He didn't dare think that he might've found his dreams, but he could almost imagine that he was seeing the real woman, with none of her customary masks.
Only one thing gave him pause—the way she still occasionally looked at him after a particularly saucy comment, as if anticipating a rebuke.
He knew that her reaction was rooted in the emotional abuse she'd witnessed in her home, scenes of a wife being humiliated by the very man who should've been her champion. He hated it, but he could forgive her that instinctive reaction: Yet so long as that look was in her eyes, he couldn't expect her full commitment to him as a man, as a husband. Before she took that chance, she'd have to accept that he'd die before turning into a man like her father. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to help her reach that point. In this shatteringly important moment, he was helpless.
"Have you ever been inside the royal palace?" Marc asked Hira on their second night in Zulheil, fiddling with his bow tie and hoping the evening would be cool.
She moved to him and took over the job. "Yes, of course. The royal palace is open to its citizens, aside from the private wings for the family. But you're one of the very few foreigners who has been allowed access."
He was aware of the privilege and the duty it carried. Trust in this desert land was given slowly but would hold fast unless he abused it. "Impressive, isn't it?" His eyes followed Hira as she moved away to pull on a top coat of the finest gossamer silk.
The sheer fabric was an almost metallic silver and was gathered under her breasts with a single tie. The rest of the coat fell to float just above the floor, splitting open over her legs to display an underskirt of thick silver satin. The long-sleeved silver top she wore underneath the gauze overlapped the top of the skirt and was heavily embroidered with tiny white pearls. The material seemed shot with shards of pure crystal.
"I may be a mere male but I like what I see." Marc was looking at her appreciatively when she turned.
In Hira's eyes, he was the gorgeous one, big, dark and very masculine. "It's a Jasmine Zamanat creation."
His eyes sharpened as he recognized the name of the sheik's wife, a well-known designer. "Clever little witch. Getting us brownie points with the palace, are you?"
She was pleased by the compliment in his eyes. "It will not hurt, though they won't be so easily swayed. But I truly like her designs so it's no hardship."
"You're definitely easy on the eyes. Let's go, princess. The drive from Abraz to Zulheina will take a while. Wouldn't want to be late for this meeting."
Though informal, the meeting with the sheik was important. If things went favorably, Marc would be allowed to sign an agreement with Zulheil to export a durable, flexible plastic discovered by its scientists.
"And aside from its other advantages," Marc said as they got out of their limo in front of the palace, after having been cleared by security, "it crunches down into small packages. So it's very portable and can be used for tents, et cetera."
"Which means it can have military applications as well as many other uses." Hira nodded. "Why hasn't it already been exported?"
"It hasn't been a priority for Zulheil with their gem-stone business bringing in so much income. But the rest of the world could do with it."
Just then, a beautiful redhead dressed in a lovely sky-blue top and skirt in the way of Zulheil, walked through the palace doorway. "Welcome." She smiled and held out her hands to Hira. "I'm so delighted you could finally make it. I hear that you had to reschedule because of the welfare of a child."
"Jasmine al eha Sheik, it is an honor," Hira began, a little overcome at the easy welcome from the most powerful woman in the country, though it was well known mat neither the sheik nor his wife stood much on pomp and ceremony.
Jasmine waved a hand. "Call me Jasmine. Ah. . .here he is." Letting go of Hira's hands, she looked over her shoulder at the man who'd appeared beside her. Her eyes held such deep and abiding love that the warmth of it was an almost physical touch.
Hira noticed the way Sheik Tariq's hand immediately settled on his wife's hip, the way the two shared a secret smile before he spoke.
"Dinner is served and the demon who is pretending to be our son is fast asleep. Welcome to our home." He shook Marc's hand and turned to lead them inside.
Almost immediately the men fell back behind the women, already beginning to talk business. Hira was a little irritated at being disregarded so easily.
"You're annoyed," said the woman by her side.
Hira glanced at Jasmine. "Lady..."
"Call me Jasmine and don't worry about it. He annoys me on occasion, too." Her smile was open.
Hira decided to be honest. "I don't like being sidelined when serious matters are being discussed."
"Neither do I. That's why we'll be talking about a different idea that I've cooked up with Tariq."
Hira's eyes widened. "Another proposal?"
"As you know, Zulheil likes to keep to itself. When we find someone we like, we try and squeeze our worth out of them. Tariq trusts your husband's integrity and acumen."
"And what about me?" She wasn't going to be ignored.
"Until this evening, though we've had dealings with Marc, you were an unknown commodity. Tariq knows you socially but I've only seen you once."
"I remember. In the gardens after your marriage." Aware that Jasmine must've been informed of the Dazirah family's attempts to make a match between her and the sheik, Hira had known that this lovely woman wouldn't appreciate her presence. So she'd tried to stay in the background, despite her parents having urged her to find someone else with royal connections, since many important visitors had been at the gathering.
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.