  She shook her head, lips pursing as she struggled not to smile. “You’re shameless.”

  “I know. But you like my confidence.” He left the bed and approached her, his gaze slowly examining her, starting at the top of her head and working his way down, possession darkening his eyes. “Maybe we should skip dinner tonight again,” he said, drawing her into his arms, dipping his head to nuzzle her neck.

  Her lips parted in a silent gasp as his mouth found nerves behind her ear, then along the column of her neck before kissing the hollow at her throat. “But Cook has re-created our wedding dinner,” she protested hoarsely.

  He found her lips, kissed her slowly, thoroughly, until she was clinging to him, her hands fisted in his shirt.

  He lifted his head, gazed down into her eyes, and Emmeline blinked up at him, dazed. “Maybe we don’t need dinner,” she said breathlessly.

  He smiled but there was a dangerous light in his eyes. “I don’t, but you do. You’re not eating enough, and you’re eating for two.” He gently but firmly set her back. “So I’ll go shower and dress in the other room, but I will have you tonight, Emmeline. So do what you have to now, because later you’ll be mine.”

  Pulse unsteady, Emmeline rang for a maid as she needed help fastening the tiny hooks of the seductive gown.

  Finally dressed, Emmeline brushed her hair again, leaving it loose, and then did her makeup, focusing on her pale pink lips and dark smoky eyes. Finished, she rose from the dressing table, stepped back and glanced at herself in the mirror. As she turned, the long ropes of pearls swayed, brushing against her bare back, and the thin satin fabric strained to contain her breasts, while it kissed her belly and slid over her thighs. It was such a daring gown. It hinted at passion and seduction and very hot sex.

  Sex. That’s what they had together, wasn’t it?

  Hot sex, good sex, and she’d have to learn to be happy with that. Not to want more.

  House staff bowed to Emmeline as she walked through the villa and directed her to the garden. In the garden more staff pointed her to the terrace below, the middle terrace, where a white silk tent had been erected on the lawn overlooking the sea, with torches at each of the tent’s four corners, the long bamboo poles buried deep in the ground. Emmeline’s pulse matched the torches tonight, her heart jumping and twisting like the gold flames.

  As she climbed down the upper staircase to the middle terrace, she spotted Makin inside the tent, his back to her, his face toward the sea. He was wearing a white linen shirt and oatmeal linen slacks and she didn’t think he’d ever looked quite so regal.

  “Do you ever wear traditional robes?” she asked him as she crossed the lawn and entered the tent where a table had been set for two. The tablecloth, a stunning watery blue silk, was the same clear blue of the ocean. A vase of white orchids and plumeria was in the center of the table while low white votive candles were nestled among the crystal and sterling silver.

  “I do for business in Kadar. Sometimes at home. Why? Would you like me to wear the thawb and keffiyeh my countrymen do?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe. Might help me to remember you really are Sheikh Al-Koury.”

  “Instead of.?” he prompted curiously.

  “You.” She swallowed hard, butterflies flitting wildly inside her tummy.

  “And what am I?”

  “Gorgeous.”

  He looked unaccountably pleased. “Am I?”

  “You know you are!” she exclaimed, turning away, embarrassed to have even said that much.

  Her gaze fell on the sitting area created in front of the table. A low couch was upholstered in the same matching blue silk as the tablecloth, with throw pillows in white. More white candles glowed in glass hurricanes on the ground. Emmeline could smell something tantalizing in the air and didn’t know if it was his fragrance or the plumeria or a combination of the two.

  “This is so beautiful and romantic,” Emmeline said, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to be in Makin’s arms, close to his chest. In his arms she felt good. Safe. In his arms she could almost believe he loved her. could almost believe that sex would be enough….

  “My staff is very happy for us,” he answered, filling a slender flute with icy-cold sparkling water for her, and then another for him.

  “Just because I can’t drink, doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  He shrugged, powerful shoulders rolling. “I don’t need to drink to be with you. In fact, I prefer not to drink.”

  “Why?”

  “I enjoy you too much.”

  She blushed, and took a seat on the low couch, her body suddenly sensitive and tingling everywhere.

  She could feel Makin’s gaze rest on her and it just made her heart race faster. He still overwhelmed her, but now it was in a sexy, wicked sort of way. She’d never felt beautiful with anyone but Makin before, had never felt so important before. In his eyes, she mattered.

  Her heart turned over and hot emotion washed through her and suddenly Emmeline wasn’t sure she could live without him.

  She needed him. Wanted him. And yet love wasn’t a sure thing.

  Emmeline went hot and cold and her fingers tightened on the stem of the flute.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concern deepening his voice.

  She nodded. “Yes.” She forced herself to smile, the warm breeze caressing her, making her think of his hands on her skin. “Just a little overwhelmed … but in a good way.”

