Nalini Singh - Craving Beauty

"I had begun to think of him as my own." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Me, too, cher . Me, too."

Slim arms slipped around him. "They'll be happy with the Kellers. They're good people."

"I had them triple-checked. No problems in the mar­riage. No indications of violence. They adore children but they're infertile," he told her. "Brian and Becky em­body their dreams. People cherish their dreams."

"Yes." Hira nodded. "Yes. Dreams are to be cherished."

"Why do you cry alone?" he asked. Why don't you need me as much as I need you, the wounded boy in­side, him wanted to ask.

Her silence went on until he thought she wouldn't an­swer.

Then, "My father often reduced my mother to tears purely for his own amusement. I swore I would never let anyone humiliate me that way."

"I would never..." He was so blindsided by hurt he couldn't complete the sentence.

Slender hands cupped his cheeks, and when he glanced down, Hira's tawny eyes were looking into his, wide and startled. "No, Marc! I didn't mean... I know. " she whispered. "I know you would never, ever do that to me."

There was no way he could doubt the honesty of her desperate confession. "Then why?"

She swallowed. "Instinct. I've never had anyone to go to before." It was a simple answer but one that spoke of years of pain. Such habits didn't develop overnight.

The memory of seeing her eyes sparkling with withheld tears made him ache deep within. "Crying all alone isn't healthy." He didn't like the thought of her hiding away her hurts, or what such actions revealed about her past.

"Do you ever cry?"

He thought of the rock in his heart at the loss of a child he'd thought of as his own. "No."

"That is not healthy, either."

He was stumped. "I'm your husband. Aren't Zulheil wives supposed to follow their husband's commands?"

"Only the old ways state that. I've begun to explore the new ways that my father forbade. They say a wife can disobey her husband if she has good reason."

"Well, hell." He found himself smiling. "Are you going to turn into an American woman?"

"Perhaps partly. Would that displease you?"

He chuckled. "I have a feeling that even if it did, it wouldn't matter to you."

A pause. "You could make my existence difficult."

There were so many facets to his wife that she kept surprising him. " Cher , I make your life hell, anyway, so what would change?" He'd meant to make her laugh but she remained silent on his chest. Hugging her, he said,

"Hey, come on. I'm not that bad, am I?"

"You're not cruel," she said a long while later. "As a husband, you're more than I could've wished for. But I wouldn't have chosen you for myself if I'd truly been given a choice."

It was a kick to his gut. "I see. Why?"

"Because you can't give me what I most desire."

"And what's that?"

"Love of a kind that's rare in this world. Love that will not stop or dampen when I am old and have wrin­kles, when I'm no longer the beautiful woman men covet. Love that will cherish me though I may become ill or hurt. That is what I most desire."

The quiet declaration of lost hope hit him with the strength of a Mack truck doing eighty miles an hour. She'd put into words what he'd wanted but had never been able to articulate. "You've experienced such love?"

"It's the most wonderful thing in the world."

"Romaz?" he forced himself to ask.

"No." Her answer gave him some peace at least. "That was my first brush with love. 'Puppy love' as they call it here. No, I've never experienced that kind of love and perhaps I never will, but I've seen it in the love our sheik has for his wife."

Marc couldn't disagree. There was something be­tween Tariq and Jasmine that outshone the stars. "Why can't you imagine me giving you that?"

She snorted. "Husband, you have something against beautiful women. I'm not stupid. I know you married me to show the world that you could own something this beautiful." There was no trace of boast in her voice, just blunt honesty.

"I will not argue that you cherish me, that you treat me as a human being with thoughts and feelings and the right to live my dreams. But I can't forget that you se­lected me as a trophy, as if I were something to own.

"You acceded to my father's desire to have us wed, though you only knew my face. I've tried but I can't get over the fact that my worth to you is determined by my beauty alone."

"That's a big call to make." Anger vibrated within him. Perhaps he'd started this marriage the wrong way, but never had he thought of Hira as an object. Not even when they'd married. And in the weeks since they'd said their vows, powerful emotions had taken root in him, emotions that defied her summation.

"Can you say that it is untrue?"

"Yes, I damn well can. I don't see you as a thing. You're the woman who coaxed Brian to eat and you're the woman who held me when Becky lay in the hospi­tal bed. You read encyclopedias in your spare time, watch music videos when you think I'm not looking and are addicted enough to strawberry sorbet that I have to make sure there's a new carton in the freezer every three days."

Hira's eyes widened at his recitation. She hadn't been aware he knew of her craving for that particular ice cream, had just assumed the housekeeper bought it from a standing order. As for the music videos...

"I don't see you as a thing. I see you as a woman un­like any I've ever known." Marc's tone dared her to dis­agree with him.

"But would you have married me if you'd known my love of books and economics?" she persisted. He'd wanted a beautiful wife, not a smart one.

He chuckled. " Cher , I'm damn glad you turned out to be an intelligent woman. At the beginning of our marriage, I thought I might've let my hormones tie me to a woman who'd bore me within a week. Whatever else you might do, you'll never bore me."

"I see. I may have misjudged you, husband. For that I say sorry." A spurt of fire warmed her heart. It whis­pered that she could trust him with her budding emo­tions, that he'd cherish the love that had crept up on her while she'd been busy arguing with him.

"Don't." His voice turned rough. "You were right about some of it. I did want to show the world I could hold someone like you."

Ice froze the fire. "I see."

"No. You don't." He sighed and dropped his chin onto her hair. "I guess you deserve to know, after every­thing you've had to put up from me. I grew up poor. Coming from Zulheil, you can't imagine the kind of poverty into which I was born. I scrounged around for food, knowledge, anything. Even before Muddy, some­times I stole so I could eat."

Hira hurt for the boy he'd been. His pride was so much a part of who he was that the stain on his honor would've hurt him terribly. "It pains me that your mother didn't hurt for you. I find it a thing I cannot understand."

"Yeah. Well, she was as mean as he was—most of the scars on my lower back are courtesy of her. When I was too young to get away, she used to beat me until she took the skin off my back."

"No mother would do such a thing!" Hira rose up on her knees, her gaze on his face. "No, husband. Please...no?"

Marc was stunned at the anguish in her eyes. "It no longer matters—it's in the past," he found himself saying.

Her hands rose to cradle his face. "But, outside and inside you have scars from it."

"I guess." He shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

She frowned but to his pleased surprise, leaned for­ward and gave him a soft kiss. "I'll worry if I wish. Tell me why you don't like beautiful women."

"Why did I think you'd be accommodating?" He kissed her to forestall comment. "My story isn't very original. I was a poor boy but a smart, athletic one. I also worked sev­eral jobs. One of them was as gardener and car washer to the Barnsworthy family. They were, and still are, one of the richest and oldest families in the area. I fell for Lydia Barnsworthy and asked her on a date. Confidence has never been my problem." It was a joking comment, an at­tempt to hide the emotions evoked by the memories.