"What about the scars?" he asked bluntly. Painful truth was better than a fantasy like the one he'd built around Lydia. The eventual shattering of fantasies tended to wound a man far more than honesty.
She ran a slim finger across one of the ragged scars on his chest. "In Zulheil, desert chieftains participate in a ceremony to show their loyalty to our sheik." Her fingers floated down to trace the faint lines that ran across his abdomen. "They mark their bodies with pride. You are a hunter like them and these are your scars of battle." She pressed a kiss to the jagged scar that cut across his collarbone.
He shivered. "I suppose they could be considered battle scars." His childhood had been a battleground and he'd come up against his father's belt and his mother's fist more times than he cared to count. His hand stroked the bare skin of her hip. To his surprise, she cuddled closer. There was a softness to her body that spoke of true welcome.
"They make you... sexy to me." Her voice was almost indiscernible. "I see the men in your advertising and they are too pretty. Who would wish for a husband who couldn't protect them?"
Once again, he was reminded that his wife was a woman from another land, a land that for all its sophistication, had a primitive core that lay very close to the surface. "And you think I could?"
She tipped up her head. "Despite your civilized front, you're a hunter at heart." Her hand trailed up his chest, the languid stroking fuel to the slow burn of desire within him. "You see me as your property, and you'd never let anything hurt what is yours."
Her intuition startled him. Whatever the state of their marriage, in saying vows, he'd made her his and he would die protecting her if it came to that. Clenching his fist in her abundant hair, he tilted her head. "How do you like being my property?"
Mountain-cat eyes narrowed. "I am no man's property. I simply said that that is how you view me."
His lips quirked. "A subtle distinction."
"A distinction nonetheless. But, I will accept this- as your wife, I belong to you." Then she did something totally unexpected. She gripped the curling hairs on his chest with one hand, making him wince. "And, husband, if we lie together, you become mine."
Well, well, well, Marc thought, at once amused and intrigued by the possessive interest in his wife's eyes. "The princess doesn't want to share?"
She pulled at the hairs in her grasp. Hard. "The princess will never share. Decide."
He untangled her hand, fighting his grin. "My tigress." He had no intention of cheating. If he couldn't keep it in his pants, he would've never taken a wife. His father might have been an abusive tyrant but even he'd never sunk that low.
Ten minutes later Marc decided he was insane. Why wasn't he inside his wife's tight little body right now?
Because she was naked, wet and slippery, and slowly soaping his thighs. His arousal was blatant, but she avoided looking at that part of him, the possessive tigress suddenly turning shy. It was the reminder he needed that he was the experienced party. She'd only go so far before halting in confusion.
"Enough. I'm clean. Your turn." He took the soap from her, desperate enough to be completely unsophisticated.
Her eyes went wide. "That is not custom!"
"It is in America." He turned her away from him so he could soap her back.' % too, have been shirking my duty.''
Her body was so lovely that he thought he was dreaming. The slender waist he'd savored outside, flared into womanly hips that would cradle him deliciously when he drove into her. Those long legs of hers could make a man beg for mercy. Thankfully she didn't appear to like wearing shorts or she'd cause traffic accidents.
"This wasn't told to me in my lessons on American culture." She threw him a suspicious glance over one wet shoulder, water-darkened lashes delineating her tawny eyes even more sharply.
He grazed her skin with his teeth, deciding he liked the taste of his wife. Later, after she was more at ease with him, he intended to take his own sweet time tasting all the secret places of her body. "It's for a husband to teach his wife, not for everyone to know."
"Oh." She wouldn't look at him, but he let her face the glass wall. The hunger in his eyes was likely to scare her.
He'd kept his mouth shut when she'd shyly undressed before following him into the shower, though he'd wanted to swallow his tongue at seeing her naked for the first time. Even after her maddening "help," he wasn't going to push her to do something she wasn't ready for, and it had been obvious that getting into the shower with him had taken every ounce of courage she had.
When he hadn't forced anything on her, letting her become used to his body and his strength, she'd begun to relax. But she was still far from giving him the welcome he needed if he was going to take her to his bed. As he'd told her, an unwilling woman held no joy for him. However, he had no intention of letting her do all the work in this mutual seduction.
With her hair pinned atop her head, the vulnerable line of her nape was bared. He pressed a kiss to the tender skin, giving her the gentleness she'd accused him of lacking and had the pleasure of feeling her tremble against his hands and lips.
"Will I truly be your only lover?" he whispered close to her ear, his palms flat on the shower walls on either side of her head. She was enclosed but in walls that would break the moment she displayed any resistance. It was his way of teaching her not to fear either his passion-rough voice or his desire-taut body.
"Yes." Her murmur was as soft as the feel of her skin.
Taking a chance, he slid a hand down the front of her body and cupped one heavy breast. She gasped, her body going taut. He squeezed gently, his mind whirling at the feel of her, the sensual weight of her in his palm. The things he was intending to do to her sweet flesh would probably curl her toes. "Princess, if we do this, no more separate bedrooms."
Silence.
"What? Don't like the terms?" He kept his hand on her breast, proprietary as hell. She'd given herself to him. Now she had to take all of him. No playing by arbitrary rules. Either they were husband and wife or they weren't. "If you don't, we stop right now. Right here." Reining in the possessiveness driving him, he gentled his demanding tone. "This is enough for today, if you're not ready."
The only urgency lay in the desire that had a stranglehold on his body. And that he could control if Hira was unwilling. She'd shown such courage in coming to him despite his anger that he'd grant her all the time she needed.
"I... My parents never... Is this acceptable?" It was a hesitant question.
The flaring possessiveness within him calmed at the innocent explanation. His wife had led a sheltered life, her only example of marriage being what she'd seen between her parents. It was becoming very clear to him that he'd have to fight those memories to claim her as his own.
Only then did he realize that he'd decided to fight for more than a marriage based on desire and practicality. He wanted the real thing. "I'm your husband and I say it is. Do you doubt me?" Smiling, he kissed the side of her neck.
A short pause. "No." But she didn't sound utterly convinced by his dominance in the relationship. He didn't want her to be. A wife who always agreed with him would be no fun at all. A real marriage included disagreements as much as it did loving, laughter and loyalty.
Grinning against her, he released her breast and soaped up his hands before putting the soap in the holder. A question shimmered into his mind. "Should I get protection, sweetheart?"
He felt her blush heat up her skin. "No. I visited a doctor before our marriage."
Delighted at not having to halt his exploration, he took a step back and ran his hands from her shoulders to the tops of her thighs. Her buttocks tightened under his touch and he stroked up to rub the soap in circles, blocking the spray with his body so that she remained soapy for his pleasure.
She made a tiny, woman sound. "Am I very dirty?"