  “I hope so. I like having you here for me. It feels right. Makes the island feel like home.”

  Her heart ached all over again. She blinked back tears. “I love being here, too.”

  “You enjoyed today?”

  “Very much.”

  “What did you enjoy most?”

  She thought for a moment. “Swimming … snorkeling. The coral reef was amazing. So many beautiful fish.”

  “My mother loved it here, too. She believed it was very healing.”

  “Marquette was her island then?”

  “My father bought it for her as a wedding gift. Growing up we spent many holidays here, but I haven’t been to Marquette in years.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not a boy anymore. I have work. Am usually too busy for pleasure trips.”

  She frowned a little at his intense work ethic. He was so driven, so ambitious. “Even men need to relax.”

  “My mother used to say the same thing to my father.”

  “And did he listen to her?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Good. So you have to listen to me, too.”

  Makin smiled at her, amused.

  He’d told Mal
ek Nuri that he’d married Emmeline because he couldn’t let her go—which was true—but now looking at her in her daring pearl-and-satin gown, he knew it was more that that. He’d married her because she was made for him, destined for him, fated.

  In Kadar her tears had moved him, but her laughter was twice as powerful. When she smiled at him he felt invincible. For her, he thought he could do anything.

  And he would.

  The evening passed slowly for Makin though. He didn’t want to spend two hours at a table eating and talking, not when he found Emmeline and her satin-and-pearl gown so damn distracting. All evening the ropes of pearls and slinky satin fabric had teased, hugging her curves and revealing her smooth, flawless skin.

  He was delighted when she passed on an after-dinner coffee. Back in their bedroom he shut the door, locking it and turned to discover Emmeline lifting her hair off her neck and presenting her back to him. “I’m going to need your help getting me out of this dress,” she said.

  Makin groaned under his breath. She looked like Aphrodite in that position, head slightly forward, hair piled in golden waves, arms up, her long slim back gorgeously exposed. And she was his.

  Would always be his.

  He hardened instantly, desire surging through him, making him feel even hotter and hungrier as his gaze swept over her, taking in the gleaming hair, the creamy nape, her bare back covered by just those long delicate strands. During dinner he’d been fascinated by the way the pearls draped across her skin, attached from the beaded shoulder straps of her gown to the dip in her spine where the ivory satin fabric just barely covered her bottom. Now he just wanted his hands on her bottom. Wanted to feel the softness of her skin on his.

  And even though he was impatient to have her, he held himself in check, knowing she was still learning about sex and love. So he unhooked her gown carefully until the dress spilled to her feet in a tumble of silk and pearls.

  The gown had been too bare for a bra. She stood now in just her high strappy heels and that tiny scrap of satin she called a thong.

  Stifling another growl, he drew her backward and held her against him, his hands on her hips, her round pert butt pressed against his straining shaft.

  God, he wanted to bury himself in her. Spread her thighs, drag her down on him and have her ride him.

  But not yet.

  His head dipped, he kissed the side of her neck, felt her shiver in response. He slid one hand from her hip up over the indentation of her waist, to her ribs to cup a bare breast. Her nipple was tight and hard against his palm and he rubbed it, teasing it, imagining it in his mouth, against the wet heat of his tongue.

  She wiggled against him, her breast in his hand, the firm globes of her butt rubbing up and down along his erection and his control nearly snapped.

  “Want you,” he said thickly.

  She turned in his arms, a tiny smile curving her lips, a bright glow in her eyes. For a moment he thought she looked happy, truly happy, and his heart turned over.

  Makin caught her face in his hands, kissed her deeply, before stripping off his clothes. Naked, he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her onto his lap, lowering her slowly onto his hard shaft until she was settled firmly on his thighs, his erection embedded deeply inside of her.

  With his hands on her hips he guided her, helping to set the rhythm he knew she liked. She was wet and slick and as he lifted her up and down on him, he felt her breathing quicken, heard her small quick gasps of pleasure. It was the sexiest sound and made him surge harder and deeper into her hot, wet body.

  She came first and then he, and, spent, he dragged her backward on the bed to lie in his arms.

  For long minutes they were quiet.

  “Do you always do the right thing?” Emmeline asked, breaking the silence.

  “I try,” he answered, his voice deep, husky in the dark.

  “Do you ever worry that doing the right thing might not always be the right thing?”

  “No.”

  She turned restlessly in his arms, the sheets sticking to her damp skin, resenting him just a little for his confidence. How nice it must be never to doubt oneself! “But doing the right thing might not always be right,” she persisted. “Doing the right thing might actually be the worst thing you can do.”

  “How so?” he asked, lazily, lifting her hair in his hand, letting it slide through his fingers.

