Craving Beauty

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 proprietariness 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 Amira'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.

She slapped his hand away. "What look? And don't try to get back in my good graces. I want to enjoy my bath without my bad-tempered husband." Turning away, she scooped up water in her hands and let it run over her legs.

If he wanted to watch, that was fine. She refused to be hurried just because her body reacted like wildfire to his. She could control herself, she thought grimly. She would not give in to the urge to rip open his shirt and lick her way up to his lips. She would not! Why was he still sitting there? A woman only had so much self-con­trol, even when she was using anger to fuel it.

"Aren't you wondering why I've been acting like I have?" Marc finally asked, scooping up water in one hand and dripping it over her thighs.

She sniffed to fight off a shiver at the intimate act, pressing her thighs together to still the ache in between her legs. It only intensified. "I don't know what it is that I did, but clearly, I've done something wrong. You're merely trying to reinstate your rights over me by show­ing me this coldness." She made a face at him. "I will not be treated so!"

At that instant her American did something she'd never expected. Putting both hands on her shoulders, he pulled her toward him and planted a hard kiss on her startled lips. "To hell with my rights!" Wild hunger raged in his eyes, but this hunger was deeper than the body, so deep that she thought she could see his soul in the suddenly piercing quality of those always-well-guarded eyes.

"The reason I've been acting like a wounded bear is because I worship the ground you walk on. Being here reminds me too much of how we started this marriage, how I killed all hope of love between us with the way I claimed you without courtship. I love you, princess, and I can't stand it that you'll never love me back." He kissed her again, strong and swift. It felt like a brand on her heart.

"Heck, love doesn't begin to describe what I feel for you—this emotion's like a fire inside of me that refuses to go out. It's passion that stuns me when you smile and tenderness I didn't even know I could feel. It's not roses and moonlight, it's lightning and forever."

Hira was stunned speechless by Marc's defiant dec­laration. Her proud, inflexible husband had to know that by acknowledging his love, he was giving her a weapon over him, and surely he'd never give such a weapon to a woman like he'd once believed her to be, a mercenary beauty like that bitch Lydia. He wasn't fin­ished, either.

"I love your smile and, yes, I love your face. How could I not, when I adore the woman you are? I love the way you talk to the boys and let each of them feel as if he could win your hand if he were old enough. I love the way you're so generous with your body and your affection."

His voice was raw; painfully, powerfully intimate. "I love the way you try to love the bayou because I love it. I love you, and I've had it with trying to hide what I feel."

Powerful and passionate, it was her first true glimpse of the intensity of her husband's feelings. His love would be wild, an inferno that would demand every­thing from her.

Trembling, she raised her hand to his cheek and leaned close. "Marc, husband, I c-can't..." Her voice was an emotion-choked whisper.

"Hush. I know." There was something bleak in his gaze. He'd given her his heart with no expectation that she'd reciprocate. How much strength did that take for a man who'd never been loved? How much courage? How much love?

Her heart felt so big in her chest, Hira didn't know how it remained inside her body. "Did you know my fa­ther has never once told my mother that he needs her? Not once. Yet he relies on her for so many things."

"I need you more than you'll ever know." It was a rough acceptance, another glimpse into his proud heart.

This hunter of hers had far more depths than she would've believed when they'd married. Dropping her hand, she moved closer and began to unbutton his shirt. "What about when I'm old? When I have wrinkles? Or lines from bearing children?"

"I want to grow old with you. I want to put laugh lines on your face, and I want the birth of our children to change your body. Imagine a lifetime of change, cher. A lifetime of learning each other anew." His eyes were liquid silver but shadows still hovered in the background, remnants of the neglected child, the final pieces of the vulnerability he hid so well. "What's the fun in remaining the same?"

His shirt was open under her hands. She pushed it off his shoulders and to the floor. Her hands went to his belt. A big male hand stopped her.

"No, sweetheart. You don't have to...give me any­thing. My love's free. And it's for always."

It was his tenderness that shattered any remaining doubts she might have harbored. He sounded so very careful, so very worried that she might feel obliged to him, so very concerned about her, when he was the one who'd taken the risk of stripping his soul bare.

