Nalini Singh: Craving Beauty

He narrowed his eyes at that double entendre, unsure whether it was just her grasp of English or deliberate provocation until he caught the hint of mischief in those tawny depths. "I'll remember that the next time I see you bent over the kitchen table."

Her laughter filled the night. When he sat down in a chair, with her spread over him, she slid her hand be­tween their bodies and down. "Why is it that you are al­ways clothed when I'm naked?"

"Bad timing?" He groaned as she slipped her hand under the elastic waistband of his briefs. Stroking him gently, she chuckled at his response.

A man could only take so much. Barely ten seconds later, he'd kicked off his only item of clothing and got himself covered in a much more pleasurable fashion. She slid onto him like hot silk. And then she rode him.

Given their newfound joy in each other, the plane trip to Zulheil the next day was markedly different from their first flight together. Marc had brought along pa­pers to look over but didn't even take them out of his briefcase, too enchanted by his wife.

More at ease on this flight, she teased him to laugh­ter and tangled her fingers with his, her eyes holding a look of pride. "You're a most magnificent man," she whispered, halfway through the flight.

He could feel a blush creeping up the back of his neck. "What brought that on?"

She winked at him and pressed a spontaneous kiss to his cheek. "Can a wife not simply compliment her husband?" Putting her head on his shoulder, she settled against him, warm and...loving?

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."