  Makin’s ease with her made her almost crazy. He seemed so content, so calm and self-assured. It wasn’t fair. She never felt calm and content. She almost always felt as if she were one step away from disaster.

  “My uncle adopted me out of duty,” she said, drawing a deep breath, “just as you have married me out of duty. I worry that you and my uncle have both made the same mistake. Your decisions weren’t based on love, but doing the right thing, and I worry that later you might come to resent me the way Claire resented me. I think she wanted to be my mother but then felt burdened by the responsibility.”

  “I’m not William or Claire, so I can’t answer for them, but I can answer for me. You will never be a burden. I chose to make you my wife. There was no gun to my head, no external pressure. It was a decision I freely made and, Emmeline, I’m a man of my word. I’ve made a commitment to you and the baby and you are now my family. Both of you.”

  “But someday you’ll want children of your own,” she said, “and I’m afraid you’ll love them more—”

  “No.”

  “You will.” She rose up on her elbow to look down at him. “It’s natural.”

  His hand wrapped around a fistful of hair and he gave it a gentle tug. “Emmeline, I won’t ever have biological children. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “My father’s disease is genetic.” After the slightest pause he continued, “I didn’t get the disease itself, but I carry the genes. I can’t take the risk of having children and giving them my father’s disease. The disease ravished my father. The end was brutal. He suffered terribly.”

  “But you talked about starting a family…”

  “And I will. There are so many children in this world that need parents, love, a stable home. I’ve always planned on adopting.”

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “Yes, but what if I married you hoping to have children with you?”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “What if I want more children?”

  “I hope you do. As an only child, I always wanted brothers and sisters. I’d love to adopt down the road, give our little one siblings.”

  “And we would adopt those?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you would love all of them, regardless of their parentage?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because they’d be ours, yours and my children.”

  She lay back down next to him, facing him, scooting as close to him as she could, wanting to absorb his warmth and strength. She wished she could tell him how much she loved his strength and his confidence. She wished she could let him know that he inspired her … made her want to be bolder, more courageous.

  “You really will love my baby?” she whispered, face tipped up to his.

  “Yes,” he answered, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I will be a good father. I had a great father. He taught me what love is.”

  Emmeline’s eyes felt heavy but she wouldn’t let herself fall asleep. She wanted to look at Makin.

  She didn’t know how he’d done it, but she’d fallen for him, fallen hard and fast.

  She loved him. But she didn’t trust love. In fact, loving him made everything worse.

  Because now he had the power to hurt her. Now he could break her heart.

  And maybe he did want her, but Emmeline knew that sexual desire waned, and she feared that when the newness of their coupling wore off, he’d lose interest.

  He’d go. If not physically, then emotionally. And that w
ould drive her mad. She’d feel like desperate Emmeline again, the girl who couldn’t ever get enough love. And Emmeline hated being needy. She’d hated that she wanted so much more than her parents could give. And the truth was, she already wanted more from Makin. Sex wasn’t enough. She couldn’t just be his woman in bed when he needed release. She wanted his heart.

  Fighting tears, Emmeline leaned forward and gently touched her lips to his.

  If only she were different.

  If only she were someone stronger. Calmer, tougher, someone less brittle. Someone like Hannah. Maybe then she could trust. Maybe then she could believe there was something good about her, something someone could love.

  But she wasn’t Hannah. Regretfully, she wasn’t anything like Hannah.

  * * *

  Emmeline’s morning walk felt like a death march. She walked in circles on the beach, arms wrapped around her waist as she faced the truth.

  She couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t remain in this paradise and swim and play and make love to Makin as if this was really a honeymoon.

  This was no honeymoon. It was hell. She was living in hell and it was her fault.

  She’d fallen in love with Makin. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love. She was supposed to have been smart, strong, safe.

  Instead, she loved him and needed him, and the depth of her emotions terrified her. They were too much.

  If only she hadn’t fallen in love with him then maybe she could have played the game … floated through a marriage of convenience with dignity and grace. But there was nothing dignified about what she was feeling.

  She felt consumed by fear, consumed by need and pain. There was no way Makin could ever love someone like her … someone so fearful and broken … someone so damaged.

  He’d soon discover just how much she needed him and it would overwhelm him. Her needs overwhelmed everyone.

  Better to leave now while she could. There was no way she was strong enough for a prolonged goodbye. Better to do it quickly and cleanly, one hard cut today, a total break, and then move on.

  Emmeline exhaled in a quick rush, knowing she was kidding herself. It wouldn’t be a clean break. It’d be brutal, but she’d have to be brutal with Makin to make him leave.

  She inhaled sharply, her heart hurting, burning, as she pictured him walking away.