Pleasure: The Sheikh's Defiant Bride. Sandra Marton

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СКАЧАТЬ he was stumbling all over his words. “When we made love. Did I hurt you?”

      “I told you. We didn’t make love, we had—”

      “Madison. Please. Did I hurt you?”

      Please? That was a first. She thought about lying, but to what end? “No,” she said, “you didn’t.”

      “Good. Because I—I did not think …”

      “It’s too late to apologize.”

      His eyes narrowed; he caught her chin and turned her face to him.

      “I am not apologizing. A man would be a fool to apologize for what happened in that bed.” He paused. “But I should have considered your condition. I should have thought of the child.”

      “The baby.”

      “That’s what I said.”

      “You said ‘the child …’ You always say ‘the child,’ except when you call my baby your heir.”

      “I’m not trying to quarrel with you, Madison. I only asked if the child—the baby—is all right.”

      “My baby’s fine.” Her cheeks bloomed with color. “Sex won’t hurt it, not even the kind a man forces on a woman.”

      “Is lying and pretending you didn’t want what happened the way you make peace with yourself for crying out in my arms?” he said, his voice rough.

      “You forced me into this situation. If you hadn’t—”

      “We would have ended up in bed eventually.”

      “That’s a lie!”

      “It’s the truth and you know it. We wanted each other from the beginning. That I ended up spending my seed in your womb by means of a syringe instead of as nature intended was a quirk of fate.”

      Madison stared at him. His eyes had gone that shade of silver she knew meant he was aroused. And, incredibly, so was she.

      How could talking about a sexless act be so sexy?

      And how could he have taken the conversation so far from where it belonged?

      “I don’t know why we’re talking about this. The only thing I want to discuss is—”

      “I took the liberty of preparing some things besides chocolate and cake, your highness.” Yusuf paused beside them with a wheeled cart. “Shall I—”

      Tariq waved his hand. “We will serve ourselves.”

      The attendant inclined his head and left them. Tariq uncovered platters of cakes and cookies, a selection of cheeses, crusty bread, fruits and chocolates. Everything looked and smelled delicious.

      Tariq filled a plate and put it in front of her.

      “Eat,” he commanded.

      She thought of saying no. Of telling him she was not one of his servants, trained to sit and stay on cue but her stomach gave an unladylike growl. Tariq laughed, she shot him a cold look, and dug in.

      She emptied her plate, drank more iced orange juice and just when she looked wistfully at the coffee in Tariq’s cup, Yusuf appeared with a pot of mint tea.

      “Thank you,” she said, and was rewarded with a blush.

      “You are welcome, my lady.”

      “Princess.”

      Both Yusuf and Madison looked at Tariq. He smiled as he reached for her hand, though his eyes flashed a warning.

      “The lady has done me the honor of becoming my wife.”

      “No,” Madison said sharply, and winced as his hand tightened almost painfully on hers.

      “My wife wished to keep our news secret as long as possible,” he said, raising her hand to his lips, “but since we will land in my country—her new country—in another few hours, I thought it was time to announce our news. You, Yusuf, are the first to know.”

      Yusuf beamed at them both. “It is wonderful news, sir, and I am honored you shared it with me. May you have a long and happy life.”

      “Thank you.” Tariq smiled. “And now, if you would give us privacy for the rest of the flight …”

      Madison controlled her temper until they were alone. Then she tore her hand from Tariq’s and shot to her feet.

      “You can tell all the ridiculous lies you like—”

      “It was no lie,” he said calmly. “Or have you already forgotten what I said about an old custom of my people?”

      “It is not a custom of my people! It is not a custom anywhere in the civilized world!”

      “Watch what you say to me, wife.”

      “Do not call me that! Just because you have some—some barbaric bit of folklore that must make anthropologists shriek with joy doesn’t mean that I—”

      Tariq was on his feet, his hands cupping her shoulders before she could finish the sentence.

      “You will not take that tone with me!”

      “You tell your—your slave that I’m married to you and all you’re worried about is how I sound when I talk to you? I don’t know if you’re just thickheaded or so out of touch with reality that you—”

      He kissed her. It was either that or silence her some other way and he had never been a man to use violence on a woman …

      Besides, he loved her taste.

      She struggled. He cupped her face, held her captive to his kiss, felt a rush of fierce joy when her lips softened and he felt the first sign of her sweet, eager response.

      “Hate me all you like,” he said hoarsely, “but you will obey me. You will respect me.” His eyes darkened. “And when I take you to bed, you will answer my passion with your own because it is what you want, habiba, it is what you shall always want, even as you hate me with all your heart.”

      He kissed her again and as she melted against him, the stirring of an emotion far more dangerous than desire coursed through his blood.

      It stopped him for an instant, but Madison moved against him and he forgot everything but wanting her.

      He swept her into his arms, carried her through the cabin and into the bedroom, shouldered the door closed and came down on the bed with his wife in his arms.

      “I do hate you,” she whispered, but her arms held him tight as she brought his head down to hers for another kiss.

      His blood thundered, but he forced himself to go slowly, to undo the buttons of her shirt, the zipper of her jeans.

      His shirt.

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