Swallowing, she raised her head and looked into those ghost-gray eyes. "Marc, husband, I once told you I could tell lies very well."

"I'd rather have honest affection than a dishonest avowal of love," he said, mistaking her meaning. There was an intensity in his gaze that challenged hen This man would never settle for gilt when gold was his goal.

She bit her lip. "No, I mean to say that I once told you a lie. I didn't plan to, it just came out that way." She'd been panicked and afraid, and it had been the only thing she could think of to keep him at a distance.

His face hardened. "Oh?"

"I said I wouldn't have picked you if I'd had a real choice. I said that the only reason I married you was be­cause there was no way for me to refuse my father's commands."

"Yeah." Marc had tried to get over that, but it con­tinued to torment the bayou boy inside of him. The one who'd never been chosen for love. The one who was so madly in love with his wife that her lack of feeling for him hurt him with every breath. But he would never let her know that because as he'd said, honest laughter and affection were better than dishonest love.

"Did you know that my father had a marriage offer for me almost every week?" Hira confided softly.

He stared at her, his mind immediately beginning to holler questions.

"Marir was just one of many. I could've picked one of the others, because there were several with busi­nesses that would've complemented my father's. And of course they had impeccable family links." She was talk­ing really fast, as if trying to get something past him.

His mind and heart refused to let her off that easily. "Would Kerim have let you?"

"Oh, yes, for if I was an unwilling wife to you or any other man, it would've jeopardized his business. Far better to have me be a willing wife whom he could mold, even if that meant I was married to someone less influential.

"At the time that my father ordered me to marry you, I told myself I didn't put up a fight because I was hurt­ing from Romaz's rejection, but that rejection had come many months previously. I'd had over eight offers for my hand since then. One was from a prince in another desert country, another from a British millionaire who is considered a very eligible bachelor."

Something hungry deep inside Marc, went very, very quiet. "Eight?"

She nodded and gave him a guilty look. "None of which I had trouble rebutting, though my father drove me crazy with his orders for me to agree. He kept threatening to throw me out on the street. Marir was his at­tempt at scaring me when I refused all the suitors after barely a single meeting. He would never have wasted me on a lecherous old friend. Don't be angry with me."

She was fiddling with the button on his jeans, even as she explained. Her lashes hid her eyes but he could tell she was giving him surreptitious peeks to see how he was taking the news.

He narrowed his eyes. "You made me feel like I was the best of a bad lot." His tone was light, his heart buoy­ant as he finally understood what his proud princess was confessing.

She'd preferred the scarred bayou beast over every other man who'd asked for her hand.

Looking up, she made a face at him, a smile flirting with her eyes when she saw that he wasn't angry. "You were. Except for you, every other male was bad. Then I saw you, and suddenly I had no resistance. I could no longer fight my father—all my will was gone, lost the moment you smiled at me. You were just the best. Com­pared with anyone. So, you see, I wished you for my husband. Only you."

Her unknowing echo of his thoughts only made her confession more poignant. He felt his throat lock as the power of what she was saying roared through him.

When he didn't answer straight away, she said, "Do you understand, Marc? You're the love I waited for all my life, though when you came, it took me a while to rec­ognize you. You see, I didn't expect you to be so blatantly male." The teasing light in her eyes made him kiss her.

After he, set her free, she continued to speak. "I feel so much for you, I don't know if I can find the words to tell you. In Zulheil, there is a saying—Ul al eha makhin. Makhin al eha ul. Lael gha al aishann." Her voice was full of so much passion, he could almost see her love in the air.

"What does it mean?"

"You belong to me. I belong to you. Together we are complete." Her voice shook.

It was perfect, saying what he'd wanted to but hadn't been able to. "Princess, I promise you that that will never change. Never."

"Until I loved you, I didn't know the whole of the woman I could be." Her eyes were huge and wet. "That woman's love will only grow stronger with time."

Leaning forward, he sealed their pact with a kiss. When she sighed and melted into him, he couldn't help but stroke that golden skin of hers, now almost dry. "You didn't finish your bath," he whispered against her lips.

"Ummmm." Giving him a sultry smile that was mil of a joy he'd never before seen, she slipped out of his arms and into the water, beckoning him with her finger.

