Best of Virgins Bundle

by Cathy Williams

  “You can have it later. After I’m done.” Finishing off the bread, he stood there, completely concentrating on her.

  She laughed, the sound husky and intimate, and released the last button. The darkness between her thighs was an invitation he gladly took, cupping her gently. Sighing, she leaned closer. With a single lithe movement of her shoulders, the shirt went to the floor.

  He ran his hand up from her heat to flatten over her stomach. “Damn, you’re lovely.” Her face fell. “No,” he ordered. “None of that. Sure, your body is hot, but you know what makes you perfect?”

  She shook her head slowly, wary eyes holding a vulnerability that made him want to cherish her forever.

  “The fact that you adore my body despite my scars, say yes to playing with me at this ridiculous hour even after the stunt I pulled tonight, and have peanut butter stuck to your bottom lip.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide. He pulled the hand off and licked the spot off. “Yum.”

  She giggled and stepped back. As he watched, she put her finger in the peanut butter jar and dabbed a spot on her lip again. Surprised, he leaned forward and licked it off. Her hand went to her breasts and each nipple was coated.

  “You sure know how to gratify this man.” First, he sucked the finger she held out to him, cleaning it off. Then he made slow work of each morsel, his hands stroking her bottom. When he stood to his full height again, it was to face a woman with a passion-soft face, eyes heavy-lidded and a sweet, sexy smile on her lips. Reaching out a hand, she traced the shape of his mouth.

  “Still hungry?” Her voice was a husky whisper.

  “A little.” He backed her up until her bottom hit the edge of the counter. Then he lifted, setting her down on the marble. She spread her legs and he stood between them. Reaching to the right, he found the squeezable bottle of honey that was one of her favorite treats. Grinning, he held it up. “Want to play some more?”

  Her eyes widened. “Husband, you are bad.” An inviting look appeared on her face. “I love honey.”

  “So do I, cher. So do I.” He’d never felt this carefree in his life. Flipping open the lid, he held the bottle upside down and started to draw meandering swirls of honey over her breasts, her stomach, lower.

  She sighed when he put down the bottle and started to lick his way down her body, swirling his tongue, using his teeth to scrape, his fingers to smooth. Minutes later she began to tremble. He stroked his hands on her thighs as he bent over to lick her stomach. Her beautiful feminine muscles clenched under his attentions. He kept going, pulling her bottom closer to the edge to facilitate his taste of honey.

  Her hands clenched in his hair as he tracked the last possible drop, lapping at her most sensitive flesh. Moans filled the kitchen as his wife climaxed, surrendering to the pleasure he lavished on her. Satisfied by her shudders, he rose and picked her up in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist.

  “Where are you taking me, husband?”

  “Do you care?”

  “No. You may take me wherever you wish.”

  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 gemstone 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 th
rough 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 that 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 fingers 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.

  Eleven

  “God, I’m exhausted.” Dressed only in his dress pants, Marc fell back onto their bed. Rubbing his eyes with his hand, he smiled, looking very much like a satisfied hunting cat. “But it was worth it.”

  She nodded. Having already changed into a short nightdress with thin straps, she crawled onto the bed and knelt facing her husband, combing her hair. “This could build into a long-term business relationship.”

  Marc’s eyes followed her strokes. “I intend it to. I like working with Tariq. He’s got integrity as well as the negotiating skills of a shark.”

  “That’s why he likes you also.” She put the brush down on the nightstand and moved to undo his belt, using the excuse to stroke his firm abdomen. Under her hands, he was pure male strength, the seduction of his hunter’s body enough to make her ache for his possession.

  His smile as he watched her with blatant proprietariness made her stomach tighten in expectation. Marc had a particular look in his eye tonight, a look that said he intended to take his time with her.

  She was proved right.

  They’d both agreed to spend the next day with her family. Hira wished to see her mother and brothers but didn’t particularly care about her father.

  “It’s only one day. You can stand the man for that long,” Marc said when she made a sulky face.

  Sighing, she nodded and got out of the car, waiting until Marc was beside her before heading up the steps to the place that had once been her gilded prison.

  Her mother was overjoyed to see her. Even her brothers were happy, welcoming her with crushing hugs and small but thoughtful gifts that touched her. Perhaps they’d turn out all right after all. Her father grunted and shook Marc’s hand, smile wide. Hira left him to Marc and went to spend time with her mother, the documents for the account she and Marc had opened in Amira’s name safe in her purse.

  Marc watched Hira go off with Amira Dazirah with mixed feelings. On the one hand he was glad she was happy to be in Zulheil, but surrounded by reminders, he couldn’t help but remember the way he’d rushed her into marriage. Her father had provided the impetus, but the choice had been his. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t tried very hard to change Kerim’s mind. He’d wanted Hira, and he’d gone after her with every bit of his considerable will.

  It hurt more than he could’ve imagined to know that because of that single rash act, his wife would never view him with the kind of tenderness and love she’d told him she’d dreamed of. How could she possibly understand that when he’d seen her on that balcony, it hadn’t been her beauty that had transfixed him?

  No, it had been something far more ephemeral, something that had tugged at his soul, a knowing that she was his, a possessiveness that hadn’t let him sleep until he’d made her his in reality. How could he explain that to her without ripping open his heart? He wasn’t ready for that, not when she sometimes still looked at him with shadows in her brilliant eyes.

  His wife had adjusted to him, but he needed far more than simple coexistence from her. He needed her heart and soul, her hope, her everything. He needed her to need him, because all of him, even the lost and lonely bayou boy he’d been, had become enthralled with her. It was an enchantment that demanded his soul. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t go back to his lonely, untrusting existence…couldn’t stop needing her so much that his hunger was a physical ache.

  Late the next day Hira tried to talk to her husband about what had turned his gray eyes dark when she hadn’t been looking. In the space of a few
hours, he’d gone from teasing and laughing with her to almost complete silence.

  “Nothing,” he said, his tone curt.

  When she pushed, he kept responding with monosyllabic replies that made her want to hit him over the head with a blunt object. Frustrated by his recalcitrance, she finally left him and went off to indulge herself with a bath, muttering under her breath about males in general and one male in particular.

  He found her fifteen minutes later, while she was sitting on the edge of the huge square-shaped bath filled with cool flower-scented water. Because of her perch, the lapping water only covered her up to the thighs. Looking up, she saw familiar desire flare in his eyes as he gazed at her naked form. Ignoring the heat that uncurled luxuriously in her stomach, she stared back, feeling just a bit put-upon by his moodiness.

  “What?” she finally said, when he remained silent.

  “Nothing. I have to go out.”

  “Fine.” She glared at him.

  “Don’t you care where I’m going?” His tone was jagged, torn, those eyes of liquid silver gone cloudy.

  And she wanted to hit him, not soothe him. She’d had it! Absolutely and utterly! Letting out a stifled scream, she picked up the sponge she was using to smooth water over her body, and threw it at his chest.

  He caught the sponge against his body. When he lifted it off, a wet patch marred his vivid blue shirt. Before he could speak, she said, “Why should I worry about a husband who turns cold on me when I’ve done nothing wrong? You and your black mood can both go to hell for all I care!”

  That was when he stalked to her, all male arrogance and smoky eyes filled with some emotion she couldn’t read. She sat in place, though it was difficult to be composed while her body was laid out for his perusal.

  He was close enough to touch. “You just told me to go to hell.” Holding her gaze, he dropped the sponge into the water, sending ripples chasing across her thighs.

  “Why do you sound so surprised? After the way you’ve been acting today, I’m entitled to my temper.”