He'd been so close, so overwhelmingly male, so potent that her entire body had seemed to go up in flames. She'd been almost dizzy with the sudden, shocking desire to place her hands on that magnificent chest and stroke until his control snapped, though she had no idea what she would've done with an uncontrollable male on her hands.
Even more scandalous was the way she'd ached to rub herself against that steel-hard body.
She'd just wanted like she'd never wanted.
And her own desire had so frightened her that she'd struck out at the cause of her unease, wounding him when he'd done nothing to deserve it, when he'd apologized for hurting her with his earlier burst of temper. He'd been so sincere that she knew he'd told her the truth.
It had been easy to forgive him, for she didn't mind living with a man who had a flash-fire temper. In fact, she preferred it to her father's coldly judging silence. But tonight Marc hadn't shown her temper but such emotionless rigidity that she knew she'd caused serious damage.
With her actions she'd shattered the already fragile support base of their marriage. Now she was the one who'd have to rebuild it. Scared, not knowing how a woman went about seducing a male as strong as her new husband, she curled up in bed, thinking she'd never get to sleep.
She dreamed of silken sheets and a hunter of a male with eyes of liquid mercury. A demanding, hungry and powerful lover who refused to let her keep any part of herself back from him. A man who gave as much as he took and left her drenched in sweat, her body aching for a possession she had no knowledge of.
Four
Midmorning the next day, Hira stood at the kitchen window watching her husband chop wood in the backyard. He'd ignored her since she'd come downstairs. It was likely that he was only outside because she wasn't. Not that it would do him much good to ignore her if she didn't wish to be ignored. Her father had often cursed her for being as stubborn as an old camel. She'd taken it as a compliment.
It would be Marc's own fault if she followed him out. After all, he shouldn't have dressed only in those blue jeans if he hadn't wished her to watch him. What woman could resist running her eyes over that muscled form, as lean and dangerous as a wolf in its prime? And she'd found that watching him led to wanting to touch him, just as she'd wanted to stroke him last night when he'd appeared before her only half-dressed.
Her burning hunger for him continued to startle her, for she didn't think of herself as a passionate,woman. Her experience with Romaz had strengthened that belief. She'd never been so intrigued by the sight of a male body that she simply wanted to watch the flow and shift of muscle and tendon. Just watch and savor the idea of all that masculine power belonging to her.
What would it be like to be given the right to explore that unapologetically male body as she wished?
Even more unexpected than that secret craving, was the way her body grew hotter and needier with each moment she spent indulging her desires. Her knowledge of the way things were between a man and his wife in the marriage bed didn't account for this melting warmth hi her navel.. .or was it lower? she thought, scandalized. And yet it felt so good she didn't want to fight it.
She wanted to explore it.
Perhaps she'd been sheltered, but she'd never been a coward. Well, at least not until she'd married this man who confused her and made her speak without thinking. Right now her muscular American husband was very angry with her.
Every time he slammed down the ax, chopping the wood to bits, she could feel the power of his anger. But, she thought wonderingly, no matter how angry he was, he never took it out on her the way her father did with her mother, berating and humiliating her. The times that Marc had lost his temper, any hurt she'd felt had been fleeting and she'd given him enough sharp words in return that they were even on that score.
And he was man enough to accept blame and apologize when needed. Unlike Kerim Dazirah, Marc seemed to have no need to crush her under his boot so that he could feel stronger. Last night he'd turned his back to her.
Back in Zulheil, he'd given her a cold look and left her to a lonely wedding night.
She'd decided that he didn't care. Now she saw that he did. His passionate heart was there to see in every driving blow of the ax. Something quietly powerful bloomed deep inside her heart. If he felt this much anger toward her...maybe he could feel just as much affection, tenderness, even love?
Was it possible that she could find a way to make this marriage of hers more than glimmer and shimmer? Make it real? Make it so he saw Hira, saw the woman behind the face and body? To do any of that, first she'd have to reach him. And, she accepted, the easiest way to reach him would be through touch. He reminded her of the desert men of her homeland—while he'd let her close to his body, he'd guard his heart and soul until she'd proven herself.
But if she were brave enough to bury her pain and humiliation at Romaz's hands and fight to make true the sacred vows she'd spoken, she might one day gain the kind of marriage she'd always dreamed of. It was better than this emotional limbo which would inevitably lead to divorce. Her heart kicked in pain. For some reason she didn't want to be separated from this dangerously masculine creature she'd married in haste.
Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and straightened from her leaning position against the kitchen sink. The misty skirts of her clothing floated around her ankles. In her home she'd decided to dress the way she'd done in Zulheil, with some modifications that might help her reach her growling male of a husband.
Her snugly fitted top ended just below her breasts, cupping and shaping a part of her that she usually tried to downplay. The rose-colored silk also exposed the length of her arms, the sleeves being mere puffs on her shoulders. Finally, the waistband of her skirt hugged her hips, leaving the curved plane of her midriff scandalously bare. Her father would never have tolerated such an outfit in his home, would have termed it immodest. For once, she would've agreed with him. Such dress shouldn't be worn by maidens, or out in public.
But between a husband and his wife...
When she'd given in to the urgings of the seamstresses who'd worked day and night to ready her clothes for the wedding, she'd never thought she'd be wearing such an overtly sexual outfit so soon. Perhaps she was taking this step too quickly, but with all that lay between them, waiting any longer could irrevocably damage their marriage.
A marriage she couldn't bear to give up on.
So today she'd dressed to tempt, wanting her husband's admiration of her body. It was the only thing she had with which to fight for a real marriage, the only part of her that had a hope of reaching Marc. She couldn't allow herself to think how pathetic that was. It was the simple truth, and she accepted it because she had no desire to be a divorced woman with many husbands. That was never what she'd wanted for herself.
Mouth dry and feet bare, she rubbed her palms on her skirts before walking out of the house and across the lush grass of their backyard. Marc continued to chop wood, though she knew he was aware of her approach. Her husband had the instincts of the great hunting beasts that had once roamed his homeland. Stopping a safe distance away, she called out, "Husband! Marc!"
He kept chopping.
Scowling, she started to walk closer, not heeding the flying chips of wood, trusting his protective instincts. He didn't disappoint her. Slapping the ax blade down into the stump he'd been using as a stand, he turned to her, all rippling muscle and gleaming flesh.