Craving Beauty(17)

"Huh?"



She dragged her mind away from Marc. "It is a story of my homeland, of a   princess who was also a dragon. I will tell you this if you show me  how  to make apple pie."



It took a few more minutes of tantalizing bits from the story, but she   soon had them hooked. One boy swept the floor clean, and then they   showed her how to make apple pie. Brian fell asleep in her arms sometime   during the story. Damian offered to take him from her.



"No, I wish to hold him." She smiled at him, thanking him for his concern. "He's so very light, I worry."



"He's sick a lot. I think he misses Becky."



"Becky?"



"His twin. When their ma and pa died, they put Brian here and Becky in some girls orphanage," Damian explained.



"But that is wrong! In Zulheil, it's said that two who are born together   are each other's heart. They are not to be torn apart." No wonder the   boy was so frail,



"Marc's doing something to help him."



Hira thought to ask her husband about this later. For the moment she'd   enjoy the children's honest company, and try not to think about the   depths of tenderness this place revealed about the dark and moody man   she'd married and was only now beginning to know.





Marc returned with Larry and Jake, carrying six containers of ice cream.   What the boys didn't eat today would be savored later. He expected to   find the kitchen in chaos, his princess overwhelmed by these tough kids   who'd known more hurt than humanly bearable and yet had survived.



When he'd realized that she was following him, he'd let his temper drive   him into a situation that could mean terrible pain for those who least   deserved it. Furious at her lack of trust in him, he'd reacted without   thought, a strange experience for a man known in business circles as   having a will of iron and a heart of ice.



He hoped he hadn't damaged the boys' trust in him by leaving them with a   woman who could destroy with one scathing comment. To her credit,  she'd  never disparaged either his scars or his background as a  dirt-grubbing  child, but even after he'd loved her this morning, her  eyes had looked  at him with such distance that he'd felt taunted into  trying to tame  her.



He'd wanted to rub off some of that aloof sophistication and find out if   there really was a living, breathing woman beneath the ice. He didn't   want her to be only a beautiful shell who could shut off her emotions  as  easily as she'd shut him out of her bedroom last night. But, a part  of  him whispered, she hadn't locked the door. And he'd taken full  advantage  of that lapse.                       
       
           



       



"Let's hope for the best," he muttered to himself, shouldering through the swinging door.



He walked into a kitchen filled with laughter. Little Brian was fast   asleep in his wife's arms, and tall and shy Beau was blushing but trying   to tease her about something. The other children were gathered around   her.



She had flour on her nose and elbows. There was a streak of dirt on her   designer yellow dress from Brian's shoe, and handprints on her skirts   from other little hands. She'd begun the afternoon with her hair pinned   on top of her head, but Brian had pulled strands loose. She looked   disheveled and messy, and her face was full of such joy that his heart   stopped for a minute. Lord, she was beautiful when she was all prettied   up; messy and with a child in her arms, she was devastating.



Painful tenderness cramped his heart. His hands froze around the bags he   held. This was no ice princess. Despite all the times her facade had   cracked, how had he failed to spot the truth about his wife?



"What's so funny?" One of his ice cream helpers asked.



Damian looked over. "Hira's been telling us stories."



"Oh, man! We missed it," Larry grumbled.



"Don't worry, I'll tell more."



Marc couldn't believe the way she had them all in the palm of her hand.   As the late afternoon progressed into evening, he expected her to wilt   under the emotional demands of the attention-starved boys, but she   seemed to glow. Much later, after dinner and the supervised completion   of various pieces of homework, they sat down to watch the first hour of a   video, a midweek treat the boys only got for good behavior.



However, it quickly became clear that they weren't enjoying it. Despite   the nonchalance they tried to portray, they were very worried about   Brian. Once again he'd barely eaten anything. After settling the boys   down, Hira went into the kitchen and made something with milk, sugar and   the other ingredients she'd asked him to buy. Cuddling Brian into her   lap on her return, she lifted a spoonful of the mixture to his mouth,   her other arm holding him carefully.



"Come, laeha, you must eat this. I have made it just for you," she   coaxed, her voice holding the exotic music of a faraway land of desert   and sunshine.



The sad-faced little boy opened his mouth and let her feed him a   spoonful. His eyes widened. When a second spoonful was raised, he made   no protest. Carefully, while the other boys ostensibly watched their   movie, she managed to get a whole bowl of the rich mixture into Brian.   Drowsy after eating, he snuggled into her body and fell asleep again,   his thumb in his mouth. The habit had developed after the traumatic   separation from his twin.

Marc took the bowl and spoon from his wife, his chest tight with pride. "Thank you."



Worried eyes met his. "He is too small." "I know, cher" he whispered.   "I'm trying to find his sister." He touched her hair once and then   walked into the kitchen, finding that she'd made more of the sweet treat   than had been needed for Brian. Deciding the rest of the boys would   like a taste, he took out small servings. "Here, extra dessert thanks to   my wife."



Soon, sighs of repletion sounded around the room. When he looked to see   how Hira was taking this, he found her fast asleep, Brian's head   cushioned on her breasts. In sleep, his princess looked as guileless as   the child lying trustingly against her body. If he only knew which   face-the sophisticate or the innocent-was her true self, he might have a   way to understand the woman he'd married.





Hira woke when Marc took Brian from her. "We are leaving?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes.



He nodded. "The others have gone to bed. They said good-night and come   back soon." His eyes looked at her with a gentleness she couldn't   understand.



While he carried the sleeping boy upstairs, she went to the kitchen to   tidy up, only to find it sparkling clean. Smiling, she located the shoes   she'd kicked off, and stepped into them. When she went to say goodbye   to the elder, it was to find the study disappointingly empty.



A big hand came to rest on her hip. "Father Thomas didn't want to disturb you when he went to bed."



She turned to look up at her husband, feeling drowsy and happily tired. "He is a nice man."



Marc pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was so far from his usual passion, so tender that she just stared.



He chuckled at her dazed expression. "You are not driving home. I've   moved your car to the parking lot behind the orphanage. We'll get it   later."



Nodding, she let him lead her out to his truck.



The drive home went quickly because she was exhausted. The next time she   woke, it was to find Marc carrying her up the stairs to their bedroom.   When she blinked and pushed at his shoulders, amused gray eyes looked   down at her.                       
       
           



       



"Did I sleep?"



His grin was bright in the warm light of the small lamps he'd apparently   switched on, on his way up. "You dozed off against my shoulder, just   like Brian did on you."



She yawned and then, without thinking about it, snuggled her face   against his neck and went back to sleep. She was vaguely aware of him   undressing her and laying her down on their bed. He didn't put her   nightgown on her, but she'd expected that. But, though he slipped in   naked beside her, he didn't do more than hold her tight.



"Sleep, princess." A kiss on the pulse in her neck.



He was cuddling her, she thought, smiling into dreams that were soft and   pleasant. It was nice to be cuddled by an American hunter who was   pleased with you.