The Sheikh & the Bride Who Said No by Susan Mallery

being schooled on the power of unfulfilled need.
    Her hands clutched at him, pulling him closer. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss, even as she pressed into his hand. He explored her breast and found himself hungering to know the taste of her hot skin.
    But that was not for now, he reminded himself as he gathered the strength to step back. He would know her soon enough—once she understood that their marriage was as inevitable as the tide.
    “You see,” he said with a calmness he did not feel. “You do want me.”
    She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. Her eyes were large and unfocused, her face flushed.
    “There’s a difference between wanting a man in my bed for a couple of weeks and wanting him in my life permanently,” she said, her voice low and angry. “If you were trying to prove a point, I’m not impressed.”
    “Your body says otherwise.”
    “Fortunately I make my decisions with my brain.”
    “Your brain wants me, as well,” he told her. “You resist only to be stubborn. I am pleased the sexual spark has lasted so long between us. It bodes well for our marriage. You will be a good wife and provide me with many strong, healthy, intelligent children, including an heir to carry on the monarchy.”
    “And my reward in all this is your pleasure. Gee, how thrilling.”
    He refused to be provoked by her. “Your reward is in the honor I bestow upon you. I believe you already understand that, and in time you will grow more comfortable showing me your pleasure in your situation.”
    She opened her mouth, then closed it. He could almost see the steam building up inside of her.
    “Of all the arrogant, egotistical, annoying things you’ve ever said to me,” she began.
    He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Say what you like, but I know the truth. You’re already begging to love me. In a matter of weeks you will want nothing but the pleasure of being near me.”
    “When pigs fly.”
    Daphne thought Murat was assuming an awful lot, especially that she was interested in him sexually. Whatever warm and yummy feelings he’d generated a couple of minutes ago with his hot kisses and knowing hands, he’d destroyed with a few badly chosen words.
    “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man alive. I said no before, I’m saying no again. No. No!”
    The infuriating man simply smiled. “Mr. Peterson will be here shortly. I trust you will act appropriately.”
    Anger filled her. She reached for something to throw, but there was only her clay statue, and she loved it too much to smash it.
    “Get out!” she yelled.
    “As you wish, my bride.”
    She screamed and grabbed the remaining block of clay. When she turned back, Murat had already walked toward the harem itself. Even though she knew she couldn’t throw that far, she pitched the clay at him and had the satisfaction of hearing it splat on the stone path.
    “I’ll get you for this,” she vowed. Somehow, some way, she would come up with a plan, and he would be sorry he’d ever tried to mess with her.
    Mr. Peterson might be old and valued but he was also the prissiest man Daphne had ever met.
    He was small—maybe five-four—so she towered over him even in low-heeled sandals.
    He had the delicate bone structure of a bird, with tiny hands and feet. Next to him she felt like an awkward and ill-mannered Amazon giant.
    “Ms. Snowden,” he said as he entered the harem and bowed. “It is more than a great pleasure to meet you.”
    She wasn’t sure how it could be more than a great pleasure, but she wasn’t the fancy-party expert.
    “The pleasure is mine,” she said as she led the way to the sitting area and motioned to the collection of sofas there.
    Mr. Peterson looked them over closely, then chose the one that was lowest to the floor. No doubt he hated when his feet dangled.
    She sat across from him and wondered how badly this was going to go. Mr.
    Peterson wanted to plan a wedding and she didn’t. That was bound to create