Nalini Singh - Craving Beauty

He moved his hand to her hair and undid her plait, sending that midnight-and-gold glory tumbling over his hands. "I suppose people think that that would be more glamorous than studying."

"Hmm."

"Why didn't you model? Wouldn't it have been a way out?"

"I thought about it." She settled herself more com­fortably against him. "It will be hard for you to under­stand, coming as you do from this country of ultimate freedom, but I'm very old-fashioned. I don't believe in showing my body to anyone but my husband.

"I couldn't do it, not even to escape my home. It would've been a betrayal of myself, a surrender to my father's attempts to change me from the woman I am. I always thought I would think of something else."

"I like being the only one who's seen your body," he whispered, touched by her confession of her deeply held beliefs, of her determination not to compromise those beliefs, even in an attempt to escape the life she'd hated.

Her fingers undid one of his buttons and touched skin. "I know. Every time you look at me, I know you're congratulating yourself on acquiring me."

"Men don't acquire women. We woo them." He bristled.

"When did you woo me?" It was only when she met his gaze that he realized his lovely lady of a wife was enjoying herself by teasing him.

Grumbling, he captured her laughing face and pro­ceeded to kiss her until she was whimpering and agree­ing to his every demand. Then he teased her.

Things had been going a little too well as far as Marc was concerned. He supposed he should've expected it all to come falling down around his ears. He'd been kicked viciously by life too many times to take anything for granted.

"There's a letter for you in the mail my assistant just dropped off," he called out, striding into the kitchen the next day. After waking at 4:00 a.m. for an international telephone conference, he'd had no desire to head into his city office. The fact that Hira had had no classes, ei­ther, had cinched his decision to telecommute. "It's from within the States."

Hira's face was as curious as his when he handed her the pale-lilac envelope addressed to her, care of his company's post office box number. "That's strange. I don't know many people yet."

She didn't object when he walked around to stand be­side her, one hand idly stroking over her curvy hip. At that moment he was simply interested in the unexpected letter, with no knowledge of the pain that could result from a single small envelope.

Hira tore open the flap and pulled out a card with the words I Love You emblazoned in red on a white back­ground. Marc felt his whole body tighten in readiness for a fight. Who the hell had dared to send his wife love greetings?

"Perhaps it's one of the boys—they make me cards sometimes," Hira muttered, flipping open the cover. Al­most immediately she slammed it shut.

"Who is it from?" he insisted, his hand clenching on her hip.

Her face was pale but her answer honest. "Romaz."

"The man you loved?"

"The man I thought I loved," she corrected. "He wasn't who I believed him to be."

But, Marc thought with a gut-wrenching shaft of pain, she'd cared very deeply for this man at one time and there had been no coercion involved. Not like their marriage.

"What does he want?" His wife was entitled to her privacy and he wanted her to trust him.

"He's in the country with his new wife, but he wishes to visit me." She sounded vaguely shocked.

"I see."

Her head jerked up. "What do you see, husband?" Her voice was soft.

He was furious at the gall of the man in contacting Hira through him. "You had feelings for this man once. Now you're my wife, so you won't be seeing him." It came out sounding like an order.

Her eyes narrowed and he knew he'd made a mistake. "Ah, so you never see the women who have been in your bed?"

He blinked. "That's very crude coming from you."

"Perhaps I've decided that with you, a lady will only get crushed into the dirt." She turned to face him fully, those wild eyes of hers furious. "You didn't answer my question."

"Tit for tat?"

"Do you really think me so shallow?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "No. But I still don't want you seeing him."

"Why?"

There was no answer he could give her that wouldn't betray his snarling possessiveness. Hands fisted, he moved away. "If you're determined to meet him, I can't stop you." His tone was harsh.

Silence, then a quiet, "I'll write him a short note tell­ing him a visit is not possible. Even he should be given a response."

She turned and walked away, leaving him shaken by the power of the relief he felt at her decision.

That night as they lay in bed Hira turned to her hus­band. "I've sent Romaz a letter saying that I'm happily married and have no wish to meet with him." She knew her husband would never ask her what she'd said, hav­ing too much pride. A woman who married a hunter of a man like him had to know when to bend, for a hunter's pride was part of his emotional armor, something no true wife would ever steal away.

He turned to her, arms folded behind his head, ghost-gray eyes glinting silver in the moonlight shooting through their bedroom windows. "Are you happily married?"

It wasn't a question she'd anticipated. "I suppose I'm happy."

"That's not exactly an avowal of joy."

"No, it's not." She sighed. "When I was a girl, I dreamed many dreams about the man I would marry, though I was aware from a very early age that my fa­ther saw me as a commodity. I always knew I'd be part of a business deal, so it wasn't such a shock to marry you."

"Ouch." Her husband rose to lean over her, a wry look on his savagely masculine face, a face mat made her heart sigh and her stomach tighten in desire, no matter how hard she tried to resist. And when he smiled that slow smile...

"I thought you might've fallen for my charm."

"You tease me, for you know we didn't speak much before our wedding night." Marc had seen her one night, and the next day he'd agreed to her father's desire to seal the deal with her hand.

At that stage she'd met the American stranger who'd offered her a way out of her father's house exactly twice. And yet he'd seemed by far the better choice. Her wom­anly instincts had craved him from the first, though the dark intensity in his eyes had scared her.

Her husband brushed his lips across hers. "Thank you for telling me about Romaz." He paused. "I'm sorry you missed out on the big wedding girls dream of."

She was surprised at the genuine regret in his tone. "Do not be, husband. I never dreamed of a big wedding. I always hoped it would be a quiet affair, though I ac­cepted that my father's business instincts meant it would most likely be huge. So you see, you gave me the wed­ding I wished for." She stroked his thick, dark hair off his forehead, unwilling to hurt him in any way if she could help it. Her man had known far too much hurt al­ready.

To her confusion, he moved away from her. Reach­ing behind him to the small bedside table, he picked up something and returned. "Hold out your left hand."

Curious, she did as asked. Using one hand, he slipped her wedding ring off. She bit her lip and forbore to ask him what he was doing. Her patience was rewarded as the ring was slipped back on, with another below it.

Raising it to the moonlight, she saw a trio of jewels winking back at her. In the dim light, she guessed that the two flanking stones were small square-cut dia­monds. Another stone sat in the centre.

"What is this for?" Her heart felt as if it would burst.

He stroked the delicate skin of her inner wrist. "It's the engagement ring you never received—a little romance to make up for the hurry with which I 'acquired' you."

The teasing reminder of her own words made her want to smile, but then she wondered if he'd had his sec­retary pick it and she shouldn't be feeling so cherished. "What's the stone in the middle?"