Feeling lost and alone, she finally stood, searching for something to occupy her mind and her stupidly trembling hands. How had it happened that she'd become so vulnerable to this man she'd married, when she'd learned to protect herself from cruelty after growing up under Kerim's rule?
She couldn't bear to go up to hep lonely room and shut herself in. She'd been shut in most of her life. No more, she decided. Her eye fell on their dinner dishes. Glad to have something concrete to do, she gathered them up and took them to the sink. Cool air whispered between her legs from the sway of the ankle-length skirt she'd changed into. Teamed with a white cotton blouse that had an elasticized neckline and little puff sleeves, it made her feel free. She vowed no one would steal that feeling from her.
Midway through the chore, her husband returned, apparently finished with his "Nic."
Perhaps I should've just married Nic instead.
The painful words rocked through her again. She wanted to throw something and ask him why he hadn't married his precious Nic! Why had he brought her out of the desert if he didn't want her? But she didn't speak, too used to having defiance punished by harsh measures.
The punishments hadn't destroyed her fire, but they'd taught her to be very careful as to whom she trusted with her thoughts and emotions. Sometimes those closest to you promised the least safety.
Marc was taken aback to see his princess of a wife efficiently doing the dishes. When she placed the washed dishes in the drainer, he grabbed a dish towel and started to wipe them, wondering once again if he'd been too hasty. For some reason, Hira made him react with quick-fire temper, when he had a reputation for steely control under pressure.
She sent him a startled glance out of those slanted eyes. "You do women's work?"
He grinned. "Cher, I used to be a dishwasher in a restaurant when I was a sprat."
That gave her something to think about, because she didn't speak until the work was complete. Despite the disaster the evening had been so far, he'd hoped that they might have coffee together, but she started to head upstairs to her bedroom.
"Hey." He grabbed her arm, careful of his strength on her fragile flesh. "We have to talk." He didn't know what he was going to say. He just knew that something had to be said. They couldn't keep living like this-two strangers who'd said some vows and now found themselves locked in the same cell together.
"Why? Do you wish me to come to your bed?" Arctic frost coated the question. Standing a couple of steps above him, she looked down on him as if he was a lowly slave, her expression as cold as a desert dawn.
He dropped her arm with a sound of disgust, all his newfound warmth lost in the chill emanating from her. "Damn it, I don't do unwilling women."
"Then you will never 'do' your wife." Her fists were clenched by her sides, her lips pursed tight. It was the first hint of emotion she'd revealed since those moments on the verandah.
He was too furious to decipher the message blazing in her suddenly dark gaze. "What, my hands too dirty for you, princess? Did you realize that my money isn't enough to make you forget my roots?" His voice was harsh. What the hell was he doing? He was a man hunted by many women, but for some reason he wanted this one who held him in contempt. Only this one.
She frowned at hi s hands, as if not understanding the metaphor. "I don't know anything of that. I only know that you have shown your disregard for me by saying you should've married this Nic. I don't wish to remain here with a man who finds it so easy to hurt me."
The bluntness of her words rocked him out of his anger, while the shadowy fear she quickly hid made his next words tender. "Aw, hell. I'm sorry." He raised his hand again and with a gentle grasp on her left hand, tugged her down a step, wondering at,the cause of that flash of sheer panic. What scars was Beauty hiding?
"I didn't mean for you to hear that." God, he was an idiot. No wonder her back had gone rigid the instant he'd returned to the kitchen. "It was just my temper talking, baby. Nic's like my kid sister."
"You give me an apology?" Astonishment rang in every syllable.
Her hand in his was a warm token of trust he hadn't expected. "I acted badly. You have my humblest apologies, princess."
"I.,. That is all right." She was looking at him as if she couldn't understand him, her eyes tawny with surprised warmth, no hint of ice in sight. This was the woman who'd smiled at him shyly across a crowded room, lovely and vibrant and everything he'd ever wanted.
"What's wrong, cher?" The endearment slipped out-her perplexed expression was so very innocent.
Not fighting him when he used his free hand to move a strand of hair off her face, she said, "My father never apologized. He said it was not the husband's role to take blame." Her eyes met his, at once confused and daring.
Marc raised a brow. "What if he was wrong?" He shoved his free hand deep into his pocket to keep from reaching out and stroking the curve of her cheek, from luxuriating in the feel of that golden skin stained with softest pink. There was too much wariness in her gaze to chance the intimacy.
"He said he was never wrong."
"One heck of a way to win an argument." Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he rubbed the back of his neck instead of her cheek. 'Takes the fun out of fighting, doesn't it?"
"Why would an argument be fun?" She frowned.
He couldn't help the smile that curved his lips. Leaning close, he deliberately crowded her with his body, the devil in him winning over. "Because then you get to make up, princess." His breath sent the tiny tendrils at her temples dancing. His lips were a whisper from hers, his senses awash in the sensual woman scent of her. Giv-
ing in to temptation, he raised his free hand to cup her face, wondering at being able to touch someone so soft
and delicate. .
Eyes wide, she jerked her hand from his and turned to run up the stairs so fast he had no time to react. His smiled faded with each step she took. What had he expected? That his scarred face would entice her into his arms? Though he refused to admit it, her rejection hurt in a soul-deep way that left him no room to hide. As another one of his dreams crumbled to ashes, he followed his beauty far more slowly up the stairs.
Always a loner, tonight he found his bed cold.
Hira lay awake late into the night. It was her husband's fault. He'd done something to her. Every time she thought she might fall asleep, ghost-gray eyes prodded her awake, asking her for something she had no knowledge of.
She knew he desired her. Most men desired her. It wasn't something she was proud of. It hurt to know that they wanted her only for her body and face. Not one of them would be able to tell her anything of her true self. Had she married just such a man?
He saw her as a "princess," a woman who had no redeeming qualities or many brains. But he wished to lie with her. It wasn't flattering to her to be compared to those American bimbos she saw with their rich, old husbands.
Sniffling, though she wanted to be haughty and unaffected, she gave up trying to sleep and rose.
After snuggling into a sunny yellow robe adorned with a single red rose on the back, she sneaked downstairs with the intention of making hot chocolate. In the foreign books she'd read, it had been called "comfort food," and comforting was just what she needed.
She felt alone, adrift. It was as if her mind and body were disconnected. The smart part of her knew that if she allowed herself to feel tenderness for Marc, the hunter in him would seek total surrender. Her first impression of him had been of danger. Every time he came near her, every time he threatened to tear down the walls that had protected her from hurt all her life, that impression was cemented. Yet the sensuous heart of her nature found his masculinity hypnotically compelling. What was she supposed to do with these strange feelings?
And why hadn't her husband come to her tonight? She'd been terrified that he would, unaware how to cope with the sudden heat flooding her body, but she'd accepted the inevitability. She was his wife. He'd left her alone last night because she'd shown him anger, but tonight he'd wanted her and he had to have guessed that she wouldn't deny him again. Not when she'd reacted to his touch as if she'd been struck by lightning. Yet he hadn't come.