Craving Beauty(14)

For the past three weeks, ever since she'd admitted her desire for him,   he'd been warm and indulgent. Whenever he could delegate work, he'd  been  teaching her about his Louisiana. Wide-eyed, she'd visited a  voodoo  practitioner's temple, gorged herself at a backwoods crawfish  restaurant  and ridden through the gator-infested bayou country that  Marc loved so  much.



It was a lush land, full of surprises and hidden glory that easily   enchanted. Attempting to appreciate this vivid, green country was not   the hardest thing in her life. Especially when she saw it through her   husband's eyes.



But there was one thing that gave her pause. Every Wednesday night and Sunday afternoon, Marc disappeared.

When she'd asked, he'd said that it had to do with some important   business. But while he'd been out last week, his secretary had called   looking for him, unable to get through to his mobile phone.



Hira had given the woman a plausible excuse, but she couldn't help   wondering where her husband went when he left her each sunny Sunday, and   what he did that made him arrive home so very late every Wednesday.



Though it was a painful thing, she accepted that despite the risk she'd   taken in giving herself to him, he might have another lover. Romaz   hadn't been satisfied with her-why should she be enough for this far   more magnificent man? Clenching her fists, she took a deep breath of the   wet air. Everything in this land was wet. Even her eyes.



Rubbing her tears off her face with the backs of her hands, she decided   that she wouldn't suffer in silence. She wasn't going to spend the rest   of her life ignoring her husband's infidelities the way her mother  did.  Perhaps it had allowed Amira Dazirah to live with some semblance  of  happiness, but it would never suit her daughter.



Walking out of the woods surrounding their extensive compound, she   strode to the house and made her way to the master bedroom. The sound of   the shower in the en suite bathroom only gave her a little peace. She   knew she shouldn't spy on her husband's affairs but she couldn't bear  to  simply ask him, couldn't bear to tear open her soul that way. If he   told her face-to-face that he had a lover, she wouldn't be able to hide   her pain.



She felt ashamed spying, but she would rather feel that than the   crushing humiliation that would surely come if she went into a   confrontation with no knowledge whatsoever. She needed some shield   against Marc, some way to protect herself. As he'd shown her last night,   when his hands touched her body, she became his in a way that defied   her own mind and soul.



Ears perked to catch the slightest sound, she reached into Marc's jacket   pockets and pulled out everything in them. The wallet and keys went   straight back in. She started going through the handful of receipts in   one pocket. No matter that this was wrong, she had to know, for the idea   of her husband finding succor in some other woman's arms was   unbearable.



"Gas," she muttered, scanning the receipts. "Groceries. Clothing...from a   boys store? Electronic equipment. Flowers." That was all there was.   Brow furrowed, she put the receipts away just as the shower shut off.                       
       
           



       



Giving a soft gasp, she whirled out of the master bedroom and padded   quickly into her own. Though she hadn't spent a night there since she'd   lain with Marc, it was still her room, full of feminine things and her   favorite books, a place of retreat when her hunter of a husband became   too dominating or overwhelming. However, she'd rarely been pushed to  use  it in the past weeks.



She'd found herself drifting into the relaxed living room to sit with   Marc, without ever consciously planning such a domestic scene. He never   asked her to be with him, but if she was away from him for more than an   hour, he came looking. Until now she'd thought that implied growing  care  for her, and her heart had bloomed. But what if it had been  nothing  more than a proprietary search for the woman he considered his  property?





The instant Marc walked out of the bathroom, he knew that someone had   been in the bedroom. Barely a second later he knew it had been his wife.   Her elusive scent tantalized his nostrils and threatened to arouse him   when he had no intention of being made a slave to desire.



As he dressed, he thought over her distant behavior of the past week.   He'd wondered if she was trying out her fledgling sensual wings, seeing   if she could control him by withholding her full self from their   intimacy. If she was, he'd shown her last night that she was a novice in   that game.



He frowned. Had he been too demanding of her? He hadn't let her hold   back an inch, asking more and more and still more, not letting her sleep   until she'd begged him for rest. Even then a part of him had raged to   keep taking her, stamping his mark on her, forcing her to remove the   distance he'd glimpsed on her face even in the darkness.



He swore under his breath. Despite her sensual nature, she really was an   innocent in that particular arena. His gut twisted at the thought that   he might've scared her with his intensity, even though she'd ridden   every wave with him.





Hira sat in her room, unable to stop thinking about what she'd found.   The groceries, clothing and computer equipment hadn't come to this   house. Neither had the flowers, and that hurt most of all. Her husband   had never given her flowers, never so much as a tiny trinket to show her   that he felt some affection for her. That wasn't to say he was a  stingy  husband. No, in some ways he was far too generous.



A racy little sports car had been delivered for her personal use a few   days after her arrival in America, and just last week, his secretary had   accompanied her on a shopping trip to a number of designer boutiques   where Marc had set up accounts for her use. But despite his generosity,   he'd never once given her anything that might be interpreted as the   least bit romantic. Perhaps he didn't wish her to get the idea that she   meant more to him than a pleasurable face and body.



So where had the flowers gone?



Who had they gone to?



Her heart felt as if it was slowly breaking into a thousand little   pieces. Could it be that her husband had become more than just a lover?   Could it be that she was the trophy to show off, while his heart   belonged to a woman he couldn't marry for some reason?



It wasn't such a ridiculous idea. Her father's longest-serving mistress   was a twice-divorced Parisian dancer whom he'd known since before his   marriage. She'd once heard him say to her brother, Fariz, that though he   couldn't let the woman go, he'd never considered marrying her-a man of   his standing needed a wife with a pristine past.



Pain beat at her temples as, for the first time, she realized that this   hunter of an American with his quick mind and compelling eyes meant far   more to her than a convenient husband. In her heart she'd claimed him  as  hers the first time he'd teased her with that slow smile. And that  had  been back in Zulheil.



She didn't know if she loved him, but she did know she felt things for   him she'd never felt for any other man. He was her husband and she   wouldn't sit aside and let him betray her. She wasn't a toy he could   play with, as he'd played with her last night, and then put back in her   box when she became inconvenient.



Gulping, she considered confronting him right then and there. Only a   second later she thrust that idea aside. He was half-naked right now and   would surely see her entry as an invitation to seduction. No, she   couldn't let him touch her body while he thought of another woman.



The past few days had been torture, last night had been pure   humiliation, given that she'd been trying to keep her distance while she   decided whether or not he was cheating on her. With hands that  caressed  and teased, lips that lavished attention on every secret  corner and  husky whispers that rasped along her skin, he'd made her  give up all her  precious dignity and taken his pleasure in her  shuddering climaxes.                       
       
           



       



She could accept his lack of loving, but it was unbearable that he might   be giving some other woman the very affection he couldn't find in his   soul for her. She had to know the truth. But how?