Grinning, he stood from his straddling position and went to work on his jeans. There was more than enough room in the huge marble bath for one crazy-in-love ex-thief. He could almost feel the tantalizing coolness of the water; it would be a sensual pleasure on its own after the unrelenting heat of the desert. But the most pleasur­able aspect of the pool was currently looking at him with a distinctly feminine proprietariness in her tawny gaze.

Every male instinct in him was aroused and alert. This was his woman, and he was at once proud of her and ravenous. She was so sexy she was a fantasy and yet it was the very human softness of her that he found the most enticing. His ice princess had turned out to be a woman of hot blood, and he couldn't have been more pleased.

Holding that dark gaze, he undid the buttons on his jeans and stepped out of them and his underwear at the same time. Her throat quivered as she swallowed.

Aware of the ways his wife's body betrayed her arousal, he looked at her thighs. Beneath the water, they were pressed tight together. Her body was flushed with heat that hadn't been present a moment before, her lips parted as if waiting for him.

He walked into the bath, conscious that her eyes had dropped to his erection. He was huge with desire for her, and he was proud of his passion. This was something no other man had ever given her and no other man ever would. He reached her as that possessive thought crossed his mind. He could think of a hundred things he could do to his princess and she to him on this slow desert evening, but first he just wanted another kiss. A kiss that was given joyously by the woman who loved him.

"Marc," she murmured against his lips. "Husband mine."

He went to kiss her again, but, with a mischievous smile, she slipped away and into the water. He followed, stalking her into a corner. "Princess, come here."

"Why do you call me that?" she murmured, letting him trap her.

He winced. "At first it was because you made me so mad when you went all icy."

She chuckled and kissed him, telling him he was for­given for those early taunts. "And now?"

"Now, I feel like the hero in some fairy tale who got the girl." His hands began to slide over her body. "I beat the dragon and won the princess." The timbre of his voice dropped, becoming husky and intimate.

When Hira thought he would pull her into his lap and take her, he put strong hands around her waist and lifted her to the edge of the bathing pool. She gasped as cool marble met her bottom.

In front of her, he spread her legs to position her as it pleased him. Very aroused, she let him stroke her thighs apart, fingering her own hands through his hair. "Husband," she whispered. "Why do you do this?"

His laugh was hoarse. "Baby, you know I like the taste of you." Against her sensitive skin, his breath was a hot caress, a lover's kiss. Moving closer, he put her legs over his shoulders.

She gulped as his hands stroked her flanks, as if lead­ing up to a taste of her. "But you wish to come inside me now. This isn't what you wish."

His grin seared her. "Cher, have you got a lot to learn about your husband. But don't worry, I have a lifetime in which to teach you the finer points." There was such sheer delight on his face that she found herself laugh­ing with him. "Lesson number one—what I wish is for you to be screaming when I take you."

That was all the warning she got before he dipped his head. Hira shuddered and tried to keep her control, but it was futile. Before long she was clutching her fingers in his dark hair, moaning her desire and asking him for more. He gave her more, took more, demanded more. And at last she screamed.

When he finally pulled her down, the water lapped over her in a cool caress that soothed her sensitized flesh but did nothing to quench the boiling cauldron inside of her. She wrapped her legs around him and, with a sigh of exquisite relief, welcomed him into her body, even as their eyes locked in an even more intimate dance.

Her American hunter took her and she let herself be taken. It was far too late to fight, because at last she knew that she was conquered territory, marked with the stamp of this one man alone.

Perhaps it might've made a weaker woman angry to be considered as such, but Hira wasn't weak. Belonging to

Marc allowed no half measures. But, she thought with a smile as the stars exploded around them, Marc wasn't a man who loved by half measures. He'd given her all his passion, all his strength, all his heart. If she'd been conquered, then her conqueror had surrendered into her loving arms.

"People treasure their dreams," Marc whispered into her ear, as they floated down from the pinnacle-of plea­sure.

"Let me treasure you for the rest of my life."

It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. Contrary to his own beliefs, her hunter of a man knew exactly what words to give his wife. "We will trea­sure each other," she managed to whisper, holding her perfect prince of a man to her.