Craving Beauty(31)

Jasmine led them into a beautiful formal dining room. "Yes. My husband   expects you to earn his respect. It's the same demand he makes of   everyone."



Hira nodded, accepting the fairness of that.



"But," Jasmine continued, giving her a shrewd look. "I've made my   decision. You're no pretty trophy. That husband of yours wouldn't look   at you the way he does if you were."



"And how is that?"



"With the deepest pride. If he is as akin to the men of Zulheil as he appears, then that's a great thing indeed."

Jasmine turned to take a seat beside her husband on the other side of the comfortably small table.                       
       
           



       



A little shaken by the power of that quiet statement, Hira took the   chair Marc held out for her. There were no servants in the dining area   tonight, because this was most definitely a meeting, despite the   abundance of delicious dishes on the table. He touched her fleetingly on   the shoulder before taking his seat.



It made her aware of how he always touched her, and had done so since   shortly after she'd learned about the orphanage. A caress, a stolen   kiss, a squeeze of the fingers, she'd become so used to being touched by   Marc that she'd never questioned what it meant.. .until she'd seen the   sheik touch his wife, and realized that for a strong man to show such   open affection implied a great deal of feeling.



Smiling, she turned to him as he sat down and gently put her hand on his   thigh, out of sight of the others. He looked startled but then favored   her with that slow smile that always proved lethal to her composure.  His  hand drifted down to hers and their ringers intertwined. "Let's  begin  with a toast." Tariq held up his glass and they followed. 'To a  long and  happy partnership."



They all clinked glasses. The dinner took more than four hours, with all   of them ending up in a small sitting room talking over several   documents. Hira spent considerable time discussing an interesting idea   regarding the tigereye prism with Jasmine. Marc didn't even check up on   her once, and his trust that she'd look after their interests cemented   her love for him as nothing else could've done.



Eleven



"God, I'm exhausted." Dressed only in his dress pants, Marc fell back   onto their bed. Rubbing his eyes with his hand, he smiled, looking very   much like a satisfied hunting cat. "But it was worth it."



She nodded. Having already changed into a short nightdress with thin   straps, she crawled onto the bed and knelt facing her husband, combing   her hair. 'This could build into a long-term business relationship."



Marc's eyes followed her strokes. "I intend it to. I like working with   Tariq. He's got integrity as well as the negotiating skills of a shark."



"That's why he likes you also." She put the brush down on the nightstand   and moved to undo his belt, using the excuse to stroke his firm   abdomen. Under her hands, he was pure male strength, the seduction of   his hunter's body enough to make her ache for his possession.



His smile as he watched her with blatant pro-prietariness made her   stomach tighten in expectation. Marc had a particular look in his eye   tonight,' a look that said he intended to take his time with her.

She was proved right.



They'd both agreed to spend the next day with her family. Hira wished to   see her mother and brothers but didn't particularly care about her   father.



"It's only one day. You can stand the man for that long," Marc said when she made a sulky face.



Sighing, she nodded and got out of the car, waiting until Marc was   beside her before heading up the steps to the place that had once been   her gilded prison.



Her mother was overjoyed to see her. Even her brothers were happy,   welcoming her with crushing hugs and small but thoughtful gifts that   touched her. Perhaps they'd turn out all right after all. Her father   grunted and shook Marc's hand; smile wide. Hira left him to Marc and   went to spend time with her mother, the documents for the account she   and Marc had opened in Arnira's name safe in her purse.



Marc watched Hira go off with Amira Dazirah with mixed feelings. On the   one hand he was glad she was happy to be in Zulheil, but surrounded by   reminders, he couldn't help but remember the way he'd rushed her into   marriage. Her father had provided the impetus, but the choice had been   his. He couldn't deny that he hadn't tried very hard to change Kerim's   mind. He'd wanted Hira, and he'd gone after her with every bit of his   considerable will.



It hurt more than he could've imagined to know that because of that   single rash act, his wife would never view him with the kind of   tenderness and love she'd told him she'd dreamed of. How could she   possibly understand that when he'd seen her on that balcony, it hadn't   been her beauty that had transfixed him?



No, it had been something far more ephemeral, something that had tugged   at his soul, a knowing that she was his, a possessiveness that hadn't   let him sleep until he'd made her his in reality. How could he explain   that to her without ripping open his heart? He wasn't ready for that,   not when she sometimes still looked at him with shadows in her brilliant   eyes.



His wife had adjusted to him, but he needed far more than simple   coexistence from her. He needed her heart and soul, her hope, her   everything. He needed her to need him, because all of him, even the lost   and lonely bayou boy he'd been, had become enthralled with her. It was   an enchantment that demanded his soul. He couldn't fight it, couldn't  go  back to his lonely, untrusting existence...couldn't stop needing her  so  much that his hunger was a physical ache.                       
       
           



       





Late the next day Hira tried to talk to her husband about what had   turned his gray eyes dark when she hadn't been looking. In the space of a   few hours, he'd gone from teasing and laughing with her to almost   complete silence.



"Nothing," he said, his tone curt.



When she pushed, he kept responding with monosyllabic replies that made   her want to hit him over the head with a blunt object. Frustrated by  his  recalcitrance, she finally left him and went off to indulge herself   with a

bath, muttering under her breath about males in general and one male in particular.



He found her fifteen minutes later, while she was sitting on the edge of   the huge square-shaped bath filled with cool flower-scented water.   Because of her perch, the lapping water only covered her up to the   thighs. Looking up, she saw familiar desire flare in his eyes as he   gazed at her naked form. Ignoring the heat that uncurled luxuriously in   her stomach, she stared back, feeling just a bit put-upon by his   moodiness.



"What?" she finally said, when he remained silent.



"Nothing. I have to go out."



"Fine." She glared at him.



"Don't you care where I'm going?" His tone was jagged, torn, those eyes of liquid silver gone cloudy.

And she wanted to hit him, not soothe him. She'd had it! Absolutely and   utterly! Letting out a stifled scream, she picked up the sponge she was   using to smooth water over her body, and threw it at his chest.



He caught the sponge against his body. When he lifted it off, a wet   patch marred his vivid blue shirt. Before he could speak, she said, "Why   should I worry about a husband who turns cold on me when I've done   nothing wrong? You and your black mood can both go to hell for all I   care!"



That was when he stalked to her, all male arrogance and smoky eyes   filled with some emotion she couldn't read. She sat in place, though it   was difficult to be composed while her body was laid out for his   perusal.



He was close enough to touch. "You just told me to go to hell." Holding   her gaze, he dropped the sponge into the water, sending ripples chasing   across her thighs.



"Why do you sound so surprised? After the way you've been acting today,   I'm entitled to my temper." To her complete and utter shock, he kicked   off his shoes and sat down beside her, straddling the bath. One   jean-covered leg went in the water, the other remained outside. He   didn't even blink.



"You don't have that look in your eyes anymore," he murmured. His hand   began to play with a strand of her hair that had come undone from the   knot on top of her head.